“As one whom his mother comforts, so I will comfort you” (Isa. 66:13). “You formed my inward parts; you knitted me together in my mother’s womb” (Ps.139:13).
Dear Jesus, right out of the gate, I praise you for comforting me as only a mom can. And long before I tasted your compassion, and discovered what it means for you to “hold me fast,” you “hand-knit” me in Martha Ward Smith’s womb. You’ve always been present and good, even before I knew you—even during the long stretches I’ve ignored you.
It has been sixty-two years since Mom passed from this life into your presence. I was eleven, she was barely 38. I miss here fiercely, and I so look forward to being with her one Day. The impact of that trauma continues, but so does the journey of my healing. Seven years after her last breath, you gave me my first “new-birth” breath. I came to know your saving grace and loving heart soon after my 18th birthday.
As a young believer, I so wanted to skip over the grieving, “messy-emotions,” broken parts of life. However, your commitment to “work in all things for our good” is a continuing process, not an instant panacea. Pain, loss—even our traumas, aren’t things to “get over,” but to grow through. I wish I’d understood that sooner. Our wounds are to be “stewarded”—not ignored, despised, or used as highly-inflammatory fuel for blaming others.
Jesus, the first time 99.99% of us see you for the first time, we’ll see scars on the hands that have loved us through our moms, and in place of our moms (Luke 24:29-30). We crave that Day. Until then, the wounds we carry can be a portal through which your mercy, grace, and love flow to others. May it increasingly be so, Jesus. So Very Amen.