For the next generation to thrive and to bloom is not only the heart’s cry of those with once occupied wombs To nurture, to comfort, to build up, and grow is too the longing of this woman’s heart, though childbirth she may never know First steps, infantile maturing, anxious protectiveness, nesting and worry a Body changing, sacrificing, morphing, expanding the call too of a woman’s life who enters into Kingdom mothering Healing wounds of old while guarding against future therapist bills Not a matter of biological can But a call of spiritual will Which comes first? To know physically or metaphorically? Even if the latter is only to ever see reality is the love lesser known? Felt? Received? Experienced? Or is the knowing of a mother’s love defined by more than bodily determinants? Identified beyond genetics, surprise or planned double lines But in the gentle silence of a love that welcomes a vulnerable cry May the lord bless these mothers too whom we forget to celebrate The ones who track our growth not with balloons or number themed cakes But whose souls still bear the scars of a labor, of new life Committed to our maturing, our thriving, our joy supplied in rife We hold hands We lose sleep We patch wounds Give counsel too We are the first in every moment to declare, “I’m just so proud of you.” We are mothers of a family as real as flesh and blood Mothers whose title is earned with every taking of communion On earth as it is in heaven “Whoever does the will of my Father” God bless these, our often forgotten eternal mothers.
A Blessing for Spiritual Mothers
A Blessing for Spiritual Mothers
A Blessing for Spiritual Mothers
For the next generation to thrive and to bloom is not only the heart’s cry of those with once occupied wombs To nurture, to comfort, to build up, and grow is too the longing of this woman’s heart, though childbirth she may never know First steps, infantile maturing, anxious protectiveness, nesting and worry a Body changing, sacrificing, morphing, expanding the call too of a woman’s life who enters into Kingdom mothering Healing wounds of old while guarding against future therapist bills Not a matter of biological can But a call of spiritual will Which comes first? To know physically or metaphorically? Even if the latter is only to ever see reality is the love lesser known? Felt? Received? Experienced? Or is the knowing of a mother’s love defined by more than bodily determinants? Identified beyond genetics, surprise or planned double lines But in the gentle silence of a love that welcomes a vulnerable cry May the lord bless these mothers too whom we forget to celebrate The ones who track our growth not with balloons or number themed cakes But whose souls still bear the scars of a labor, of new life Committed to our maturing, our thriving, our joy supplied in rife We hold hands We lose sleep We patch wounds Give counsel too We are the first in every moment to declare, “I’m just so proud of you.” We are mothers of a family as real as flesh and blood Mothers whose title is earned with every taking of communion On earth as it is in heaven “Whoever does the will of my Father” God bless these, our often forgotten eternal mothers.