Friday, February 26, 2016

Martha Stuff

It's been almost two years since my mom took wing and flew away from this world. Two years ago today we took her to the doctor who asked if she was in any pain. Her response, "No, I don't have any pain. I don't even know why they've got  me here." Of course, the rattle in her left lung told a slightly different story. The doctor sent her for a chest x-ray and prescribed a round of antibiotics. The next morning she was gone and I found myself thankful for having taken her in while I had the chance.

Sometimes my mom and I were good friends and other times we were painfully disconnected. I desperately wanted to break down the walls that had been erected between us, but if she was aware of the separation, she never let on. Mom taught me that if you ignore the problem or pretend it didn't happen, it will eventually go away. Except that isn't really true and so the chasm between us remained, along with a pain I couldn't reconcile.

On one hand I can be grateful for the aching pain inside because it did open some lines of communication between myself and my own children. Some. But on the other hand I am still learning how to guard my own heart and rebuild the boundaries I previously allowed others to trample. Today I am sad. I'm sad because I miss my mom. I'm sad because we never really bridged the chasm. And I'm sad because sometimes old wounds still weep and bleed. This is life, and this is what makes me the woman I am today. Perhaps without the wounds my old heart would have become hard and calloused. Maybe the pain I feel is a gift from a Father who has woven in enough heartache to keep me tender, but not so much that I am totally broken, even if sometimes I feel like I am. They say God uses cracked pots (or maybe it was crackpots...). Whatever it was they said, I do know "the cracks are how the light gets through..." Here's hoping I don't need any more cracking.

8 comments:

  1. My dear and special friend....you are the most honest woman I know. Your relation with your mom is so very real to many. It may not be a mom, perhaps a daughter, or a brother, even a husband...but you are right, God can only use broken vessels. And he has used you to encourage me. I just finished Pilgrims Progress in the New Modern English....we are all on that very difficult journey called the Christian Life. But we know the end of the story..and it's it's Heaven with all it's glory when we pass through the river. Love you. Hugs!

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    1. I love you too, Wanda. Yes, we know the end of the story, but some chapters in the middle still make me cry.
      I wish you lived next door.
      :0)

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  2. Your mom and mine were cut out the same piece of cloth

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    1. Perhaps it is partly a generational thing. Or maybe your mother was Dutch too...

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  3. I tried to leave a comment on this twice last night, but can't with my tablet for some reason.
    I'm sorry you're wounded, but you're right, God uses cracked pots... or crackpots, lol! All of us are cracked pots, wounded from one thing or another and being worked on and used by God for His purposes. You are beautiful. I love you.

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    1. I love you too, Rachel. Even if you do think I'm a crackpot.
      :0)

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  4. As you know....I'm definitely cracked.

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