On being mothered
A mother remains mother, motherly, and
mothering and I am blessed to have my mother whose voice gives soothing and calm to
a child nearing 60. Even with the challenges she faces, she abandons that for
concern and consideration of others in encouragement and prayer she speaks to
the heart of me, telling me not to lose hope and assuring me that there is a
God on the throne.
My health she asks after, my well-being is paramount, she mines the timbre of my voice to determine how I am holding up even when I give assurances. She remembers every detail of things I have shared with her to know whether there has been progress or new developments.
At times, what
might seem hopeless is given the radiance of possibility as her fervent
desires are expressed in private supplication and entreaties for tremendous change
to come.
My mother who sat and watched my infant
head still watches over my greying bald head, a blessing immeasurable in duty
and responsibility, a treasure beyond any calculable value that many a time, we
never well appreciate. Yet, in the whisper and the sound of her voice when we
converse and in the playback in the recesses of my mind as I reminisce, I know
I am blessed.
My Eema of God, dear mother of life, Shalom! Shalom! May
your heart’s desires be met with the grace, favour, love, and power of the God you
serve so diligently. Amen!
No comments:
Post a Comment
Comments are accepted if in context are polite and hopefully without expletives and should show a name, anonymous, would not do. Thanks.