What have I learned about love?
I’ve learned that it stretches you far beyond what you’d ever imagine you could withstand. I’ve learned that for those you love, you must delve deep into your own pain and stories to find healing so that you can grow closer—so your love can widen and deepen. I’ve learned that, though it is often confusing and excruciating, it’s best to let Love carry you into the unknown rather than fighting against the waves of uncertainty. I’ve learned that Love is always finding the light, always seeking to repair, always seeking to care. I’ve learned that the safest place to be is surrendered to the bold and brilliant Love that leads you to find rest.
Nothing has stretched me more than being a mother (save marriage). Growing children in my womb, protected and safe. Then they are suddenly out in the world, exposed to brokenness and beauty. Raising them, holding their hands, keeping them close and teaching them to think wisely and well, to form their own beliefs, to follow through, to become. And then they do, and they release me from their grip, and they move off into the world. And all I can do is trust that they are held, that, though they will face hardship, they will somehow be okay. They will be refined, sharpened, softened. They will pass through unsteady seasons and spaces. And they will be okay.
I’m stretched thin. And when I think I can’t be stretched further, the Lord in His mercy says, “more.” This stretching is a groaning, an aching, a moaning, weeping, clinging, and hoping. Love, always on its way to draw us closer to Christ, is not content to leave us shallow and unchanged. I’m trying to stay soft, malleable, open to possibility. And in this, Love persists. Insists. Love aims to broaden my perspective, invite me into mystery, take me into the unknown, and awaken me. Love is always searching, convicting, repairing, redeeming, restoring. Love is always finding the light, always seeking to help me find the light, embrace the light, stay in the light. Love is lighting the way. Always lighting. Love and light, always.
I don’t know how my children’s stories will unfold, but I know—and have to trust—that Love is lighting their paths.
Last week, my daughter asked me about motherhood—what is it like to be a mother? This entry is what unraveled.
A note on the photo, and if you’re listening, I’ll do my best to describe it.
I had just descended the stairs and turned the corner, only to be interrupted by beauty. The sun was shining its midday light through the window, casting a glow on the wall and the floor, bringing an ethereal dimension to the room. Patterns and shadow and light fell against the wall and the wooden floor. I was undone by the light, so much warm light falling in patterns and glow. I paused to take it in and take a photo, but quickly moved on because an older woman who happened to be steps behind me along the gallery path looked at me with disapproving irritation.
I have thought about this moment off and on for over a year. I’ve thought about my discomfort when I'm met with what I perceive as judgment. I think about how I wished I’d just sat a bit longer and steadied myself here in this moment. I’ve thought a bit about how angry I felt that she seemed annoyed with my seeing beauty in the midst of a place that holds so much of it. I’ve thought about the light, the warm, beautiful light. And what I’ve thought about most is how, when beauty disrupts my agenda, I want to see it, to pay attention, to be astonished, to sit still with it.
This was a lesson, both the encounter with the light and with the woman, and I continue to let it work on me.
