A Poem for Mothers

After a long hiatus from writing (and a year full of many life changes, the most significant of which was marrying my wonderful husband), I have sensed God calling me to pick up the pen again. There has been a desire in my heart that has resurfaced in this more settled season to allow the Holy Spirit to rekindle my passion for expressing thoughts, images, and ideas creatively through words. Thus, I recently began keeping a writing notebook for the first time since I was a child. Thus, I have started reading more consistently to allow my imagination to be fueled and my soul to be inspired. And thus, I wrote a poem for my mom this Mother's Day. It was the first Mother's Day (in both of our recollections) that we were unable to spend together.

Although Mother's Day this year has come and gone, this poem also dips into the themes of springtime and the flourishing of new life, so I figured the last day of May is probably not too late to share it. In any case, it took a few weeks for my mom to receive the poem in the mail since she was traveling when it arrived and I wanted to make sure she read the original letter first (snail mail and written letters are certainly more unique and enjoyable to read than digital posts and emails, in my opinion).

Motherhood

The month of May, for Mother's Day,

is well chosen, revealing the quiet glories of

this nurturing vocation.

Spring, in all its subtle suffusion

of grace into the human soul,

sings the song of motherhood

in sweet harmonies that soothe and elicit hope.

Robin, sparrow, and warbler alike

labor to build a home, a nest,

a place for rest, for forming new life.

Mamma bird labours not in vain, for patience and perseverance are rewarded

when eggs are lain.

Nestled into bed of moss and down

they hatch only once the mother's crown,

Sacrifice,

is worn.

Enduring all manner of weather and danger

Forgoing the freedom of fanciless flight

she seeks to protect, to instruct, to guide

her hatchlings

until nature's call draws them out of her sight

(but never out of her heart).

In shade of trees which shelter mothering birds

Another representative we find

of that innate purpose women know

which flowers forth in nature

come the spring.

A gardener, taking brief respite,

turns not her mind from what she tends.

Soil and seed, to water and weed, over each bed she lovingly will bend.

Always looking ahead with desire to protect

from hungry prey,

from storms yet unmet.

She finds no rest

yet takes delight in the process

of bringing forth fruit, seeing new blooms

which in season, with time,

produce harvest and beauty beyond compare

thanks to the sensitive gardener’s care.

In breeze tickled grass, observing the scene,

an Artist perches

countenance joyful and serene.

With colours and strokes surpassing description

He narrates a story without any words

of the spring, nature’s nursery,

of gardener and birds

embracing, nurturing, cherishing, releasing

Life.