You can cut umbilical cords but you can’t cut heart-strings.
earlier this week i read a post by Ann Voskamp and it struck a cord. . . mother’s day . . . a day in my heart on the emotional roller coaster. but as i read her words, my years of motherhood ran rampantly through my memories. so true, the umbilical cords are cut, but no matter what comes this mother’s heart-strings can never be cut.
Because God needed someone to love the least and the little into real whole people, and He knew that to love is to suffer so God made a mother.
God had said –
I need someone to get up at midnight and scoop the most fragile of humanity close to her warmth and rock though she can hardly stand and nourish though she’s mostly sleep-starved and change the diaper and the sheets and the leaked on, leaked through, and leaked down clothes though she’ll have to change them in the morning and next week and that won’t change for years.
So God made a Mother.
That God had said I need somebody with a strong heart.
Strong enough for toddler tantrums and teenage testing, yet broken enough to fall on her knees and pray, pray, pray.
Somebody who would run for the catch, jump on a trampoline and play one fierce game of soccer and not give a thought to all those labors and her weak pelvic floor. Somebody who’d stay up late with a science project that never ends, who’d get up early for the game in the rain, somebody who’d wave at the door until the tail lights were out of sight and still be smiling brave.
So God made a mother.
It had to be somebody willing to keep loving when it made no sense because that’s what love does.
Somebody willing to feed and lead, lay down her life and pick up her cross, give of her time because they have her heart. Someone who knows that we all blow it — and what matters is what we then do after.
Someone who could humble herself into the tender sorry that covers a multitude of sins.
Someone who would live like a Giving Tree — who would give grace, give life, and give thanks— eucharisteo: the giving thanks for every grace that gives back always joy.
Someone who would stand in the mess and the midst and give thanks anyways — because eucharisteo always, always, precedes the miracle of discovering that the Giver Himself is always, always more than enough.
Someone who would live it a thousand times: Give thanks — and discover that the Giver Himself is the Gift and He alone is always, always enough.
Someone who would pour out and bend down and surrender not only to the physical pain of childbirth but the far deeper, unending heart pain of letting go, letting go, letting go – from the womb, from the arms, from the front door.
Someone who would know that umbilical cords can be cut — but heart-strings never can.
thank you Ann for touching this mother’s heart, bringing a smile amidst the tears. i’m so glad He made me a mother!