session six: letter to my mother
by Elizabeth DeBarros
Geraldine Mary Robertsky Clarke
May 28, 1935 — September 4, 2012
__________________
Who are you? Who are you apart from me? For so many years, I thought we were one and the same. Unfortunately, we made that mistake. But God, He changed all that — by fulfilling His purpose of setting us both free. How do I know? In my hands I hold the mirror you gave me and I see a perfect reflection of myself.
Thank you.
Mater. Madre. Mère. Mum. Mom. Mommy. Mama. Ma. Mother.
Greater than an ordinary sailing vessel, larger than a merchant ship — Mother — she’s made to exist for others. Her hull is commissioned with strength to brave the high seas of life, to carry goods from afar. She maintains the spirit of the ages, takes her cues from above, has eyes in the back of her head, can tell a storm is coming by the way the wind is blowing. Her arms are of borgana softness, providing for the heads of all her children. She remembers everything, keeping all her yesterdays for memento and posterity. Patina is her middle name and by which time itself is framed. Not only does she know best, but better. She perceives beauty in blackness and light in darkness. And her kitchen is never closed even if tomorrow is another day.
But what about all those storms?
Oh, those…they were just stepping-stones to all the mountains I had to climb and the Rock I learned to cling to.
Love endures all things.
You taught me this, too.
On my right hand I now wear your wedding ring.
Thank you.
♦ ♦ ♦
In Letter to My Mother, Barbara Kingsolver delicately scans every stage of her developmental life, recounting how it was, who she was, and what she saw — from her earliest memory at 3 to gawky adolescence and those fierce, independent college years to the time when she herself became a wife and mother — where egotism’s bloom finally fell off and her arms opened wide at the realization that giving supersedes taking and love truly is possible. She’s amazed at love, really. Amazed at how her firstborn daughter’s “tiny hand is making a delicate circle, index finger to thumb, pinkie extended…” just like hers did at eight weeks of age. Amazed at how loving and being loved by a man is not horrible and how willing she is to bear the cross that is motherhood. She celebrates the event known as coming full circle and when Mother receives her reward. Sort of. Let’s face it, the need for Mother doesn’t ever really go away. And mothers and daughters don’t ever actually retire from the mother-daughter relationship, as Kingsolver admits:
“A week past my due date you are calling every day. Steven answers the phone, holds it up, and mouths, “Your mother again.” He thinks you may be bugging me. You aren’t. I am a woman lost in the weary sea of waiting, and you are the only one who really knows where I am. Your voice is keeping me afloat. I grab the phone.”
♦ ♦ ♦
We cut our teeth on the figurehead of Mother — a developmental task that extends far beyond toddlerhood. Emotional growth is painful — like cutting teeth. But it’s teeth we need and a good mother knows that. She offers her edge and bears the pain along with us. She cries for us, too. Then she cheers us on. Through a million and one little things, she shows her love, mirrors for us who we are. How else can we know ourselves but through the eyes of another? Children need a face to look into to know they’re loved. And they need eyes that speak back to them, eyes that say, “Yes, you are loved.” Sure, it is God who has made both man and beast, but only through our most significant relationships do we become that person of certain expression, disposition, demeanor, stature, spirit. He’s ordained it so.
Mothers are God-given.
But I am only too aware that not everyone is fortunate enough to have been fed from the spoon of a mother’s love. Sin, brokenness, sickness, absence, narcissism, selfishness — how often the effects of the fall play their role, rob us of the good things. Inasmuch as we want her to be, expect her to be, demand her to be, Mother is not perfect. But love is. And why there is forgiveness. If we are looking to Christ, He redeems the faults. Heals the wounds. Fills the gaps. Works wonders.
Kingsolver does a masterful job in this essay at capturing and conveying vivid moments of her life and the genuine love from and for her mother. She writes with depth and candor, both which I can relate to on so many levels, except for maybe the phone call her mother made tracking her down at a remote café in Beaurieux, France. Amazing how mothers have a way of knowing. They just know.
And why a letter to my mother would not suffice when only poetry will do.
A BIBLICAL LENS:
If there’s a single trait that binds mothers together the world over, it is the sacrifice of self.
I think of Eve, mother of all the living, and how she models for us the quintessential role — the woman of firsts: She was first to be second. First to be deceived, to feel guilt, shame, and fear for her sin. After Satan, she was first to stand before God in judgment to receive her sentence. First to receive a promise, to find mercy, to submit to her husband’s authority, to suffer pain in childbirth, to bear children, to lose a son. What did God require of her? Body, soul, and spirit, the sacrifice of self.
And what of the other mothers who beckon to us?
Sarah was called to sacrifice many years while waiting for the fulfillment of God’s promise of a son. Hannah sacrificed on her knees in prayer, asking God for a son, only to give him back to the Lord. Rachel travailed and died in childbirth. Upon the angel’s announcement, Mary said, “May it be to me as you have said.”
These mothers have not flatlined somewhere in the annals of history. By faith, we can receive from them still today, be fed from their spoon, receive instruction, emulate. Mother love is synonymous with sacrifice.
Our spiritual DNA is secure.
___________________________
Next Thursday: Household Words by Diana Lovegrove
My dear E,
I read this essay last night and kept thinking of you and your recent loss. I prayed for you. Your words today are beautiful and true. Thank you.
I also looked at one of my daughters, a young woman now; how do we really teach a girl to become a woman? We train them in the way of the Lord, we pray for them, we feed them with the Word of God day and night, we hold their hands and kiss their tears, but really… the process of becoming a woman is something that only *one* can experience. My daughters will become women living Coram Deo. Their own clock ticking, their own experiences, their own fights, their own prayers, and their own personal times with a naked soul before God… all those are the things that have made me the woman I am now.
And as for my sons, I pray I will be wise to listen and listen and listen. That my words will always remain few and my prayers long.
Love you, my friend.
Thank you, Becky. Thank you for your prayers and for reading. You describe so well the influence we as mothers can have on our children–and the wisdom required to know where we begin and end and where our children must pick up.
So true what you said: “My daughters will become women living Coram Deo. Their own clock ticking, their own experiences, their own fights, their own prayers, and their own personal times with a naked soul before God…”
Love,
-L
Oh my friend….this post has soared to such great heights I don’t want to bring it down by any words of my own. All I want to say is…this is so beautiful. Exquisitely beautiful. A fitting tribute to your dear mother. God bless you.
Thank you, Diana, for all your loving support throughout. You have been a true ear to my heart, and I so appreciate you.
-L
Echoing Diana, E. This was beautiful. I have to admit, I didn’t read the essay yet. Sorrow still too fresh. I’m amazed at the grace the Lord gave you to read and respond so beautifully.
Melissa,
Thanks for reading. I do hope you get some time to read the essay. It’s perhaps one of the more refreshing ones in the book, describing the mother-daughter relationship. It is evocative and has a bit of everything — humor, drama, sorrow, joy — she describes her life with just the right amount of grit and poignancy.
The decision to cover this particular essay was made before my mother died, but after she passed away, I realized the decision was providential. The topic and writing of this post has been tremendously helpful in the grief process.
Trust me, I didn’t just arrive at this nice and tidy place of repose in regards to my mom’s passing all at once. The ability to articulate my heart has been long in the making. God is so good. He knows us, and knows what we need.
-E
Elizabeth, Though I haven’t participated in this reading venture, this post is stunning and moved me deeply. The pain of your loss is still so fresh at just one month. Mine is a year and a half now. I’ve discovered the passing of time has begun to sweeten the sorrow.
Thank you, Diane. I’m blessed the post touched you. The loss of a mother is huge, I am finding that out. But I’m also seeing how God enlarges us, fills us with Himself, and gives us the capacity to bear sorrow by reminding us of their joy in wholeness. My mom is now present with the Lord – I have no greater joy.
Love,
-E
Elizabeth,
Thank you so much for inviting me to read your blog. I wish I had the Kingsolver essay in front of me, because I haven’t read it! Though your post stands alone as a lovely and tender exploration of the meaning of Mother, as it applies to both the archetype and the imperfect women who are called to this holy work. It makes me think of the heritage of my own mother, who is Jewish.
“Ye’simech Elohim ke-Sarah, Rivka, Rachel ve-Leah.”
On the Jewish Sabbath, the sons and daughters are called to the head of the household, who lays hands on each of their heads and gives a blessing. The sons are told, “May God make you like Ephraim and Manassah,” Joseph’s sons, the first brothers of the Old Testament who didn’t fight.
The daughters receive this blessing, “May God make you like Sarah, Rebecca, Rachel, and Leah,” the matriarchs of the Jewish people. They weren’t perfect, but they endured hardships of all kinds for the sake of their children, and their commitment to God and family founded a nation. They were human mothers, as prone as we are to mistakes and sin; they, like us, were called to a work that required perfection, and naturally they fell short, just as we do every day. But as you say, they sacrificed themselves: they endured childbirth, sacrificed comfort and sleep, fed and clothed their children, and ensured the survival of the next generation. If, because of their own brokenness, they sometimes couldn’t meet the physical or emotional needs of their children, God was and is sufficient: Psalm 27:10, “When my father and my mother forsake me, then the Lord will take me up.” The heart of Jesus yearns over all of us as a mother hen over her chicks.
Though we cannot approach the perfection of His maternal love and sacrifice, we become more like our Savior just by laboring, enduring and trying, and choosing not to measure our mothers or ourselves by success or failure but by the honor due the calling, and ultimately, by our forgiveness of all mothers, ourselves included, for not (yet) being perfect.
<3
Tamara,
Thank you so much for sharing what God has so generously poured out to you in understanding the meaning of Mother. Ever since I came to faith, I’ve looked to the matriarchs as my examples to one degree or another, but the Jewish blessing you shared here brings it home that much closer.
And your gracious words here:
“Though we cannot approach the perfection of His maternal love and sacrifice, we become more like our Savior just by laboring, enduring and trying, and choosing not to measure our mothers or ourselves by success or failure but by the honor due the calling, and ultimately, by our forgiveness of all mothers, ourselves included, for not (yet) being perfect.”
…just about says it all.
Shalom,
-E
Wonderful, Tammy, thank you so much for sharing that! Such richness in the Jewish blessing. And I love what you said here:
“If, because of their own brokenness, they sometimes couldn’t meet the physical or emotional needs of their children, God was and is sufficient: Psalm 27:10, “When my father and my mother forsake me, then the Lord will take me up.””
He is such a gracious God to us, and I witness this in the lives of my friends as well as my own. Thank you.