- Matthew 13:31-32
The kingdom of heaven is like a grain of mustard seed. It starts unnoticed, like a tiny grain of hope tossed in the dust. Like a baby in a manger in a tiny town. It starts small, like a tiny orb of potential fighting against the odds to sprout. Like a few rough and tumble impulsive fishermen who left their reeking nets because a carpenter said “Follow Me”. It starts humbly, like an unassuming yellow brown bead who could hardly catch anyone’s eye. Like a foot-washing session before dinner one day.
You know it by the life it leaves in its wake. Jairus got his daughter back. An outcast was healed. A blind man could see desert sunsets for the first time. And smaller than that, a father slowly ceased to criticize his children. An employee paid back funds he was pocketing illegally. The lonely was no longer alone.
When it comes to the kingdom, things start small and move slowly. They grow like the mustard seed, just a sprout at first, hardly worth notice. Over time, what began as a yellow-brown speck sprawls into a tree. It goes from easily overlooked to impossible to miss.
Though the mustard tree started humbly, softly, it is not so anymore. It is a monument to patience and persistence. Its roots break up concrete, and its branches provide shelter and shade from an unrelenting Middle Eastern sun. Over time, it has been transformed from vulnerable to powerful.
These aren’t really my musings at all, just sermon notes from a sermon by Tyler Johnson this morning. I’m not sure if he did it on purpose, but it was the perfect sermon to celebrate Mother’s Day. What endeavor requires more persistence over time than mothering? What job starts smaller and has the potential to end grander than mothering?
Talk about starting small. A few cells multiply by miracle into tissues and differentiate into organs and ripple into fingerprints. That sometimes squalling, sometimes serene baby will not always be 7 lbs. 6oz., 21” long. Somehow, by means that are far beyond my college education (insert mitosis and meiosis diagrams here) that little person will become a walking, talking, working adult.
Somewhere between baby showers and baccalaureate, mothering happens. The thing about mothering is it often goes unnoticed. Sure, people might notice if you are screaming profanities at your children, but for the most part, no one is going to commend a mother for giving her child a regular diet of veggies while also teaching them to celebrate the use of high fructose corn syrup in moderation. No one is going to verbally affirm a mother’s decision to place a child outside their comfort zone to nurture an adventurous spirit.
The thing about mothering is it happens in a thousand moments, like individual drops of water suspended on a spiderweb after the rain. It’s the driving to soccer practice and showing up to dance recitals with flowers. It’s the setting of healthy boundaries to propagate healthy relationships, even when those conversations end in slammed doors and rolled eyes.
The thing about mothering is it is a force to be reckoned with. Though it happens imperceptibly, it produces adults who have the potential to love well, give generously, and put others first - if indeed that’s the sort of mothering they got.
In some cases, that sort of mothering was not acquired from the person who physically carried them in the womb, but from someone whose heart was big enough to guide the children of another. Sometimes intervention by these “extra mothers” is the difference between life and death.
Thankfully, I have a mother of moments. She brought Capri Suns to soccer matches, and dropped me off at dance practice. She said no. She said let’s go. She roadtripped. She gave wisdom (and still does). She modeled what ministry in the home and outside of it looks like. She raised us day by day, meal by meal, spanking by spanking, kiss by kiss. I am the woman I am today because of her.
Happy Mother’s Day, mom!
Love,
Little Miss Sunshine
#Alt Summit believes every mother counts
No comments:
Post a Comment