as it turns out, ode to my beautiful mom

we spend lifetimes finding ourselves- only to lose ourselves and begin again.
a beautiful sunday.  being in church always resets me- refocuses me- enables me to let go of the week just finished and start again.  it makes me feel small, but loved; forgiven yet worthy; helplessly empowered and full of dependent promise.  i can sing and feel the music and pray and feel my heart- and be reminded of the simplicity of it- let go of complication.

last sunday we were in north carolina, snowed in at the mountain house.  after the kids had gone to bed- we had an evening prayer service led by mikes dad- who is a retired philosophy professor and now ordained in the anglican church of uganda.  after the readings and liturgy and prayers, my sister suggested that since the family was all together - they should pray over mike and me- and our preparation and mission to uganda.  immediately i got a lump in my throat.  i knew this is exactly what we needed. this was a moment so special and so rare. two families together- his and mine- united by a faith in God that ran through generations and has landed us together, as who we are separately, about to uproot and embark.  and so it began, and i wept through the whole prayer.

it began with my mom- a voice i've listened to for 40 years- a voice who has called out to God on my behalf so many times- more times than i'm sure i even know.  a voice of steady conviction- a voice whose faith is deeply planted and does not  waiver- does not question- is not afraid or insecure. it is the voice that raised me.  the voice who spoke the first words my earthly ears ever heard, " Jesus loves you, even more than i do!' they spoke on that cold night in cambridge massachusetts 40 years and two weeks ago. her voice brings to me instant comfort- and i knew as the tears poured down my cheeks that it's that voice that i will miss so much when i live across the world from it. it's that voice that i worried would leave me mommy-less when i was 10 and she had breast cancer. that voice that warned me of life's temptations and spoke of its joys and of my purpose and plan in the universe.  it's the voice that led me to seek God despite the crap life throws you, to find meaning in the suffering, to not be short sighted, to give and give and give again- because we are replenished. it's the voice that my children hear at least weekly now.  the voice that shapes them as it shaped me.  a voice that i will be eternally thankful for and will hear in the deep parts of my heart always. even on the other side of the world.

and the prayer continued with my father. then my brother, then mikes mom, my sister, my brother in law, and mikes dad.  and i could and i should write a paragraph about each of them- their unique part in our lives- in my life- in my formation and process.

and we were sitting on the floor of the living room- surrounded by love and people who share in the even deeper love of God.  people who trust in that love enough to freely let us go- to send us even, because they gave up control when we were little babes.  so i cried and cried some more.  my heart moved and loved, and saddened and impassioned and inspired and rejoicing at the blessing of our family.  and the knowing that while far apart- we remain connected.
and that really, it is just the blink of an eye.