I’ve been looking for God again. My sisters keep asking me to pray for them and my mother says the two of us should be praying together, holding hands at night and speaking assuredly to what we know is there; really what she knows is there that I no longer seem to be able to find. When I was a kid I remember the eldest of my sisters believed my prayers always went to the front of the line. Now in the wake of disconnect my other sister is convinced much of our progress is spent on my unbelief. I’m just exploring ways to curl my dreadlocks.
Today is Mother’s Day and for most of my adult life I have resolved that I am merely living off the words my mother speaks to God, a principle that has not yet lost credence with me. I often wonder where this view comes from. Whether I paid myself in wishes to think that the one who has loved me most consistently can somehow save me from this world. That her knowing when I was a child what to feed me so I would grow, where to nurse me so I would heal, what to tell me so I would believe—that all of this made her super, extraordinary, so much bigger than the world she fought to keep at bay. But the sad and slow approach of circumstance and choice exposed her mortality. And so I came to the edge of the earth where my mother is only human. I think this is where it all began, the point at which she was no longer the closest thing Jesus had to an equal. Blood and water flesh and bone fighting her own demons, crying to the tune of lamentation and so unsure of this life, although hopeful it will ultimately be good. So determined to be here when brighter meets the day. It has taken me much of my adult life to accept her humanness, to know that she too cries in her lonely hours. That I have the power to break her spirit and her heart though she has refused the thought that either will ever be reason enough to unlove me. For all the power she surrendered to love so unconditionally those she has sacrificed for, I wonder why she is blind to mounting regret.
For my mother, I wish you the better half of joy and an easier life ahead. I will never be you because we were never meant to be the same people, but I hope what good I am capable of (that I live long enough to realize) you can see yourself in. I also don’t ever want to love like you love because I’m not sure I can endure the heartache of being mistreated as you have been by us all. I hope you keep praying because for now, yours are the only prayers that are said where we dwell.
As for my unbelief. Well.