“Israel’s prophets offer superficial treatments and lite-healing for my people’s mortal wound. They give assurances of peace when there is no peace.” (Jer.6:14). “Jesus is near the brokenhearted and saves those with crushed spirits” (Ps.34:18).
Dear Jesus, more an American cultural event than a part of church history and liturgy, nonetheless, Mother’s Day indelibly marked me for decades. For the most part, I dreaded it—then denied the day itself, and went to church less and less. Being without a mom since age eleven meant I had to wear a “white rose” on Mother’s Day, not a red one. I didn’t need the intention, nor did I want the reminder.
Seven years later, when I was a senior in high school, you revealed yourself to me, Jesus. Hallelujah and thank you. Though I had stopped going to church, I finally came to you. Everything changed but not everything got healed—especially the wounds and Grand Canyon left in my heart by mom’s sudden death, and dad’s inability to care for my heart. I became like a bad Israeli prophet, “healing my own wound lightly”—pretending to be at peace when I had none (Jer.6:14).
Jesus, thank you for being a healer, not an illusionist. Healing is less about getting over pain, and more about seeing it, owning it, and growing through it. Finally, almost 40 years later in 2000, I made my first trip back to mom’s grave. She’s not there, gratefully, she’s with you, Jesus. That was 25 years ago, and I’m still healing, but no longer stuck.
I miss Martha Ward Smith—“mom”—fiercely, and I so look forward to being with her in eternity. Darlene, my kids, and grandkids never saw her striking brown eyes and beautiful brunet hair, felt her kind touch or heard her infectious laugh. Gratefully, that will change one Day. The heart-void mom left is still real, and that’s where you still meet me, Jesus. Thank you, and So Very Amen.
