And Mary pondered these things in her heart....

I loved it when my babies were tiny scraps of new humanity, freshly come from that unknown, eternal place to which some of us return.  Their eyes were briefly-opened windows to that world, though we scarcely knew it.  We looked and marvelled and gave thanks for them;  they were living evidence of miracles.

Then they grew to not-always-beguiling toddlers;  unique, demanding, wonderful.  They stained their clothes with busy and curious fingers, dipped in all manner of things, to find out how the world worked.  They were delightful;  they were exasperating;  they caught at my heart;  they tried my patience.  They were sheer hard work but in the midst of the toil they shared the unripe essence of themselves with me and I was blessed.   They slept, and with that slumbering, poised in innocence and beauty, they let me catch my breath.  Sometimes now, my arms ache to hold them as babies again.

Summers came and went;  still they grew, pulling me headlong into parenthood.  Bikes, barbie dolls, cubby houses, books at bedtime, homework and sleep-overs;  braided hair and ballet lessons.  Gap-toothed grins and butterfly kisses;  they printed themselves on my heart with indelible ink and I’ll never be the same.  All the while,  they waited with energetic impatience for each new experience.  They were living, complex stories being written on a beautiful parchment of change.

Inevitable time marched them into adolescence.  They became changelings;  an all-at-once mix of child and grown-up, held in their metamorphosis by awkward grace and boisterous confidence.  They still bore childhood’s sweet traces, but their adult self dawned in self-conscious adolescent posturing.  They disassociated themselves from childish ways, at once with painful regret and joyful eagerness;  they could still touch childhood’s consciousness, but listened with straining senses, for the adult song which could not be silenced.

My lovely son, Ben, who, against the odds, taught himself to be a steadfast, loving, dependable man, died when he was 27. My girls remain, like precious gems in a sea of sorrow. My girls are thirty-somethings now with babies of their own.    To me, they are like fine sturdy ships poised to set sail across a deep and unknown sea.  They have chosen their life paths and I must let them go;  they must dance their own joy;  fall against their own life’s hard rain, make their own choices.  But my love and prayers will always go with them.  Homecomings and safe harbours will always be theirs.  They have their anchors in the deep, still waters of Christian faith.  We are closer in  different  and enduring ways.   I must let them go and yet they will always stay in that exquisitely unique place which is a mother’s heart.  I can never let them go. 

 This bond between us  is stronger than anything.  It was forged in the furnace of commitment, heartache, hardship, diligence…. and love.  It is a lasting testimony to the Heavenly Father’s love for us. 

 

(This is the intellectual property of Susan Starr. Please do not use it without permission)