Happy Mother’s Day, to us…

by Katie Brabson

This post for the blog has been on my mind all week and each night I have told myself I would set aside time to do it the next day. We know it is not really a post. It is a letter. From me, to you. I write one every year and probably it does not change much from year to year.  Just like any good tradition though, maybe there is something grounding found in the fact that it remains the same. If every single year we had to reinvent our traditions then they would lose something and would no longer fill our hearts with comfort and the anticipation of what we know is to come. And, so My Friends, this letter to you will be much like the past ones. These things remains the same: The children that you birthed are still loved beyond measure and they have grown leaps and bounds as young ones do.

The reason it has taken me all week to finally pen these words to you is because of the way life is whirling around us in beautiful chaos. The kids are making messes and their art work is taped across the walls of the house. They wake in the morning ready to play and as the sun rises the noise level does too. They are happy noises, safe noises, laughter and goofiness and play. The kind of noises that I believe you would hope to hear from them.  The kind of noises safe children make all across the globe regardless of language.  If you come across children and they are happy, vibrant, and wildly playing, please dear Friend, have peace down deep into your bones knowing the children that you birthed are doing this too.

A few times this past year I have stood back and watched him take care of his baby brother. Can you believe he is ten now?  There are moments when his back is turned and I take pause, struck at the broadness of his shoulders these days.  His neck is thick and his back is strong and he is slowly becoming a man before my eyes. I know that you do not get to see this and my heart hurts in places I didn’t know existed.  Let me be your eyes for a moment and tell you that he is such a handsome boy. He laughs at me when I tell him to freeze, and I run to the house for my camera. There is this time in the evening when the sun is setting in brilliant orange that it hits his skin just right and he seems to radiate warmth. I can’t help myself from running for the camera. He is beauty, standing there with brown skin aglow and that grin that melts me. Wouldn’t you know that a girl tried to kiss him this year!?  I told him he could have a crush on any girl that he wanted (because we can’t help that much can we?), but until he was older it was you and I that held his heart. He liked that. He is bigger than me now yet he still snuggles close. His feet are larger than mine, yet he walks gentle.  You grew a wise and witty soul in that womb of yours my Friend.

Then there is the little girl. Oh, she is brilliant and vibrant and a whirlwind of fresh air.  My favorite thing do to is stand back and listen to that laugh of hers. I know you can not hear it today, and my heart hurts for that. Let me be your ears. Something will make her laugh and she starts out with this giggle that turns heads, it grows louder until the giggle stops and ends with a squeak. Giggle, squeak. Giggle, squeak. Her happiness and her joy is so contagious that all around her have to join in.   She is smart and kind and she gets irritated when she can’t climb as high as the boys. Her spirit is adventurous, yet in a crowd she huddles close and clings. I know she fears getting lost and, Dear Friend, I pull her to me and I tell her that I will always hold her tight.  Her body relaxes under that care and her bravery returns. The other night she laid in bed with the baby and she rubbed his back and sang a song that she made up about love. He fell asleep under her tending and she came running out to us with pride beaming on her face. You grew such a force of sweet love in that womb of yours my Friend.

Dear Friends, those babes that you grew and delivered and parted from are still safe. They are still profoundly loved.  They are still growing strong in heart, body, mind, and spirit.  They are still being raised as best we can to walk humbly, show mercy, and seek justice for others.  This year, as every year, I want you to know too that they love you. We love you.

You are spoken of. You are thought of.  You are seen. You are seen in them and in all the things you gave to them from the way their toes are shaped to the things deeper in their soul you passed onto them as they were formed within you. Seeing you does not shake me, no, no.  It connects me to you, to all that I know and don’t know.  I am so grateful for that connection.

We light the candle for you today, Dear Friends….the women who carried and grew and Mothers Day smalldelivered these children that are ours. Yours and mine.  May it shine in our home today as evidence of the way in which we hope for you, pray for you, and honor you in our lives.

Happy Mother’s Day, to us.