Mom’s Hands

A Mother’s Day reflection…

She held the whole world in her hands, my mother. As have the mothers of countless small children across the generations. She was my whole world at first — sprinkled soon with siblings and that other set of hands joined in holding us together. Four loving hands shaped my life. One pair cradled me to her soft breast and nursed me, the other later tossed me high above his head or wrestled most ferociously his laughing girl.

Two hands clasped mine tightly and swung me up over the puddles as we trudged through this forest called life. Mother’s hand on one side; Father’s on the other. Together teaching me about the One who truly holds the whole world in loving hands. Their hands fed me and provided, touched my heart and sometimes spanked. Parental fingers prodded and molded and folded in prayer for me. I can almost feel my mother’s palm resting on my head as I learned “Now I lay me down to sleep.” (Or is it my palm and my child kneeling there?)

Mother hands. Father hands. Strong gentle hands. Each in their own way. Familiar on my face was their goodnight caress before I fell asleep. Each touch distinct. Each half of a whole that together taught me of God’s parental love. In my experience, however, the most frequent touches came from my mother. As she measured a new dress or brushed my hair or washed my face or held my hand to cross the street. Father’s impression was a bit more removed. He worked every day to provide for us. Mom worked every day WITH us. Both modeled Divine love and provision, with Mom modeling God’s nearness in a very immediate way.

Yet sadly, in my church and many like it, parental may only be spelled paternal. God’s love to us is spoken of only as a father’s love. We have been taught to know God solely as Father. It is forbidden to address God as Mother. As if the mother side of God’s parental love does not exist, it remains invisible. So while I now recognize God’s Mother love as surely as I know my mother’s hand upon my cheek, I never, save in the privacy of my own soul, give voice to her. For our language portrays God as Father. He. Male.

I love being God’s child. God’s heir. I treasure Christ’s love for me. Yet for years I only understood God as my Heavenly Father. What joy to know God is my Heavenly Mother too! How long, I wonder, until the unique touches of a mother are used to illustrate the lessons of God’s love for us. How long before we see the One who holds the whole world carefully in hand as neither He nor She, but as our MotherFather God. Our complete and perfect heavenly Parent.

JoMae 1/15/99

Gender Faith Exclusive Language Patriarchy

First published on JoMae’s Bits and Pieces: Mom’s Hands