Sabbath Quiet

everyone needs a mother

You can be one hundred and two and still long for a mother.

Always a child

A moonless night, no hope in sight,
your eyes open, half aware,
drifting on a nightmare.
Then, a light, tender touch
a whisper,

"Hold fast to me and all fear will flee,
the sun will rise--close your eyes."

Morning sounds from down the hall,
the coffee's hiss--
this
becomes clear:
here 
and now (tomorrow too),
you
are loved, are hugged
by your unseen Maker,
who uses others
(like good mothers)
to offer comfort--real, and deep--
when you weep.

You can be tough and proud
and scoff at me out loud,
but you still need a Mom-- 
her calm, a balm.

So just for today,
let me speak in her place
a grace:
Look in my eyes, and believe,

when you search for love,
your heavenly parent
(to whom you're transparent)
is already reaching,
already there--
he sees, he cares,
he dares to offer
not only forgiveness,
but you brand new,
with every sunrise.

And surprise! If you listen,
he'll sing you a song
with your name enclosed--
the name he knows,
and you will, in time,
discover it rhymes 
and chimes
(in relief)
with the steady heartbeat of  a mother.

A mother like no other

“Can a woman forget her nursing child, or show no compassion for the child of her womb? Even these may forget, yet I will not forget you. See, I have inscribed you on the palms of my hands…” Isaiah 49:15-16