A Mother's Love

by Sarah Van Diest @SarahVanDiest

1 Corinthians 13:4-7  Love is patient; love is kind. Love is not jealous; is not proud; is not conceited; does not act foolishly; is not selfish; is not easily provoked to anger; keeps no record of wrongs; takes no pleasure in unrighteousness, but rejoices in the truth; love bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, and endures all things.

I have strange and disjointed thoughts when it comes to Mother’s Day. Maybe it all stems from whacking into one particular Mother’s Day with full force, as I wrote about last year on Mother's Day Mayhem, but maybe that’s not the cause.

I struggle sometimes to enjoy the day. It’s full of sweet joy juxtaposed with mindful discomfort. I’m not sure why. Does anyone relate? I know there are friends of mine out there who dread the day. It’s full of painful reminders. Every rose handed out signifies for them a tragic memory, an unfulfilled desire, or some unspoken and unrelieved sorrow. I grieve for them. All I know to do is to love them.

The Helper

by Sarah Van Diest

"But the Helper, the Holy Spirit, whom the Father will send in My name, He will teach you all things, and bring to your remembrance all that I said to you.” John 14:26

There it is. Strong and clear. A beam of light; a tone of pure beauty. I see it. It calls to me. It pierces that deep and darkened place in me. It strikes like lightning on my soul. It fuels and ignites. Impassions and inspires, infusing its electricity into my spirit. I could soar. I could fly.

It is music. It is light. It is air and water. It is life.

Intoxicated by this vibrancy, the attachment grows; the longing intensifies. The empty place long covered is revealed, the straw raked back, the debris blown away… hope of its filling floods the air; sundrenched, warm, and brilliant.

Life breaks into the dark, shattering its bleak surface into shards of obsidian dust filtering out onto the wind.