About Me: NO vember

NO vember is when it all started.

November took me away from a family filled with love and laughter. Boy cousins ready for fun adventures. Fall colors at Thanksgiving and snow at Christmas. A house filled with sunlight, a gentle grandfather who had tea parties with me and a grandmother who laughed. Running, camaraderie and bionic adventures for hours were the holiday experience.

November took me to a winter filled with cold gray foggy days. A house where the windows looked out on trees, but no sun came in. These grandparents argued and watched golf on television. Too busy to play, but not too busy to spank or discipline. I had nothing in common with my girl cousins. Lonely, quiet and waiting for it to be over was the new holiday experience.

Now Thanksgiving Day was filled with angst. Parents stressed because my three sisters needed a nap and these new grandparents insisted on dinner at 2:00. During the hour’s drive, I would talk myself into being excited. Maybe this time it would be different. Maybe someone would talk to me. Maybe fun could be found. Sometimes it would glimmer but like the fairy it was, never stayed for long.

 November finished a year of death. It started the December before, my senior year with a boy named Jeff. We met third grade when we finally settled into this Central Valley town. 

Then that odd Christmas break obituary.

I went because I knew him. Friends knew him. No knowledge of how he died, just that he did. I sat in the overflow lobby, his pastor announced that he would read the note he left behind. The word suicide was never spoken, but something within me cracked. The idea of adolescent invincibility weakened. I spent the rest of the day trying to figure it out. My parents were as dumbstruck as I. The rest of that year would include a winter suicide, a spring accidental drowning, and an almost fatal accident.

Then November.

Mark was the brilliant musician youth group leader. Blond curly hair, big brown eyes all backed his overwhelming kindness. He was patient enough, one church camp, to learn by ear a song I was going to sing. Complete with grin, he led the band as I for a moment felt like someone with something to offer the youth group. One time he taught on the Beatitudes, which would anchor my relationship with God forever. He said something along these lines:

“The pure in hear will see God. That means telling him everything. If your mad, yell at him- he knows it anyway. Let nothing stand between you and God. Not even yourself. Always talk to him. Always seek him. Ask your questions. Yell at him about your doubts because eventually you WILL see HIM. He promised.”

This beautiful soul decided he could no longer live.

Eleven months of life taken left an indelible scar. For me there is no, “You Only Live Once.” Life became fleeting and fickle. Every moment deserves attention and presence. Death no longer surprises me.

Almost 30 years later, three kids and a loving husband, we have made our own happy Thanksgiving memories. I make a great turkey and trimmings myself so The Counting Mutant can make his Friday after Thanksgiving Turkey and Stuffing omelets. I find myself forcing myself to enjoy it all. I find joy in it and the presence of these events still hovers, like the winter fog the Central Valley is known for.

So I am allowing myself this moment to remember.

To grieve so that I may be comforted.

I am grateful for that.

Rocky Horror Taught Me Divine Freedom

“I can’t wait for Friday!  It will be the coolest thing ever.” April said to Elysse at lunch.  We sat next to the chain link fence at the end of the corridor.  Brown bags crackled as we pulled out our lunch.  In 7th grade, these girls were the first school friends I made since moving to this California valley town in the 3rd grade.  They really wanted to sit and talk with me.  It was nice to feel accepted.

“What are you talking about?” I asked.

“THE Rocky Horror Picture Show! It’s playing at midnight and we get to go. It’s so cool!  You get to dress up and yell at the screen and throw food and spray people.  It’s so funny.” April gushed.  

Elysse giggled and nodded.

“Cool,” I faked.  It sounded fun, but I was sure it would be forbidden. 

At home I asked my parents about it. I received the typical lecture, explaining the demonic presence lurking and waiting to infuse my soul with chains of bondage. By the time it was over, I pictured demons sitting next to people, throwing food with them and entering their bodies to possess them. Fear overtook my thoughts.

The next few weeks I continued to sit with April and Elysse at lunch. Each day a looming presence weighed on my conscience. Thoughts of what might be controlling their minds and how it would affect my spirit, consumed me. I became afraid of them. Soon lunch was a lonely hour for me again.

My parents’ concern for our Christianity included the treatment of Halloween. Radio preachers who would urge listeners to avoid it altogether. Its origins seeped in deep mysterious magic and the occult. Participation would guarantee evil’s consumption, or at least interference, of a soul. God could not work if evil existed in
one’s life. Your Salvation could be compromised. My parents disallowed the night revelries. I could participate at school so that we wouldn't be mistaken for Jehovah’s Witnesses, but that was all. Some years the light was turned out when Trick or Treaters came through the neighborhood. Other years found my Mom passing out gospel tracts laced with candy. The pumpkins carved with a fish or a cross beamed from the front porch. Before the night was over, someone would take them and smash them to bits in the street. Mom said it was just the Devil trying to discourage us. 

As a young adult, I met people who had been subjected to Halloween worship ceremonies. Cats would go missing because of sacrifices. Tainted candy hurt children and I felt the pain of those victimized. The holiday became pure anxiety and dread for me. Continuing in the belief that it was acknowledged at all, something of my faith would be taken away. My connection with God would weaken and I would be all alone. The day came to represent my darkest fears and deepest nightmares.  

Yet Divine Love is the perfect teacher. Every prayer is answered and I learned to look at God as my loving Creator. My focus turned from what He couldn’t do to what He could.  I began to think of the message I wanted to share on the night. As a family we participated in different things; Harvest Festivals, family theater nights, pizza and movies. I met a woman who had the same struggles. She celebrated delight by decorating her house with lights, doors were open and candy handed out liberally. Through her example fear began to lose its hold.

In BoyA’s the class observed Dias de los Muertos. He learned the truth of how holiday was celebrated in Mexico: they do not celebrate death, haunting and evil. The belief is: loved one’s spirits come back and they have a night to celebrate with the living. BoyA created a memorial for his Uncle, who had committed suicide the previous April. For the first time he talked about his uncle’s death. As BoyA created his own story of Uncle, his soul was able to heal. This holiday no longer needed to be filled with horror and dread. It could be about celebration and remembering.

The cherry on the sundae was The Counting Mutant.

 “Do you want to go to Rocky Horror this Saturday at midnight?”  Mutant asked sheepishly.

My soul jumped with delight, “YES!” 

He arranged for tickets. We double dated with a friend and her husband. The Mutant and I spent the day on Saturday together collecting props and making kits. Giggling like kids, we shopped for our costume’s bits and pieces. I was amazed at the freedom I felt preparing for this seemingly forbidden thing.

Sitting in the theater, the four of us admired the bravery of many.  Peter Pan dressed in a vine covered Speedo won the costume contest. Anticipation rippled through the sold out crowd. The film started and we were united. All yelling, singing, and covering our heads with newspapers; the highlight was when everyone threw toilet paper.  The theater’s beautiful old ceiling covered with storms of arching toilet paper rolls unraveling. We were covered with tails of gentle white. I checked within myself. God still loved me.  I still felt close to Him.  He didn’t leave me. As the film came to its conclusion and I recognized a subtle morality within the film. Those who are evil ruled for a season yet in the end they are destroyed by their own. 

Exiting through the oddly dressed crowd into the cold breath of the night, I felt safe and warm. I was still me. Nothing was riding on my back or taking over my conscience. I still believed in God and He still loved me. I still need to be wise in choosing the influences in my life, yet I no longer need to be afraid of those influences being greater than the Creator I believe in.  I am loved.

Misperceptions

Originally Posted October 24, 2010

Thoughts never stop percolating in my consciousness.

The other day and I stumbled over this verse, “And you, who once were alienated and enemies in your mind by wicked works, yet now He has reconciled..." Colossians 1:21

Thought tires squealed; the Enemy within MY mind?  I always heard God was my enemy because of sin. He cast humanity out of the garden over a piece of fruit!  I began to dig and to my surprise I found this cause and effect verse:

”But they rebelled and grieved His Holy Spirit; So He turned Himself against them as an enemy, And He fought against them."  Isaiah 63:10 

Considering my own relationships where a misunderstanding occurred, often the offended will treat me as an enemy. Anger sparks gossip. Words cut and damage other friendships around me like ripples in water. My response is to protect myself by stepping away. Not participating in a battle I cannot win. I cannot change the mind of the offended, so I leave them with their beliefs of me.

I considered the origin of this “God’s enemy” perception.

"And the Lord God commanded the man, saying, "Of every tree of the garden you may freely eat; but of the Tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil you shall not eat, for in the day that you eat of it you shall surely die."  Genesis 2:16-17:  

Why would God do that?

Why would he give a tree that much power?  

This thought occurred: what if it wasn't the tree?

What if it was the choice?  

When it mattered, would they turn to God for their knowledge of what was good and evil?

We know the answer from Genesis 3:4-6; the Serpent hinted that God was lying to them. Adam and Eve decided to rely on themselves instead of the one who made them. An enemy keeps secrets in order to imprison the weak. Maybe they weren't free. Possibly Eden was an elaborate prison. Adam and Eve needed to act and think for themselves.

This was the choice they faced. The result, instead of trusting the one whom they walked in the cool of the garden with regularly and knew intimately; they chose the Tree. This tree became the source of Knowledge of Good and Evil, instead of the One who created it.  

This perception severed them from the life giving Creator. The struggle of humanity began in that moment with a perception: God lied.

God had to keep His promise of Free Will. God cannot lie. God cannot cause evil. From that point on humanity seeks themselves for their own Knowledge of Good and Evil instead of God. We stumble around in blind innocence, trying to make sense of it all. Doing what is right in our own eyes.

Therefore, he had to provide a way to restore the relationship. Jesus was that way. He brings us back to the garden in John 15:5, "I am the vine, you are the branches. He who abides in Me, and I in him, bears much fruit; for without Me you can do nothing."   

Jesus creates a path for us to walk in the cool of the garden with, "If you had known Me, you would have known My Father also; and from now on you know Him and have seen Him" John 14:7.

We meditate on the horror of Jesus, praying in a garden. He was an innocent man, arrested, falsely accused then crucified as an enemy of Rome and the Jews. 

What if Jesus was portraying what Adam and Eve did in the Garden?  

They acted as if God was their enemy. In their understanding, he was hiding information from them. Maybe they needed to protect themselves, so they acted. The result was separation. That led to death of the relationship. This death was then laid upon Jesus. 

I stumbled upon a conclusion: through Jesus, I have the ability to seek God's knowledge of good and evil instead of my own knowledge.

Which brings me back to the original question:

How have I made God an enemy in my mind?  

Every time I blame Him for something that goes wrong or react to a situation instead of stopping to seek wisdom. Whenever I complain or tear myself apart over a mistake. God is not out to make my life miserable with unrealistic demands. Divine Love has not set me up to fail. It has set me free to make a choice. I need to set aside my inaccurate perception and believe in His intrinsic goodness. To ask for his direction, for his vantage point is clearer than mine. I can trust Him.

Counting Costs

Originally posted on February 4, 2012

Her eyes widened. Behind the swirl of olive, gold and brown her mind swam desperately for an answer. With frustration and twelve-year-old honesty she answered, "I don't know what it means."

I turned to her ten year old sister across the table. "So, if you had to choose Jesus over your Mom, would you do it?" Her jaw dropped and a rim of tears warmed the corners of her eyes.

We were studying Luke 14:25-33:

 "Large crowds were traveling with Jesus, and turning to them he said: 'If anyone comes to me and does not hate his father and mother, his wife and children, his brothers and sisters--yes, even his own life--he cannot be my disciple. And anyone who does not carry his cross and follow me cannot be my disciple.

Suppose one of you wants to build a tower. Will he not first sit down and estimate the cost to see if he has enough money to complete it?  For if he lays the foundation and is not able to finish it, everyone who sees it will ridicule him, saying, 'This fellow began to build and was not able to finish.' 

Or suppose a king is about to go to war against another king. Will he not first sit down and consider whether he is able with ten thousand men to oppose the one coming against him with twenty thousand? If he is not able, he will send a delegation while the other is still a long way off and will ask for terms of peace. In the same way, any of you who does not give up everything he has cannot be my disciple."

I remember as a kid, listening to this passage and feeling terrified at the contradiction. Sunday School taught us the Colossians 3:20 words as the answer for everything, “Children, obey your parents in everything, for this pleases the Lord." 

Now Luke was telling me that I was to love God above everything else, even if it meant hating my parents.

What is a good Christian kid to do?

When I asked adults in my life, the fumbled answer was: just ask Jesus into your heart and read the Bible. It will make sense if you don’t have any sin in your life. 

I think they were just as confused as I was about the whole thing.

In preparing for this Girls’ Bible Study breakfast, I knew the something better was required. As I prayed and pondered it hit me; maybe Jesus' words meant exactly what they meant. It was not a flippant arbitrary statement.

Then words these words echoed: count the cost.

For my Grandmother, the cost of her becoming a Christian was disownment from her family. God brought my Grandfather, who introduced her to the Gospel. She spoke proudly of the Jesus who loved her enough to give her hope. She counted the cost and loved Jesus more.

I realized it doesn't mean expecting disownment or rejection because of a response to that holy call. It means to stop, and consider what I am willing to give up. The choice is not consequence free. Friendships may be lost. Family abandonment or employment may change.

How often have we prayed never pausing to consider the cost of the answer? Patience is prayed for and what follows is a difficult season. I hear friends respond with flippant sarcasm, “I prayed for patience and look what it got me. I won't pray for that again."

My response to those girls was this: Counting the cost is stopping to think. If I choose an action, am I ready for the result? If I ask to grow closer to God, am I ready for a season of dependence? Do I pray for someone's healing without pondering the possible damage from the metamorphosis?

Counting the cost looks like a conscious and purposeful prayer motivated by hunger to understand God better accepting whatever the consequences. When I pick up my cross, I am choosing his method of answer and laying down my own. This action grants me the grace to endure.  The result always is an unexpected answer: I fall deeper in love with Jesus.

More than anything I want to see him more clearly, love him more dearly and follow him more nearly, Day by Day.

Perfection Eclipsed

Originally published on September 25, 2010

Photo taken by imelenchon

Morning air tingled with excitement. Children danced at breakfast.  Husband shimmered with pure masculinity. Our date with perfection loomed. We prepared ourselves with the two movies. Then a call; the cinema was showing Twilight, New Moon and then Eclipse at midnight. A feast of romantic vampires and werewolves began at 6:30. The day could not move fast enough. A flurry of rearranging schedules in order to be at the theater in time for a good seat. We gathered under a steaming sun to wait for doors to open. Teams of women fought for their hero: sparkly Edward or warm Jacob. Anticipation rippled the air as a door opened. Breath bated as we walked into the air-conditioned theater. 

Photo taken by mconnors

We sat in a crowded theater, united.  Popcorn, soda, three movies in a row, sighs of pleasure with tears for the broken hearts. Twilight started. The cultural collective gasped at the beauty before us.  Ideal love bloomed before our eyes. A break between films met with quick refills and conversation. New Moon started.  All teared at the abandonment then cheered the lovers’ reunion. With the completion of the first two films, the hour wait for Eclipse began.  Laughter and enthusiasm for romance was contagious.

Cheers erupted as the lights went dark. All transported into a world where vampires are virtuous and werewolves are best friends.  Just as the vampires began training the werewolves for a battle, the frame stalled.

It turned brown. 

Photo taken by mconnors

It bubbled.

                          

It receded from the screen leaving a blinding white light. A harmony of gasps filled the auditorium.  

Then a beautiful picture, we breathed a sigh of relief.  Vampires began explaining how to kill a newborn vampire and the unthinkable.

The film again turned brown, bubbled and melted  from the screen leaving a blinding white light.

The room went black.

Angry shock and cries of disbelief arose.  Life interrupted our flawless experience.  

People around me expressed irritation.  How could this happen?  This is not what was planned.  As I listened a realization glimmered. We all came with an expectation of faultlessness. A conclusion drew itself; the cause of frustration on this planet is that perfection does not exist.  We are not able to create it, maintain it or propagate it.   Then deep disappointment when our illusion of perfection we created crumbles or melts away.

Years earlier Merry-my cousin who has her Masters in Philosophy- and I had a conversation. The topic: where does this idea of perfection come from?  She explained that some philosophers say it comes from an idea of God. The two main thinkers who use this ontological argument to validate God's existence are Anselm and Descartes. 

Photo taken by click

Anselm said, “God is that being which no greater can be conceived.” His basic argument is: A perfect being is one who is completely flawless. Existence is a perfection-because it is better to be than not to be. Therefore, God exists. Anslem further explains using the Psalm 14:1: “The fool says in his heart there is no God,” The fool must first think of what God might be in order to say that God does not exist.

Descartes contributes with: in order to have an idea of perfection, first one must acknowledge that I did not generate this idea because I am not perfect. Therefore, this idea of perfection must have been placed inside of my mind by a perfect being God, must exist.

I pondered and realized that all long for perfection. Yet, we are hindered by trusting a Being that cannot be seen. One who is Greater than ourselves and the Author of our state, time and awareness.  When we deny ourselves a Divine relationship, we rob ourselves of perfection. We in turn, create our own and are terribly disappointed. We need to learn about a Perfect Being who longs to satisfy our longing. He even created a way for us to cultivate a relationship through grace and love. 

I sat in that theater thinking about these things and felt thankful. I am not expected to be perfect, because perfection exists solely in Him. Through grace I laughed at the flaw. Delight found my experience. Because of Divine grace, I can extend grace to those around me. I felt empathy for the employees scrambling to remedy the film’s problem and dealing with aggravated Twihards.

Photo taken by mconnors

An usher entered the room, "The film got wrapped up in the brain. The managers are untangling it, splicing it and then they will be able to start up the film again."  

Many have been the days where I the film of my plans and ideas got wrapped up in my brain.  I sat back, ate my popcorn, drank my soda and soaked in the perfect moment.

Singing In The Valley Of Trouble

It was heaven. Air Force Bases as the home of my early childhood. New friends every day mixed with an endless supply of playmates and giant lawns for epic adventures. Military aircraft played symphonies above, vibrating my window as they landed in their safe haven. My favorites were the Jolly Green Giants floating over, the gentle ripple of their blades a lulling heartbeat. No one could hurt me there.

It all changed when I turned 8. Dad’s service completed, we entered civilian life. At first, it was a new adventure. Living in a Grandparents’ house filled with light, I attended the school where my Mom went. I walked to school imagining myself in her shoes. Then famine hit.

November 1976, in the breath of a sentence my world changed forever. We had to move. We needed to go where opportunity was. Like Joseph moving his father Jacob and family to Egypt. I was moving to the Central Valley of California. Both started out as provision and ended with trouble.

I grew up quickly as the weight of change burdened my Mom. She fought Depression valiantly. Christianity told her if she was anointed with oil and prayed over healing would come. Read the Bible, pray more, get involved in a Bible Study; all of these helped, but never fully freed her to be the person she was in the land of plenty.

She obeyed. Depression always came back.

The wilderness introduced a new mother. She did the best with what she had, constantly battling to be free. All of life became a struggle. Four girls, financial woes and I as the oldest accepted the responsibility to fill in the gaps. In this new land, I didn't fit into the culture. Friendships were few and far between. The ability to serve my Mom and sisters eased my burden of loneliness. I learned the joy and importance of service.

The Counting Mutant and I met in college. The weekend after graduation, at 20, with song and dance, I packed my car and moved.  Central Coast was a land of new purpose. Creating a home, we trekked into adulthood. Our journey carried us from the Coast to LA.

Our fifth year of marriage brought us a beautiful baby, BoyA. A Master’s Degree introduced a new season. With breathless expectation we sought God for direction. Each interview ended with the same statement: If you only had a CPA…

It became clear we needed to start over. God had a promise and The Mutant knew the only place to find it was in the Central Valley. My heart groaned. The promise was for him, but not for me. I knew I was heading into another wilderness. 

As Sarah followed Abraham, I packed my house and prepared for the journey. It didn't take long to realize how much trouble filled the Central Valley for me. My family of origin in disarray making the best of their situation, I realized my loneliness. We welcomed a second son, BoyZ. The friends Father provided were few, but they were rich in love and grace. The next four years left lasting, aching scars. I learned to love God above everything else. He would always provide for me if I served and obeyed him first. He was a Master I trusted.

For The Mutant, the CPA was obtained. He sought God’s face: where next? He opened a window and we were released. I quickly packed the house. With singing and dancing I left this Valley of Trouble, eager to see what promise set before us.

Northern California was a balm to my wounds. Stability and a third baby, GirlyK, introduced a season of joy and peace. After 18 months, the dream job arrived. Another move and for two years California felt truly like home. A ski resort town, people from all over the world gathered to teach, explore and breathe airs of delight. Four seasons, complete with snow and Spring Green that glows with new life.

The dream job is still a job. God often gives us exactly what we have asked for in order to draw us toward him and reveal its emptiness. The Mutant became acutely aware. Famine was coming. It was time to go again to the Valley.

I imagined what Naomi must have felt when her husband decided to move to Moab. My soul ached. I cried out to my Master for mercy. He led me to this verse:

“Therefore, behold, I will allure her, Will bring her into the wilderness, And speak comfort to her. I will give her her vineyards from there, And the Valley of Achor (trouble) as a door of hope; She shall sing there, As in the days of her youth, As in the day when she came up from the land of Egypt.

And it shall be, in that day," Says the Lord, "That you will call Me 'My Husband,' And no longer call Me 'My Master,'” Hosea 2:14-16

I entered a season of Winter Sun. Light to guide me without warmth. As I meditated on Hosea-written on windows and mirrors with dry erase marker and placed on shelves in frames- my eyes were opened to small tender mercies.

Father’s Fingerprints: A blue bird that lingered on a branch outside my window, friends who helped carry an impossible burden and aided a way of escape. Once back in the Central Valley he provided home with aged trees and a lake. Provision came from unlikely sources. Former enemies gave us encouragement. Lessons about God’s love and grace taught by disenfranchised. The freshly healed scars on my heart were bumped and poked. Fresh wounds of abandonment appeared and my spirit sang;

“Why are you cast down, O my soul? And why are you disquieted within me? Hope in God, for I shall yet praise Him for the help of His countenance.” Psalm 42:5

It has been a long ten years. I still stand in the Valley of Achor, yet God is now my Divine Love, no longer a master I serve out of duty. I sing with laughter and fulfillment because of the men BoyA and BoyZ have become. My husband’s soul is whole and healed with of the return of a lost son, BoyN. The Counting Mutant is pleased by fruitful labor. Divine Love uses GirlyK to renew and redeem childhood lost within me.

I confidently sing in this Valley of Trouble now. In the beginning of this third, Divine Love whispered tender words to me as he held me in seclusion. As time passed, rich vineyards of community flourished and flowed with friendship. He provided exactly what we needed when we needed it; from food to dance classes for the kids. Trouble was a door of hope, wounds allowed to heal created an ability to unconditionally love and build boundaries of wisdom.

Writing today, I overlook a backyard lake, trees dancing in the breeze and mountains shyly peak the distance. I am reminded of a childhood interrupted. The days of my youth; free to play in open spaces filled with green. I lay in rest by shores of flowing water. In my head, Miriam takes tambourine in hand, dances and sings: 

"Sing to the LORD, for he is highly exalted. The horse and its rider he has hurled into the sea." Genesis 15:21

Divine Mother's Day

This was originally posted on May 7, 2011 after a girlfriend and I discussed the challenges of Mother's Day. My hope is that hearts will be opened and those who struggle with the day will be welcomed.
Enjoy.

Her name is Nurture.  She risked life to birth a person. She corrects those under her instruction.  When advice is needed, it is her counsel we seek.  Mother is who she is.  The intention of Mother's Day is to take a moment and honor the gifts of this woman.  For some the day is filled with laughter and joy.  For others, it is a day of regret, filled with duty or loneliness.

 My heart is pained for those who struggle with Mother's Day.  Women who have experienced abortion or loss of a baby, face the emptiness.  Those whose mother has passed on, gaze into loneliness.  Others who have a strained relationship with their mother, practice the duty of honoring her station. These people stare blankly at the thousands of cards in the store. They painfully weed through affectionate declarations for a simple factual card; a needle in the haystack. For those looking on, what should our response be?  

God is referred to as a loving Father.  Scriptures support and help define what a loving Father should be. God takes that place for the Fatherless.  The New Testament calls Jesus, the Son.  He is our example of what we, as children, should act like. Those who struggle with the spiritual example of a mother search those same scriptures and wonder; who is the Mother to the Motherless?

In Genesis 1:1- the creation narrative- God decided to create, then he spoke.  In John 1:1 we are told that Jesus embodied His spoken word.  The Spirit hovered over the waters. The word used for Spirit here is Ruwach, a feminine noun.  The Spirit was the application of thought and word to physically create.

In Proverbs 4, Wisdom is referred to as a woman.  She wants to teach right ways of living.  In the New Testament, Jesus tells his disciples he will send Holy Spirit to exist with them. The word for Holy Spirit is the gender-neutral noun, Pneuma.  Jesus described Holy Spirit as comforter, teacher, counselor and nurturer: these are same roles as Wisdom in Proverbs.  In our quiet moments with the Loving Creator we find the example of a loving mother in the person of Holy Spirit.   

            Jesus was teaching one day when he was told that his family was outside to speak with him.  His response:

 "Those who follow the will of my Father, they are my brother, sister and mother."  Matthew 12:50

In Jesus, we are all family. No one should be alone or neglected. The great comfort for those who find themselves with out a mother or child on Mother's Day is the Divine. God is the complete and perfect parent. To those who feel loss in the day we should welcome them in as family to our celebration. For those who find the day empty; consider a woman who has filled the void and honor them. Her loving support should be recognized. This way all will experience the Divine Family Jesus was talking about.