As I look at my hands I see my mother’s hands, as I remember them when I was young; the well defined creases around the knuckles that revealed beauty with aging. I used to love to hold my mother’s hand in church and feel her nails and look at her fingers; I studied them well.
So, now my hands may look like hers, my eyes we may share as well, among other insignificant physical features. But, my life does not mirror hers and for that I am thankful.
I am just shy of turning 34 in the new year. At 34 my mother had three kids, ages 12, 9, and 7, a divorce, and a remarriage. I have two children, ages 6.5 and 4.5 and have been married to the same great man for 10 years. While my Mom chose to look away from the mirror in fear of not liking what she found within, I have chosen to look deep and seek wise counsel for the sake of myself and those who I call dear; it is not an easy task to face the truth, to face the pain; to change old beliefs and assume new, healthier ones, but it is worth it; it is my duty and I am not alone even when i hear voices telling me otherwise.
I wish my parents had given me a legacy that I would be proud of sharing with my children, so I wouldn’t have to think so very hard to find something good to tell them when they ask me a question about my childhood. But, that is the way it is and maybe someday, Abigail and Elliott will see how God worked through me to derail the the sin that came down through my parents and their parents, on back in history, the repeated sin, the iniquity.
So, I look now and wonder why I am bothered by the wrinkles I see, the smile lines on my face and the wear in my mothering hands. I was always determined to grow old gracefully embracing the beauty of age and wisdom, but I am finding myself at war with the opposing views on aging. Perhaps it is that I feel my childhood was such a loss and that now that i am tasting freedom, my youth is gone. It feels wasted and that makes me feel sad. Why didn’t my parents know me. Why did they neglect and abuse me? Those questions are lost and useless now and I am on the journey to finding out the bigger and better question, for what purpose. God heals the broken-hearted, binds up our wounds. I have so much to be thankful for when I recognize I have a God who is able to free me and bring about restoration. This process is long. I have been grieving over the loss of family, the loss over the dream of having parents who would actually love me with their actions instead of with their words. Words are cheap; they mean nothing unless they are accompanied by action. Faith without works truly IS dead.
Onward with my journey of healing; sometimes it feels it will never end and I am getting older every minute. I don’t want to waste any more time slacking off on doing my therapy work. Once I get my hands on the book DOOR OF HOPE things will be going at a faster pace; it’s going to be tough, but I know I will be all the better for it.