And It Is Well With Me

I honestly get tongue-tied when I attempt to capture how I feel about you with words. There simply aren’t enough of them or perhaps too many of them, because it really is quite simple.

I look into your eyes and I see eternity. I see a glimpse of the Love that surely spurred the creation of the universes, of all living things. A Father’s love so deep and profound, He would sever Himself to see us made whole.


I see how life is all holy wonder, and how you, child of my flesh and marrow, are shaping me into the truest version of myself.


I think back upon my years without you. How in them I thought I knew things about myself.

Great things. Important things.


I knew no things.


How could I when I was merely being prepared for the woman you would make me?

My heart gasps at the scandalous extravagance. Mothering you is the dirtiest and most sacred work my body and soul have endured. How I’ve been forced to enter His grace with sobs of inadequacy, insecurity and fury.


I tremble in awe when I realize that the thing breaking me - my love for you – is the thing putting me back together.


But here, you must listen:

Hazel, this is my reality and no one else’s, not even yours. Especially not yours. Darling, I will love you all your life with a fire born of sun’s kiss; and you, perhaps, will return it with embers of your own. But you will not know things until you slip into the woman your Father is shaping you to become. If this includes a child of your own, I will celebrate. And if not, I will nourish the Great Plans in store for you. You were a part of my destiny from the moment God crushed evil’s bones and slipped His beating heart between the ribs of creation – ALWAYS. You were grafted on and into me from Heaven’s first breath.


But Hazel, I can never write these things without thinking of our beloved sisters longing for their own child with aching vacant womb. With echoes of life now transported to Heaven.

Why me and not her?


I will never know. And I wish I could hold her the way I hold you and occupy space for her sorrow.


I wish I could tell her she is loved, whole, and not forgotten. I wish I could, for even one split second, take on the burden of infertility and miscarriage so that she might see clearly through the lens of Love and remember how relentlessly adored she is.


But who am I to say such things? She who has a child and has felt the weight of life growing. I try and I fail to conjure these words also.


I know pain. I know how grossly it can bend and warp and distort the fragility of Truth. I remember days barely breathing, body burning wildly, mind wishing for the sweet finality of death.


You, too, my precious one, will know pain intimately as I have known it. Not mine, for it does not belong to you, but your own. And you will carry it and wear it and survive it, and it will mold you into the startling creation of beauty you were born to be. Listen to me when I say this is how you will learn to love yourself and love others. How you will learn to enter pain and beauty with the same bated breath.


My Hazel, I am caught up in you and I intend never to come down. On the current of His grace I will swim and float and drown in this short journey where my soul is trapped behind skin and blood.


And through it all, it is well with me, and I shall love you through the ages.


Love,

Mama




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