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by Jessi Uran | 3-minute read

Editor’s note: Jessi Uran penned this essay on motherhood in 2019. For Mother’s Day 2020, we think it’s worth another look.

 

Abba, Father.

Before the day begins, I wash my image-bearing face. As I press it dry with the towel, the mirror reminds me that there is a side to you I am called to represent — good works you have prepared that are uniquely mine to carry out.

For yes, it is true. You are Father. And yes, it is also true that you are like a Mother. Your living Word reveals this. You are the Rose of Sharon and the protective hen with outstretched wings. You are the woman searching for her lost coin and the one who longed to hold her children to her chest and give them comfort.

I quickly braid my hair and my mind wanders to the thousand things these hands will need to do today for the ones I love: make his coffee, butter her toast. … But you gently steady my thoughts and remind me of this awesome reality — that your hands have been working tirelessly for the ones you love from the beginning of time. You have been the eternal manna maker, drink giver and so much more. You’ve been our great teacher, kind counselor, patient listener, intricate story weaver, world beautifier, gentle comforter …

Knowing these truths about you brings incredible meaning to the once seemingly mundane tasks ahead of me today. For when I bandage a knee, I can know you are in it. When I pack her lunch, I can see you providing. When I read her a story, I can sense your pleasure. In so many ways, you have modeled motherhood for me and shown me that what these hands are called to do … matters.

Breakfast is finished now. I gather coats and bags. Peeking out of her backpack is the well-worn yellow school folder. My heart warms, thinking of her teachers’ welcoming smiles and open arms as they greet my daughter with the same posture as your Son when he called the little children unto himself.

You comfort me with their camaraderie and remind me that the call to motherhood is not merely reserved for the biologically blessed. The invitation to reflect this nurturing nature of yours can also be relational or occupational. Countless others are mothers with me. The aunts, the teachers, the grandmothers, nurses, neighbors, friends. The fact that I do not do this alone is a cherished gift.

I lock the house and we walk to the car. There are days my feet are rushed and hurried, but today your spirit beckons me to breathe, reminding me to keep pace with yours. Because the path I have been called to journey on cannot be done in a sprint and it cannot be done without you.

Oh, how I do not want this to be done without you.

So as I go, As I leave this driveway and the day unfolds, I utter the prayer that I know has fallen off the lips of many mothers before me, one you’re continually teaching this soul to sing:

“Lord, help us. We need you. Be what we cannot be. Do what we cannot do. Take our humble offering and turn it into something worthy of your glory. Let this face, these hands, this heart, these feet, be a living, breathing reminder of your mother-like love for this lost and hurting world.”

 

 

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