On going back to the Old Church on Mother’s Day

How many times were we nourished here,

form this altar, with this church family,

abundant mothers, fathers, sisters, brothers,

shoulder to shoulder around the communion rail in this place? 

With my babies in arms or underfoot,
or with my teenagers looming over me, 

showing up hungry, being fed,
sent away with blessings, 

because that's what Mothers do 

I’m not the only one embracing my kids these days.

Was I ever really?

Even on the hospital day of their birth, other arms received them, too
Is this just how it goes?
Will our families just keep expanding and expanding?

With my grown children I realize

this has become a shared-custody situation

Mother Church has a bigger reach than I do--praise God--

She has better gifts, too.

I hope they received a foretaste at our table, 

and I hope they keep showing up at Hers

hungry and receptive

long after mine is out of operation.

-----

Good Shepherd, feed your sheep, tend your lambs

 When they were little I got to curate experiences of controlled risk, to gently nudge their growth, and to put them down for naps when it all became too much.

The world is not so kind as me, I think.

It doesn’t care so much about their limits.

It doesn’t care that one of them will forget to eat;

that one will have floods of deep cynicism that will blow over like a raincloud if you just wait a little;

that another simply can’t be asked to concentrate when there’s a mysterious ticking sound coming from a distant room.

It doesn’t care how desperately each one wants their dreams to come true.

The world is not afraid of breaking their hearts.

Was I hard enough on them, in my gentleness?

Was I gentle enough, when life was hard?

Today, if they need it, will someone else give them a snack or a nap?

-----

Jesus.. follow them out there, in the wild where I cannot go.

Know them better than this mama heart,

and love them better too,

and tend to them.