Sunday, May 12, 2013

Heaven's Mothers

When I was 25 and suddenly so sick I could barely move, I had my first and only vision.  It revived parts of my soul that were dying, it gave vision for what I feared was lost, and it keeps giving life to me, especially on this Mother’s Day.

What I see is from the vantage point of a rocking chair on a porch.  I am aware of sitting outside a place I call home, although we are abroad. The shade from the wooden-beamed awning is cool and of course there is a gentle breeze.  I see down the dirt road a cloud of dust moving closer and bigger.  To give me a glimpse of why my heart feels such joy and stillness, the vision freezes for a still shot, capturing the giggling brood the dust holds.  Little faces; blurred, like I had forgotten to put on my 80 proof glasses; all different ages, all different shapes, all different colors.  A toe-headed one and a brown one lead the pack.  I don’t know how many; there are many.  And I know they are mine.

Recently I realize there is one more presence in this scene, having been there all along.  A woman rocking next to me.  In her own chair, content, and at rest as I am.  Her soul sings to me about womanhood; what hips bring.  And motherhood; joy of life tucked in you and fear of life birthed out of you.  I know two things about her: she is black and she is the mother of these babies too.

Today I celebrate the hereafter moment of sheer contentment, when she and I will rock, side by side, and watch our children run to us, happy from their play.  We are rocking, mothering hearts intertwined; knowing but unconcerned, in this heaven, who is hers and who is mine. 

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