Thursday, May 10, 2012

Gratitude Isn't Always Pretty

Mothers Day.  It's one of those days.  A day all polished up to gleam in the sunshine.  But what if your mother isn't polished?  What if she is full of grime? What if thinking of her brings pain and heaviness instead of thankful polished words fit for the prettiness of the day?

It hurts.  It hurts having a mother who is broken and dirty.  It hurts having a mother who hurts.

I have walked down dark roads.  Dark roads that she led me to.  Dark roads someone led her to.  Dark roads that showed me her pain. By God's grace alone, today I do not walk those same roads.  Yet still, my mother does.

Luke 4 

17 And the scroll of the prophet Isaiah was given to him (Jesus). 
He unrolled the scroll and found the place where it was written,
18  “The Spirit of the Lord is upon me,
    because he has anointed me
    to proclaim good news to the poor.
He has sent me to proclaim liberty to the captives
    and recovering of sight to the blind,
     to set at liberty those who are oppressed

Deep in my heart I have a little bag.  It holds a handful of small gems.  Moments that I hold close.  They shine pretty in the sunlight.  A mother who turns music loud and we dance.  A mother who buys a new dress and we eat prawns on the water and she celebrates me, another year older.  A mother who cooks good food and teaches us to eat well.  A mother who can be so silly and fun and laughsThese are my treasures. 

Yet so often, that laughter turned, turned right round into sharp arrows that pierce a soul.  Wounds causing wounds.  How much did it hurt her to raise me?  How many scabs were ripped clean off, pain oozing from the deep as she labored over me.

She does not laugh now.  She sits, deep in pain, far away, alone.  She lashes out at anyone who comes near.  She curls around her pain.  It holds her captive.

I pray.  I pray God's good grace will reach her.  I pray God's good grace will set her free from her prison of pain.  I pray that she will laugh and dance again.  I know God's healing balm of grace.  I pray that she will know it too...

Ephesians 3

14 For this reason I kneel before the Father, 15 from whom his whole family in heaven and on earth derives its name. 1I pray that out of his glorious riches he may strengthen you with power through his Spirit in your inner being, 17 so that Christ may dwell in your hearts through faith. And I pray that you, being rooted and established in love, 18 may have power, together with all the saints, to grasp how wide and long and high and deep is the love of Christ, 19 and to know this love that surpasses knowledge —that you may be filled to the measure of all the fullness of God.
20 Now to him who is able to do immeasurably more than all we ask or imagine, according to his power that is at work within us, 21 to him be glory in the church and in Christ Jesus throughout all generations, for ever and ever!    


This post is part of...

1000 Moms Project


  1. Dear Jess,
    With tears streaming down my face, I pray for your mother also. God is good...suffering drives us to him...but oh the pain your have been through...and yet you remember the good...isn't God good to help us do that. And then He goes with us through the pain as we trust Him.
    Thank you for sharing. Your story is reality...where many live...God bless you lots and lots today.
    Thank you.

  2. I sit here and I soak this in. My heart has a burning ache as I read your words over and over. This is truth to its deepest form, you have unpeeled another layer of who you are and I am proud of you, because I am sure it was a hard one to write. How many more gems are you giving your daughters? It is so important to fill their little hands so full of these gems you write of, so full that they cannot possibly hold all of them at once. What a joy it will be in their lives as they catch glimpses those (gems) memories along their path, collecting them again every day, remembering how great and how Godly their own mother is.
    Im sorry your heart hurts, but I love your transparency and the grace you desire for your mom.

    1. You make me cry friend. Yes, you know my heart for my girls.