In silent contemplation this morning my mind wandered to motherhood. Specifically, my own experience as a mother. More specifically still, memories of my earliest experience of being a mother—moments which are forever traced onto my heart.
I became a mother at the young age of twenty. And though I recognize how naive I was to the difficulty this world and life can bring, I also recognize the wonder and care with which I mothered at such an early age. I find myself thinking back to those first months of my firstborn’s life quite often lately. Perhaps because she turned twenty this summer—the age which I was when she was born, and the beginning of a new chapter in her life, no longer a teenager.
I find myself recalling those tender and precious moments in the predawn hours of the morning when it was just her and me and time seemed to stand still. Those memories bring tears to my eyes as I’m reminded of how present we were to each other in those moments, my gaze locking with hers, drowning in her big brown eyes. Prayer? I think so.
I wonder what she knew then. I wonder what wisdom she carried from the heavens and gave to me through those questioning, loving, soul-piercing sunrise sessions. Perhaps those wisdom seeds she held from above were planted in those moments. Perhaps they have been growing all this time.
Perhaps neither of us have been aware that the longing for feminine wisdom, which I recall having since before her birth and which I’ve come to believe is so necessary in this life, has through its desire grown those wisdom seeds into a fast-climbing vine.
Perhaps the many tears shed when life has been harsh have been the life-giving water to those seeds and growing vine of wisdom.
Perhaps the indignant and stubborn hope—refusing to be defeated and turned cold—has, with its radiating warmth and compassion, been the life-giving light to those seeds and growing vine of wisdom.
Perhaps that vine of feminine wisdom grows around and between us, holding us in her care, creating a new pattern—a blossoming and ever-growing one.
Perhaps this new pattern fulfills that deep longing which I’ve carried—and has carried me—for so long. Perhaps I’ve been changed—am being changed—by the essence of the longing.
The thing about vines is they can be wild and uncontrollable; they grow upward and outward, stretching far and wide.
The thing about a vine is that once she takes hold, her growth is limitless and unstoppable.
May we drown in the sea of wisdom’s seeds
May we allow ourselves to become entangled in her vines
May we be aware of her in whatever form she reveals herself
For she is beauty, she is mystery, she is divine