name it, claim it
Saturday I got to share a bit about my college girls’ study with a group of women at a churchy brunch. When the brunch was over, Mrs. Von, one of our elders’ wives, walked over to me and put one hand on my face and then stroked my hair with the other hand. I looked up to her, and she told me she is proud of me, that she loves me, and that I am precious to her. As if she had spit on her hand and rubbed it in my eyes, scales fell clear from my vision, and I was able to realize, as a grown woman (who lives far from her Mama), what a mother’s affection can do. My shoulders had been stiff and up by my ears, and as she cupped my face in her hand, I unexpectedly rested the weight of my head there, and I believed her.
Sometimes motherhood feels like a drain. What flows out of me sounds like the tub being sucked of its last dirty dredges, and I am guilty of saying and believing that I’m going to run dry.
Give and it will be given to you, a good measure pressed down, shaken together, and running over (Luke 6:38). This is truth, if you’re a mother or not. I want to expect to receive from the Lord. I want to be like Von, pouring out like a river runs from behind my actions, never confessing, “there’s only so much …”