Every Mother’s Day the boys fill in a few pages of a journal that is set aside for just this purpose. In place of cards or some other item that may be thrown out, their messages are kept in one place that can be perused and reminisced over each year. This year as I read their messages I realized something I had not thought about before.
I read their poems and confessions and marveled at their growth. Of course I love hearing their devotion toward me, and I see how much they love me in their words, but their messages tell me something even more powerful. I see what they are becoming. They are maturing into the young men I had hoped they would be. I see them growing in understanding. I see development of character and it’s somehow much more gratifying than their offerings. I realized I am more deeply touched that my boys have the capacity to know and convey love, than I am touched by the love itself.
It made me question immediately. “God, is that how you feel?”
“Are you more impressed with our understanding, than You are with our expression? Do you find more pleasure in the fact that we know who You are, than that we say it? I think You must be.”
Of course, for us, it’s in the expressing that we can identify the understanding, but for Him it’s different. God sees the heart.
God knows the wisdom in the soul that finds words difficult.
God hears the understanding in the song of the one who sings off key, and quite honestly can’t remember all the words correctly.
God believes and relishes the joyful tears that stream down the cheeks of the one who recognizes that only God could have made the beautiful creation around her.
As a mom, I love their hugs, but I love even more their words of understanding about how blessed they are, how they recognize what they have but don’t deserve. The breaking down of their self centered outlook makes a filtered flesh that allows me to see the light of Christ in them. Their bodies are growing, as their human character deteriorates from the inside, carving out a temple within that has room for the Holy Spirit to breathe.
As a worshiper, I want to raise my hands, attempt to take my position and worship with all I have, but I believe it is less my body’s position of praise that He is moved by, and more my soul’s position of surrender. “I am NOT God,” my mind confesses, “I need YOU,” my heart concedes. My mouth just sings the words on the screen, but my soul is offering the true praise.
I am blessed to be a mom, but more than anything else I’ve ever been, I am blessed to be His.
