“God is always beyond God, the iconoclast par excellence,
who over and over breaks out of the forms and symbols of our making.”
~ Bernard J. Lee, SM
I stand at the sink
scrubbing the shiny steel pan
when my littlest one asks me to read.
I ask for his patience,
one, two, three times, and
so he reads to me,
“Mom is beautiful, her hair,
her face, she is beautiful.
Her heart is love.”
And then I know
the vast and mighty love
that pours itself from the smallest vessels.
When I lift my gaze above the branches, my lungs expand.
Grace comes like that, subtly, like breath,
like the wind,
except for what moves.
Often you say to me, “I can’t believe you’re my mom.”
I choose to take this as a compliment.
Often I say to you, ” Please stop acting like an almost 10-year-old.”
I insist you take this as a compliment.
When I think of life a decade ago,
I wince at all my oozing pridefulness.
When you think of life a decade from now,
I pray you shine at all your humble grace.