This do... in remembrance of Me...

Sitting on the front porch of this sweet place we have called “home” ---- we talked.

Talked of the years.

Talked of the real pain of stepping away.

Talked of the need to be honest with ourselves and each other.

Talked of the value in acknowledging loss but focusing on what can be received into hands that have been emptied.

He has been tooooo silent for too long.

He holds his angst like a horseman holds reins. Not letting go, not looking to another. Just holding on and riding, hoping the horse has strength to carry on.

This oldest son of ours is a man full now --- he knows what wounds from the world feel like. But much more important, he knows his Father, his Savior, he knows whose he is.

I see his broad shoulders and scruffy beard. I know he has his father's strength in his man sized arms --- but I remember when...

… chubby, sticky hands refused to hold mine crossing the street.

… small, dirty hands held flowers up to me, smiling with pink cheeks.

… growing hands held handle bars, basketballs, shoestrings, birthday gifts.

… steady hands held steering wheels, girlfriends hands, shaving cream.

… muscled hands learned to swing axes at logs and stacked firewood on this same porch.

Steady.

I will not impose his childhood days on this man breathing beside me. He is no longer a child. I will not insult his years of growing or grieve my empty womb --- there is no “good fruit that will last” in that sort of living.

Instead, I will choose to see the one beside me who now walks with God much more often than he ever walked with me. And I will embrace gratitude to Abba --- who will walk with this dear one who came from inside, beside my heart. Abba will walk with him all the days of his life and beyond.

We mothers are there when they “begin”. The Father will be present at the beginning and the end. Alpha and Omega for us all.

This dark haired, warrior poet will never walk apart from the One who chose to place him in my arms ----- oh what a joy, the day he was laid in my empty arms. My cup overflows.

She stares at herself in the triple mirror. Raised platform under her dainty wedding shoes, she gleams of goodness and purity and joy and Light. I hope she sees it too ---- she is surely most pleasing in the eyes of the One she does love most. She has never been a mirror monger, what she looked like mattered little compared to what she carried inside. But oh she is a beauty. 

Her beauty reflects the realness of Your touch, Your gentleness in her heart --- perhaps that is why she has always shined more brightly than the painted maidens. During her pony-tail-tom-boy days another mother expressed concerns to me, saying “she doesn't seem to try and 'look pretty', i'm worried she doesn't think she's beautiful...”? I prayed, and asked God – “am I called to teach her to focus on the outside first and the inside second”? His soul-whisper came through intense... “you teach My girl to focus on the beauty of ME within her, help her to grow in My ways, with My eyes. Help her see the world around her and love others... then, her beauty will be a product of Me overflowing... do not listen to the empty words of another.”

You've done it Lord. Just look at her now. She radiates You as she stands before me in her chosen wedding dress. She is a bride to be --- adorned in white --- preparing to love in Your ways. Thank you for allowing me to witness this lovely one transform from girl to woman --- wearing white. She chose to step away from the ways of this world. She sat with YOU for an entire year, reading Your Word. She wanted more of You than anything else she saw or heard or felt or held. 

And during that year you brought to her ---- the one you chose to care for her. Thank you for this. I feel your smile in the marrow of my bones.

These bones that ache a bit --- wishing for one more day of little chubby hands delivering wildflowers picked for “momma”. Those same wildflowers still grow just there – by the road in front of our age-old cedar tree.

These bones that can hardly imagine they will be able to hold themselves together when the moment comes to step away.

But they will...

My bones will release her into the Hands that made her and have a most lovely path ahead of her --- the mirror before me reflects your joy, her joy --- you are with her --- always.

He sits perfectly still, he must.

The Words he has chosen to rest on his shoulders for the rest of his days, he wants them to be right, straight, clear. So he must … hold.

As the man behind him works steadily, permanently writing Your Word on his broad shoulders, I look at this one who has grown tallest of all in our home.

He sits, arms crossed, head down, breathing slow and deep, only one foot moves – releasing the flow of pain he feels as the needle places color. This mother's heart knows, some will judge him for inking his skin, others will applaud him. But I, I adore him --- You do too. And Father, the words that he will now bear on his shoulders will be the last thing others see when he walks away from them. --- TRUTH will follow behind him. 

Weeks ago...

Sitting at our table, leaning over Your Word, he pointed, and what he said went deeper than he realized, “Hey mom, I know what I want my next tattoo to be.” “What's that son?” “It's right here, right here in Matthew, it says, 'I am with you always, even to the end of the age...' What do you think about that?” “Oh son, are you sure you want another tattoo, they hurt, it'll be there always, are you sure, some people won't like it son, are you sure...?”

He smiled --- that kind smile he has that many don't so easily hand to their “moms”.

“Mom, it hurts for a little while, and then it's gone ---- but what i'll carry with me, that will matter forever, wherever I am.”

Oh my weeping soul.

Those words. They minister to me, his mom, even now --- weeks later. As i sit and watch those Holy Words etched into his broad shoulders. The muscles of his shoulders will forever be able to bear more upon them ---- if he will always remember --- You are with him, even to the end of the age...

Father – God, when I step away from this great gentle giant in my home, when the air I breathe is far from the air he is breathing, when his smile won't be before me every morning, when his tall-self won't walk into my kitchen looking to fill up again --- roll his words through my soul again please Lord --- “it hurts for a while, and then it's gone ... but what i'll carry with me, that will matter forever, wherever I am.”

I'll carry You with me Lord --- and the remembrance of his tiny newborn warmth lying in my arms --- because You, in your goodness, chose to share him with me. Thank you for being such a good, good God.

Yesterday, tears gushed again.

I try and be strong, I try and be the picture of confidence and courage. I'd rather they see me as eager to obey You... not weak.

But may they see obedience laced with great love ---- and be inspired to love greatly in their own obedience to You.

After more tears early this morning --- I sat with You and held Your Word --- and reading through Zechariah --- you handed me this...

“I am their very own God, I'll do what needs to be done for them.

...their lives brimming with joy.

Their children will get in on it, too ---

oh, let them feel blessed by God!

I'll whistle and they'll all come running.

I've set them free ---

oh, how they'll flourish!

Even though I scattered them to the far corners of the earth,

they'll remember me in the faraway places.

They'll keep the story alive in their children,

and they will come back...”

Zechariah 10: portions from 6-12 (The Message)

Oh my soul ---- what a beautiful Father You are.

I trust YOU.

I choose YOU.

Thank you for sharing them with me.

Thank you for the promise that “You will be with them (and me) --- even to the end of the age”.

I'm reminded every time I look at his shoulders.

You are with me...

... and you are beautiful Abba.


©2014 Donna Taylor/Reaching for the Robe