Imperfections ...

I have a ceramic measuring cup that I adore.  It's hand-painted, adorable, and it makes me happy when I use it.  I saw the same one in a rental house years ago, and loved it so much I hunted down my own when we finally bought a house.

Then it broke.

One fateful dish-washing incident and it was broken into 10 different pieces of varying sizes.  I can't bring myself to throw it away, but I know if I fix it with my tried and true method of choice (Krazy Glue) it will no longer be food safe to use for cooking, so the pieces have been patiently sitting on a shelf in my dining room for the past year waiting for me to figure out what to do with them.

Buying a new one seems wasteful.  And so I've started considering the art of Japanese Kintsugi.

I'll admit I don't know a whole lot about it yet beyond what the average European-American white girl can learn via Google.  But over the years I've seen and read little tidbits here and there about the process and the purpose, and it's become a beautiful concept to me.

Kintsugi takes broken things and doesn't shy away from their brokenness.  On a surface level, it's the act of using a gold powder epoxy to mend broken pottery, ceramic, and porcelain.  This serves to fix the object, but also draws attention to the crack, gilding it and making it a new and beautiful element of the piece.

On a deeper level, Kintsugi shows us a new philosophy on what we view as "damaged goods".  The damage isn't hidden, it isn't tucked away and disguised in the hopes that no one sees it.  The damage has happened, the cup is broken, and that's the reality of it's history.  One article I've read refers to the cracks as "precious scars" and that description carries so much meaning.  Painting them with gold and giving those scars honor isn't what the societies I live in are accustomed to.  There's an honesty in it which I think is frightening to many of us.

As a teenager, I attended youth group retreats a few times a year with other students whose families all attended my church.  All year long I'd see the adults in these families dressed up nicely, speaking politely, showing their 'best' selves on Sundays within the walls of the church.  If these families had cracks, they tucked them into the fold of a dress or a pleated pant and hoped they weren't visible.

My own family was no different.  We may have had a horrible morning, arguing or crying or feeling depressed, but when we walked through the double glass doors into the church, we hit an invisible pause button on all of it for two hours.  It just - stopped.  We knew those uglier sides of our relationships with each other and with ourselves didn't belong here, so we put those parts on hold until we exited back into the parking lot, squinting from the sun bouncing off the pavement and the glare of the emotions that waited for us there.

But on youth retreats, I saw something different.  During a tradition we called Vespers, we gathered in a small stone amphitheater on a darkened forest hill, and students would take turns standing, and sharing from the safety of the darkness all their most precious scars.  They shared their fear for a loved one battling alcoholism, or their regret over a betrayal of a friend, or their hopelessness over a battle with anorexia, depression, drug use, self-harm.  They shared about the battles that raged within their walls at home with divorcing parents or out of control siblings.  They gave voice to the cracks, one by one, and it bonded us in a way we grew to wait for with anticipation every retreat.

It wasn't the specifics of what was shared that bonded us - each scar was unique and complicated and painful.  It was the authenticity and honesty of bringing those scars into sight, calling them by name, and allowing them a place in the overall story of who we are.  To know the breaking that had happened in someone's life made them all the more beautiful to know, and gave us greater respect for each other.

We are so afraid of judgement for our imperfections, for our history of cracks where we've been dropped a time or two.  But these imperfections are part of what makes us these uniquely beautiful beings called humans.  They're the one thing that unites us all as people - not a one of us is perfect.  Churches, communities, holy spaces - they shouldn't have a pause button at the door where we leave the reality of our lives and experiences at the door.  We shouldn't tuck our chipped edges behind a pretty dress or turn our cup backward so the cracks face the wall.

Kintsugi has it right - these things we've been through, the damage and wear and tear of life, they are a part of us and nothing to be ashamed of.  If we've been pieced back together from a tragic fall, that's something to be proud of, something to honor and celebrate and elevate.  Scar tissue is a remnant of healing, a sign of strength.  Gild yours in gold, and let it be seen by the world.  It makes you a work of art.

Everybody Hurts, But It's Gonna Be OK

Church this week asked the question: Where does it hurt? and as the person in charge of picking music for the service, I spent a fair amount of time digging into a variety of musical expressions of hurt.  It might seem that would be depressing to some degree, but surprisingly, it was the opposite.  There's something reaffirming about hearing pains we recognize expressed in the words of others; hearing in their descriptions our own experiences, and realizing that someone else has been where we are.

That may be why this blog often leans into songs expressing hurt.  I have been the reader, the listener, finding my own hurts in the songs and artistry of others, and in turn finding comfort and healing in the odd camaraderie of those moments.  If somewhere another reader finds solace hearing their own hurt expressed in connections made in this space, that's all I could hope.

Knowing that someone else understands the seemingly incomprehensible pains inside of us makes a difference.  Someone else gets it, someone else has felt this, someone else has been through this too.

My youngest child struggles with internal hurt.  They hurt deeply, and often.  We've been talking recently about expressing their hurt in writing or drawings, as a way to cope, and how seeing other people's artistic expressions of hurt can help us process our own.

This past week as I listened to songs of hurt, I shared some with my child, to show them they're not alone in what they feel.  They're not weird or unusual, they're human.  Music can be a tool to pull us through our darkest moments, and I want them to have all the tools they can to face their hurt and come through the other side.

So for today, here are three songs which have spoken to me lately, which I hope either now or someday speak to my child, and which may speak to you:

Everybody Hurts - R.E.M.

OK (Anxiety Anthem) - Mabel

It's OK - Nightbirde

Let's Talk About Friendship ...

Today my best friend hit a milestone birthday, and it's afforded me the opportunity to reflect on our friendship.

"Oh, you're the best friend that I ever had

I've been with you such a long time"

"Ooh, you make me live

Ooh, you're my best friend"

Friendship is something that can't be over-valued in human life.  We're used to saying that the only things people really need are food, shelter, water.  But we all know it's not that simple.  Connection with another person isn't just a want, it's a human need.  Without it, prisoners in solitary confinement lose their minds.  Children become despondent and suicidal.  Life starts feeling bleak.  Whether we like it or not, we've been designed to need friendship.

A few days ago my Bible study group was talking about a particular phrase found in Philippians 1:27 and 2:2:

"... I will hear about you that you are standing firm in one spirit, with one mind ..."

"... make my joy complete by being of the same mind ..." 

As we discussed the idea of being of 'one mind' with someone else, my thoughts immediately went to my best friend.  Our friendship wouldn't work for some people - although as children we spent every possible waking moment together, as adults we actually don't see each other often.  We don't talk daily, or weekly, or sometimes even monthly, and we don't have any regular activities we do together.  But maybe as a result of all that time spent together in our formative years, or maybe as a function of our personalities, she is the one person I know will always understand me completely.  When one of my closest loved ones had cancer last year, in my hardest moments, texting her about it was my refuge, because she knows what I'm thinking and feeling without explanation.  When she vents to me about current events or personal challenges, I get it.  In spite of different, and sometimes opposite, personalities, in spite of varying interests and experiences and beliefs, we are, inexplicably and incredibly, of one mind.

"Oh, you're the first one when things turn out bad

You know I'll never be lonely"

A trustworthy friendship where you feel known and seen and understood provides a meaningful sense of security in life.  It's where we're loved enough that we feel safe to heal, be challenged, and process the events of our lives.  We feel stronger; empowered for the hard stuff, and sure that when we fail it's ok.  That rare friendship where we're of one mind feels like home - a place where we're accepted completely, able to be ourselves, without explanation or justification.  Where we're reminded that the world isn't awful, and that life can be funny, and that things will be ok.

"Whenever this world is cruel to me

I got you to help me forgive"

"In rain or shine you've stood by me"

"I'm happy, happy at home

You're my best friend"

My best friend doesn't share my beliefs about God.  She loves me in spite of my faith.  Knowing my mind and heart like few others, she sticks with me when I've been wrong, when I've had other friends she didn't like or understand (often justifiably so) - even when my character flaws impact her.  I hope she's felt those things reciprocated.  I personally believe friendship like that is about as close to God's heart as it gets - unconditional, vulnerable, and constant.  As Queen proclaims in the song above, it makes us live.

"...a sweet friendship refreshes the soul." -Proverbs 27:9 (MSG)

The Analogy of the Garden

I've been thinking about gardens the past year.  You might think it's because as a suburban homeowner I spend an annoying amount of time weeding and planting and doing all the things I once thought my own mother was boring for spending her time on.  But in truth, I've been thinking of gardens because of the way the pandemic changed school for my family.

One of my children is what we call 'wired differently' ... in other words, they have some special needs.  School has always looked different for this child.  In fact, all societal interactions look different for them.  We spent years figuring out how they fit in a traditional school setting, and we thought we just about had it figured out by the start of 2020.

When the pandemic hit, we shifted to remote learning, and after a small adjustment period realized our child was actually succeeding in this non-social setting in a way we hadn't seen before.  They could focus on the learning part they love, and had me as a consistent 'aide' while they worked (which the school system had to that point been unable or unwilling to provide).  The remote learning change allowed things this child had never been able to do in a school setting.

A hop and a skip later into the following school year, we found ourselves forced by pandemic circumstances into something I told myself I'd never do: homeschooling.  As an ardent supporter of public school systems, a teacher by trade myself, and someone who thrived in 'traditional' school environments, I never would have intentionally pulled my children from school to teach them at home.

Yet after years of trying to fit this child's needs into a traditional educational system, we finally, and inadvertently, found where they fit best, and it was home school.  I realized one afternoon as I was in my yard weeding around plants in a specific spot where nothing else would flourish the same way, that I needed to start viewing my child the way I do my garden.

A successful bloom for this child won't look like other kids in our neighborhood.  This child won't flourish in the same situations or same ways.  But they do flourish.  They just need different soil; they need a gardener who understands what kind of tending works, and is ok with their bloom appearing on a different timeline.  If their type of bloom is only ever visible to the world in a tiny specific moment that's missed if you aren't looking for it, like the Titan Arum plant which takes 7-10 years to get up the energy to bloom for a single day, the care and tending are worth it.  I don't need to worry that this flower of mine isn't going to be planted in the same environment I was as a student.

Aren't all God's children like flowers?  There is such wonderful diversity of beauty and function in individual humans, and God's planted us all here on this earth to thrive as examples of an amazing creation.

But we must take the analogy a bit further than we tend to be comfortable with as people trained up in homogenous societies where we think there's a 'right' way to do everything.

There is no 'right' way for all flowers to be tended to.  What works for a rose will kill a cactus; what's needed for a magnolia will make an orchid suffer.  And 'thriving' looks different for each.  A thriving agave plant flowers once in a few decades; a thriving organ pipe cactus blooms only at night; thriving buttercups spread like wildfire.  That's how they're each designed.

Imagine the ridiculousness of a gardener attempting to care for every plant and flower with the same tools, the same methods, the same treatments ... and expecting them all to have identical results in spite of being different flowers.  It would be absurd.  Some plants are meant to be showstoppers all year round, some are meant to be reliably evergreen, some are intended to require painstaking, consistent care and attention in return for a few moments of visible glory.

I think God calls on us to re-frame the way we've learned to view humans.  We are a garden; we each require distinct and varied environments to thrive, and thriving doesn't mean we all bloom the same way or in the same situations or for the same lengths of time.

My child may require a very specific set of circumstances to thrive, and that thriving may be a bloom very few people will have the privilege to see, because it doesn't come in the expected moments when other flowers may bloom.  The attention of the gardener may be even more important for this flower - it's one that won't thrive with casual care, or any type of soil.  And that's ok.  That's right.  That makes sense in the natural world I see around me that God has so carefully crafted with rich diversity.  And it's ok that other flowers bloom freely and easily and in less curated environments.

I wish we could view things this way without feeling threatened by it.  People, parents, societies, and yes, Christians, have taught ourselves that we should all grow the same way.  That a successful child looks and acts a certain way, and that a successful parent provides x, y, and z to get them there.  That a 'thriving' Christian looks and acts a certain way, and participates in x, y, or z types of ministries.  Nowhere in God's creation do we see an example of this being true.  We see countless examples of the opposite.

What holds us back from viewing ourselves the way we view our gardens?  I plant my ferns in the shade and water them liberally.  My roses need full sun and occasional pruning.  My peonies don't look like much for most of the year, but for one week, when they get their moment to shine ... Wow.  What would I tell someone who asked why I don't try to get my peonies to bloom as often as my roses?  What would I tell someone who insisted my ferns needed to be in full sun and then complained that they weren't doing well?  Would I have the courage to give the same response when someone questions the environment my child needs, the way their blooming looks, or the way my relationship with God thrives best?

What kind of plant did God make you?  Where do you thrive, and what does that look like?  What care do you need to get there?  Are you planted in the right environment for you?  Don't look to the blooms next to you and compare - God's kingdom doesn't work like that.  Look at creation, value the diversity, and tend to who you are created to be.

Lessons from My Father ...

Not everyone has a father on earth who sets an example for them of what God's love as a parent is really like.  Far too many people have traumatic experiences or empty voids where genuine 'father figures' should be.  I'm fortunate that my story is different, and that by a stroke of luck I was born to a dad who sets the fatherhood bar high enough that you know it has to be pretty close to God's intention.  On Father's Day it felt appropriate to spend time reflecting on some of the life lessons I've learned over the years from my own dad, all of which, in the end, reflect back to God.

You don't owe anyone.

Every dance I ever went to, my dad told me the same thing as I walked out the door: Just because your date bought you a ticket, or a corsage, or dinner, or drove you, you don't owe them anything.  You are in charge of you, and you don't owe them for taking you.  I know at the moment his goal was to empower me to protect myself from pressure from my dates, and it did.  But the lesson extended beyond that, and empowered me as an independent ruler of my own choices in all situations, with all people.  I have never felt that I've owed another person something of myself that I don't want to give.  I know my value, and I won't be convinced by pretty words or ugly threats to take any actions I don't want to, regardless of context or circumstance.  Some call it stubbornness, and I'm sure that personality trait is involved as well.  But I like to think a large part of it is that single sentence reminder each time I walked out the door with anyone - No matter what, you don't owe them anything.  The message was clear: I am my own person, my choices are my own to make, and if others don't like it, that's their problem, not mine.  Because at the end of the day, I only answer to myself and God.  (Galatians 1:10)

You can do anything.

As the dad of two girls, and an attorney in the specific field of discrimination, my father had an inside track on why instilling this from a young age was so important, but he didn't do it alone.  Both of my parents showed and told us regularly that women were every bit as capable as men, and that we should never let anyone discredit us for something out of our control, like our gender.  I wanted to be president, I wanted to change the world, I wanted to make my opinions known and heard and followed, and I knew without question that I could.  That lesson may have backfired on them when I extended it to not letting my age disqualify me from knowing how to parent, and began challenging their own rules and consequences, but what can I say?  It's what they taught me, and it's served me well, whether in a classroom full of vocal guys or a conference room with people of higher clout.  (Galatians 3:28)

Love without judgement.

My dad lives life on the straight and narrow.  The stereotypical 'choir boy', if the choir boy were a tow-headed country boy with a muskrat trap under his arm.  He's kind, personable, doesn't drink or swear or lie; he's the epitome of professional at all times.  Yet he doesn't require that of the people he surrounds himself with.  His family, friends, and co-workers span all lifestyles and personalities, from the off-color to the proper, from the drinker to the teetotaler, from the bachelor to the family man, and as a child I watched with interest as my straight-laced squeaky clean father loved deeply, laughed loudly, and listened intently to people who were nothing like him - without losing any sense of who he was.  His friendship was never conditional - no one had to clean up their act for him, he took them how they came and found value in them just as they were.  His choices were for him, their choices were for them, and the two didn't have to be the same.  I'm wired like my dad - I watch my words, I'm polite to a fault, and chocolate is my biggest vice.  I'm so grateful he taught me to exist comfortably in spaces and with people who are vastly different from me, and to allow for diversity of thought and action in the lives of those around me, loving people for who they are without judgement.  (Romans 14:4-12)

Be skeptical.

A favorite family story is when I carefully prepared a magic show for my dad, I believe for Father's Day, actually, and at the end of each trick instead of acting amazed, as one does for a child's magic show, he proceeded to analyze and expose exactly how I had done each one.  At that particular time, I hated his skepticism - it really ruined my magic show!  But in life overall, I've appreciated a mindset that seeks to find the truth above the glitz of a showy performance.  Now more than ever, the ability to sift through opinion and rhetoric and outlandish claims to something tangible and true has proved invaluable.  My dad is never swayed by the show, but waits for the proof, and it allows him to remain a steady source of perspective in the midst of what could be chaos.  I believe a bit more in the magic of things than he might, but always with a healthy dose of his skepticism that keeps me from being swept away by whims, fads, or persuasive personalities.  In our faith more than anything, how important it is to be able to tell the difference between truth and trick!  (1 Corinthians 10:15)

Think deeply.

In a similar vein, my father taught me to think deeply about the world around me, and not grow complacent in my knowledge.  Maybe it's a lawyer thing, but conversations with my dad have always been deep dives, not surface level wading.  I learned from him that there's value in pondering things, in seeking to go further in my understanding.  He's always reading new things, listening to new ideas, questioning concepts he's long held to be true.  An NPR broadcast in human form.  My dad has always been one for a deep philosophical discussion, and what it taught me is that I don't need to be afraid to have my thoughts challenged.  Whether I agree with something or not, I can only come out better on the other side if I take the time to engage with it, discuss it, and think critically about it.  There are no easy answers in this world, and as soon as we think we know something, that's likely when we need to dig a little deeper, listen a little closer, and challenge our perspective a little more.  (Proverbs 2:2-5)

Faith is personal.

I went through a period of my life where I lost my appreciation for this lesson.  It didn't feel zealous enough for me; it seemed too content with potential differences in theology.  To be fair, I think over time my dad has learned there are times being more public with our faith can be important.  But the lesson I got from him at a very young age was that above all, faith is personal.  The Bible bears it out - David's faith is shaped in the solitude of his time on the run, the religious are told to pray in private, the great heroes of the faith were folks whose relationships with God were built in the quiet of a field, in the privacy of their homes, in moments of personal significance.  My dad's faith was built that way.  Sure, he prayed out loud before dinners, and attended church, and spoke about God.  But I know his faith was shaped in the quiet moments away from us all, the times I caught him praying when he didn't know anyone was watching.  Faith isn't a church thing to my dad, it's a God thing.  Church is a tool, but God is the goal, and his faith is something personal between God and him.  He gave us that freedom too - my faith growing up didn't have to look like his.  He understood innately that it would be something unique between me and God that he wouldn't need to know, or dictate, in order to trust.  As I've gained more faith experience, I've returned to this insight and example, and I strive daily to match it for my own children.  (Romans 14:22 MSG) (ESV)

Life is beautiful.

I'll always remember the day our family was driving along a rural road just before tornado weather hit, and my dad, who was driving, suddenly squealed and pulled the car over to the side of the road.  He hopped out of the car, looked up in amazement at the sky, colored with a uniquely beautiful pre-storm hue, and continued to excitedly exclaim in giddy incredulity at the beauty of it.  When my dad sees something incredible, he lets it be known.  It seeps into his spirit in a child-like and contagious way.  And in spite of all the things which ought to jade us in life, he never ceases to see awe-inspiring beauty in the world.  To watch him with a baby is to be in the presence of God - adoring and enamored and engaged to the point where the baby is the only thing that exists in that moment.  I've had the privilege of walking with him through a forest in the Midwest, along a beach in Florida, and across the Cliffs of Moher in Ireland, and the look in his eyes is the same in each - it's the look of someone simply in love with God's creation.  Luckily for me, this lens seems to be genetic, because he's passed it on to me.  (Psalm 19:1-6)

And there you have it - a few life lessons from my father to me, and now to you.  A few truths to remember as we navigate this world.  You don't owe anyone.  You can do anything.  Love without judgement, be skeptical, think deeply.

Faith is personal, and life is beautiful.  Enjoy them both this Father's Day and beyond.

A Change in Perspective

While listening to a smattering of prayers and pastoral-led readings at church a couple weeks ago, I noticed the frequency of a certain type of word:

• kingdom
• power
• throne
• rule
• conquered
• triumphant
• reigning
• sovereign king
• exalted
• ordered
• authority

I couldn't help but be struck by the implication of these words.  There's something telling about Christianity that we reference spiritual things in these ways.  Christianity and Christian texts approach spirituality from the perspective of those with a ruler mentality, and the language we use reflects that mindset.  We view Christ as a King, a ruler, one who has conquered things, and that commands our respect and admiration.  We promote our relationship with God as a path to becoming conquerors ourselves, triumphant and exalted.

Not that there is no basis for these terms biblically; there are plenty of verses which, at least in the English translations, use these exact words.  They aren't 'unbiblical' terms, but I wonder if our focus on them is.  God is described in so many ways beyond these, yet our Christian songs and sermons so often zero in on the concepts of victory, power, and authority almost as though they are the point of our faith.  The Bible is explicit that love of others is always the point.

The kingdom mindset isn't as prevalent in some other religions and spiritual perspectives.  Earlier this year as my children and I studied Native American culture and philosophy, we came across what's known by certain Native American tribes as "The Words Spoken Before All Others" - an address which is routinely given to open and close all important gatherings.  It's a lengthy statement of gratitude to the various natural and spiritual elements, put into place by the Creator, which are at work throughout creation.  In expressing gratitude for these life-giving elements, and connecting themselves to the spiritual, the tribes repeatedly use the following words:

• balance
• harmony
• together as one
• support
• care
• provide
• sustain
• teach
• refresh
• guide
• one mind

The focus here is a stark contrast to the conqueror mentality.  It views the Creator not as One ruling over, reigning triumphantly, or vanquishing enemies, but as what is named: the Creator.  One who provides for, sustains, and unifies those in the Creator's care.  There is no victory or battle, but harmony and support.  There is no ruler mindset here.  At least not the kind we're used to.

To be fair, an appreciation of the power and ultimate authority of divinity isn't absent in other global spiritual disciplines.  There is a natural understanding in most faiths that God has power and authority.  Even in "The Words Spoken Before All Others", power and strength are referenced occasionally, as they are undeniable in the created world: "Water is life.  We know its power in many forms."  But power and strength are not the point.  The point, in spite of the Creator's obvious authority and power, is gratitude for, and unity with, the rest of creation.

"Today we have gathered.  We have been given the duty to live in balance and harmony with each other and all living things.  So now we bring our minds together as one as we give greetings and thanks to each other as people.  Now our minds are one.  [...] we turn our thoughts to the Creator and send greetings and thanks for all the gifts of creation.  Everything we need to live a good life is here on earth.  For all the love around us, we gather our minds together as one and send our best words of greetings and thanks to the Creator.  Now our minds are one." - The Ohenten Kariwatekwen (Haudenosaunee Thanksgiving Address or Words Spoken Before All Others)

Of course there are Christian texts which focus on the same.  A quick internet search of "one mind bible verses" will show that the concept above is found throughout our own spiritual text, for example in Philippians 2:

"... make my joy complete by being like-minded, having the same love, being one in spirit and of one mind." -Philippians 2:2

Yet I wonder if it would serve us as Christians to more intentionally set aside the language and mindset of rulership; I wonder if we ought to put purposeful effort into viewing God less as conqueror and more as Creator.  We model ourselves after the God we worship - should our aim be to become victorious or to become caretakers of the hearts and lives around us?  I believe we know the answer, but it's perhaps not an easy one in the Christian spiritual culture which has been built up over centuries.  It may be far past time to learn a few spiritual lessons from those who view God another way.

Unfortunately, that pervasive conqueror mindset has already relegated many of them to the past.

To All The Mothers ...

Motherhood takes many forms.  From creatures in the animal kingdom adopting orphaned babies outside of their species to step-mothers, grandmothers, families with two mothers, and mentors who serve as mothers, there are myriad paths to motherhood.  And yet the significance of the task remains the same - mother figures play a pivotal role in the shaping of our childhoods and lives.

image credit: Sukree Sukplang/ Reuters.com

Whether with your mother figures today in body or only in spirit, hopefully this is a day of knowing, because of their influence, that you are loved and known and cared for.  And in turn, that it inspires you to become that influence in the life of another.  It takes a village, as they say, and so much of the way we end up viewing the world is because of the relationships we have with those who have come before us.

Mothers have lived life, have seen and experienced so much more than we often know, and have stored up insights and perspectives we need.  God often cites the importance of keeping note of the things we've learned through experience for the specific purpose of passing it on to the children in our care:

"Only be careful, and watch yourselves closely so that you do not forget the things your eyes have seen or let them fade from your heart as long as you live. Teach them to your children and to their children after them." - Deuteronomy 4

"...these words which I command you today shall be in your heart.  You shall teach them diligently to your children, and shall talk of them when you sit in your house, when you walk by the way, when you lie down, and when you rise up." - Deuteronomy 6

"Mary treasured up all these things and pondered them in her heart. ... his mother treasured all these things in her heart." - Luke 15  

Proverbs 31 is known for its description of an admirable woman - strong and hardworking and wise and compassionate.  But did you know that Psalm 31 begins with a recollection of words of wisdom offered to King Lemuel by his mother?  It's described as "an inspired utterance his mother taught him":

"Listen my son! ... Listen, my son, the answer to my prayers!  Do not spend your strength on women ... It is not for kings, Lemuel - It is not for kings to drink wine, not for rulers to crave beer, lest they drink and forget what has been decreed, and deprive all the oppressed of their rights. ... Speak up for those who cannot speak for themselves, for the rights of all who are destitute.  Speak up and judge fairly; defend the rights of the poor and needy."

What an utterance!  I picture Lemuel's memory of these words, piecing them together from casual conversations held throughout his childhood where his mother voiced nuggets of advice sprinkled into the daily mundane moments of parenting.  Children remember those passing comments, the repeated refrains and mantras we pepper into our time with them almost without realizing it.  They take in the character of who we are, and find it in the recesses of their mind giving them guidance when they're grown and ruling over a nation.

The work of passing on hard earned insight doesn't fall only to mothers, but to any who find themselves in a parental role of influence.  To all those in a position to nurture, advise, care for, and raise a child, thank you, and happy Mother's Day. ❤️