motherhood as peacemaking
This week, I share with you
a brief essay on motherhood
and the kind of mother I desire to be.
x
Jessie
Earlier this year, I went on a personal retreat to simply have rest, a break, and space to reflect. It had been a while and was also following a very full year. I absolutely loved personal retreats in my past years because they afforded me a way of deeply communing with the One who loves and knows and beckons me to become morethrough being less. And who truly knows me better than all the rest.
In my rest, I asked and prayed the question: what kind of mother do I want to be? A few weeks prior, I had stumbled upon a blog post where a mother of four was trying to keep perspective and so she asked (more or less), the same question—and came up with an answer: she wanted to accomplish certain things with her children, go to certain places, and instill in them certain skills before they all fled the house at 18 years of age. It seemed like a great bucket list of wishes and hopes and a wise way of tailoring each day and moment toward the goals of her list. Be more creative? Do art classes. Have family fun? Plan epic vacations. The answers seemed to behold adventure, memories, and aspirations of togetherness. After reading her post, I naturally reflected upon what kind of mother I wanted to be. What were the ways I wanted to be with my son over the years and what did I want to look back on and say we did, experienced, or learned? In a way, I’ve already reflected upon the kind of mother I hope to be, and this has factored me into staying at home. (And I’m grateful I can.) But this process lit up something different for and in me—and as I was on my retreat I found myself praying over the question and inviting the Spirit into that process: what kind of mother did I want to be?
As I sat in my little room, with my little light on, in a little remote village, on a little island off of Vancouver, I was in the stillness and in the silences that I only hope my heart can reflect during my day-to-day. As I sought Wisdom, I heard an answer: be a Peacemaker.
I’ll admit, I didn't like it—where was the adventure, the memories, the bucket list? And what on earth was the path to peace when I already felt at peace in relationships?
But deeper down, I knew as I’ve known for the last several (as in 14 or so) years that our past haunts us more deeply than we’ll ever know—it is in our skin, our cells, our eyes, our heart. (And so I am grateful to also really live from a real belief that my reality and story do not end there—the story is in the remaking of my heart, my eyes, my cells, and my skin to then create, too. I need to be remade in order to actually breath—and have life—the kind of life that never actually dies but keeps begetting life because that’s what life and creation do.) I knew that THIS posture was and is the starting place for making peace with myself, or then, with another—or even with the shadowy parts of humanity.
Be a peacemaker. This was the kind of mother I was to be.
While this was all happening, I also felt lead to start learning about Mary—the virgin mother of Christ. As I was reading, I was struck by the subtle and quiet reality that she actually bore Peace. Yes, his name was Jesus—but he was Peace in bodily form that had breath and life. He did what Peace does—birth forth life—the kind that never dies even if our bodies temporarily do. I was also struck that she was a co-creator of her son—and in that, God so deeply affirmed womanhood and motherhood through being embedded in--implanted into the very form and fabric and tapestry of human life from one woman who loved God with all her heart, her body, her womb. Her womb helped to garden her only begotten son from the seed of life. Her blood coursed through his, her way of life helped to shape his. Mary seemed quite soft and compassionate, I wonder if that’s why Jesus was, in part. I realize he also had a Father and he took on his Father's Spirit.
But she bore—she helped to create—Peace. And that Peace created a different reality than previously existed in the patterns of human relating. She laboured and delivered Peace.
And what’s bizarre and beautiful is that when I live from this Peace—I bear Peace in my words, tone, motivations—and I even bore my own son. When I live from this place day-to-day, I might simply be doing the dishes with him down at my ankles or sitting behind his rocker in the corner of his room handing him stickers. But the life infused from my heart to his extends through my hand to his skin, cells, and whole being. And it's done with the ingredient of time, space, and grace.
The beautiful, amazing gift is that life unfurls forth very differently as I continue to shape my son outside of the womb—as I continue to grow and garden him in his own life where he breathes his own oxygen yet the spirit is in the bond. What a beautiful trinitarian relationship between him (1) and me (2)—with that bond of spirit between us (3).
He all of a sudden births forth and grows into a life every day that my normal way never knew and could prohibit in him. When Mary expressed consent she was surrendering into this other reality that she didn't know but certainly trusted in. Let it be, she said. And this act of trust and love would unknowingly reveal that the seed of trusting God truly bears life—and fruit of it was and is Peace in embodied form: a child for all to see.
Motherhood is such a rich and beautiful context to live from when I live from my healing. And yet to anyone who may confuse healing with perfection—it's certainly not that. Healing is a beautiful fruit from courageous honesty, true humility, and unabashed willingness to let it be and to continually reflect on one’s actions with the Spirit to seek forgiveness.
Though I may still desire to do certain things and impart certain skills with my son during our days, my hope is that my motherhood journey is about peacemaking—about living from a different reality because I’m connected to a Different Reality other than my own view of reality. Peace is created from living out of that healed and healing place where freedom and gentleness are oxygen to the soul, and where sight is given to the blind: to me and to anyone else who actually wants wants to see. Not everyone wants to see. A heart that is willing, open, and transparent in seeing herself will undoubtedly become more human—and healthy and whole—no matter how long it may take. Because this journey isn’t about perfection—it’s about courage: seeing ourselves as part of a Divine Love Project—where becoming human is a life-long process. I can’t help but see motherhood as a perfect model—and embodiment of being human—living from a nascent place of trust that illumines the soul and births peace because her spirit says let it be.
How does Peace reside in me? How do I become through Peace? First and foremost, do I see this as a posture of heart? That it matters? Do I believe that Love actually has a name and has flesh and blood—and can be seen in human relating (and was a human)? In my actions towards myself and with others do I subtly manipulate, control, deny, or deceive to get what I want?