...the best sorts of Mothering

Like a mother with her children You will comfort us each day,
giving guidance on our journey, as we seek to find our way.
When we walk through fiery trials, You will help us take a stand;
when we pass through troubled waters, You hold out Your tender hand.

—Jann Aldredge-Clanton 

My ideas of good mothering have matured along with me, being shaped by the act of mothering itself, moving from theory to practice and from toddling to dancing. Okay, okay...so, there  may  only be minutes that my mothering approaches the lithe grace of dancing, but you know what I mean. As my maturity as a mother has increased, I have grown to trust more in the preparedness, capability, and potential of my children, and to see my role as less of a rescuer. I’ve learned to provide more guidance and support  than unsolicited direction and dictation. And it is more and more evident to me that presence in the storms of life is to be desired over protection from any discomfort. Somehow I bet life is not through teaching me, either. 

When I look at the ways God loves me, I see the tender strength and steadfast presence of a Mother come through. Comfort, Guide, Courage, Presence—God embodies the best sorts of Mothering. And whether we had a mother who did for us, or not—imagine what it would feel like to know that we all have a God who mothers us so well.

Thanks be to our good God, whose love never fails. 

...where is the tender spot?

"Where is the tender spot?" The doctor poked and prodded for the location of the discomfort. The discomfort, the tenderness, would, of course, be an indicator of injury. Healers probe for tenderness to help guide them to the source of the hurt.

There is at least one more sort of tenderness. This would be the care and gentleness with which we treat something, or someone, we value or love very much. We may treat priceless artwork, or newborn babies, tenderly.

I have been pondering, as I've talked to friends, and scrolled through my media, and reflected on my own life, that the Advent and Christmas seasons evoke tenderness, of both sorts, in an awful lot of us.

With the wonder of children, we unwrap ornaments and remember the stories that go with them. We bake---from scratch!--sweets and savories to share (and a few to keep for ourselves, maybe...). We envision the perfect gift for each loved one, the glow of happiness on each face when boxes are opened on the just-right Christmas morning. We pose our families for the everybody-smile pic for which (almost) everyone took your suggestion about wearing white tops, and it looks great. We tuck our own little ones into bed, or get misty-eyed smiling at someone else's little shepherds in the Christmas Eve pageant. There is so much tenderness here.

But if we're honest, for a lot of us, that's not the whole story. There is tenderness in this season that emanates from the source of hurt. Something about the season causes the backward gaze, and it is a time when those who have lost dear family and friends feel those losses in a deep and tender way, whether the loss is new or decades old. Circumstances change, and what is lost is noticed and mourned at the holidays. Health and wellness, always taken for granted, can slip away, and we note the holiday traditions that will be different. Strained relationships that are ignored during the rest of the year become painfully obvious during a season when the ideal holiday mood is one of togetherness and conviviality. Brokenness and alienation leave tender spots with no visible wounds.

In the midst of the lovely, tender times this holy season, there is also the tenderness that indicates pain. How can we celebrate the wonder of tenderness, and honor the tenderness of the shadows that is also part of the sacred everyday?

Where is the tender spot? I have mine...do you? 

...a God who stands in contrast

Holy, holy, holy! Lord God almighty!

Early in the morning our song shall rise to Thee.

Holy, holy, holy! Merciful and mighty!

God in three Persons, blessed Trinity!

---Reginald Heber, 1826

I will admit it. I have always been a bit put off by descriptions of God as powerful. It seems in this world that being powerful is an invitation to mistreat or take advantage of the weak and poor. For every “good King Wenceslas”, there are hundreds of “Ivan the Terribles”. Power seems so intoxicating, and so easy to abuse. So my vision of a powerful, almighty God is colored by the lens of the world in which I live, and the one I read about in history books. Reginald Heber, in the mid-1800’s, caught the essence of God’s power with one short phrase: “merciful and mighty.”

In a world where might is often used to man-handle and menace, and strength to strong-arm and subdue, we the faithful shine a light on a God who stands in contrast to those faulty human ideals. We worship a God who is strong and tender, who is limitless and approachable, who is Law and Love.

Merciful and mighty, God, we worship you.