I wrote this poem for all the momma bears out there who were brave enough to carry the cross of motherhood. This poem is decicated especially to three women Kimberly Dawn, Betty Yvonne, and LaRaye Ella who, in my own opinion, are faithful witnesses to the stregnth of Christ for the purpose of mothering. To my own Mother, Kimberly, I say thank you for being my wind.
HAPPY MOTHER’S DAY!
–J. PHILIP HARRIS
She once dreamed between the cracks of life where a field of new skies lay. She imagined herself in new exciting places on new exciting adventures. The years roaring with accomplishments that would map her among the greatest minds. Stars would shine upon her with the glow of greatness and all would admire her tenacity….Then I came along.
Moments like me are unpredictable and indefinite. They seem unplanned and ill-timed. I ruined her plans. I extinguished her greatness. She was now obligated and restrained, pushed back to pauper status. However, when her eyes met mine she knew her purpose and as the years grew on she gleamed with satisfaction that I was hers. As a servant is faithfully indebted to their master so my mother never left me. She patiently took care of me, carefully watching my every move and hers as well. She meticulously made sure I was constantly learning all the knowledge she had acquired in her young life. She never seemed to mind all the hardships. Like a mountain planted firmly my mother never seemed to be moved by uncertainty. Her faith was stronger than any I’d ever known. Her wisdom only grew with time.
As I recall our late night conversations among the caterwauling and cacophony of life’s cruelty, I remember her depth of compassion and understanding. As she sat there listening to my life’s problems, of which parents cringe to hear, she patiently and kindly understood while never casting judgment upon me. Maybe she had been there too? Maybe she understood brokenness? Maybe she loved me deeply? My siblings agree we could all sense Christ in her. Although mother wasn’t perfect she was perfectly struggling to be the best mother God wanted her to be.
I’m all grown up now and time has slowly crept in to age the vivacious hero of my youthful past. I’m a parent of my own and I finally understand the reality of it all. My mother was as subtle and strong as the wind. She blew with the change and provided the sweet cooling when life got hot. My mother was the milk that gave me life and the meat that sustained me. My mother was the laughter when she saw sadness creeping in to steal her babies joy. She was the softest hugs that listened to my tears. My mother was strength that stood with her conviction against the tempting of the world. My mother was the dedicated hero that gladly gave up her dreams through the cracks of life so I could one day fulfill mine.