A tribute to mom

A tribute to mom

[guest post by Katelyn Foster]

Happy Mother’s Day!

Happy? Not always.
This day can bring so much love, affirmation, and celebration, but it can also be a storm cloud. A painful reminder of the longed for, the missing. A scab to be ripped open again.

Ladies. Mamas. Take heart. Celebrate today! He is redeeming our broken places. He is rejoicing with us in our joyful moments, in our victories. He knows our hearts, and He sees us today. He sees YOU every day. He is writing beautiful music to the lyrics of our lives. He is weaving the tangled threads of our dysfunction and creating masterful art. He is moving. He is at work no matter where you find yourself on MOTHERS DAY.

As I sat and thought of each of you today, sipping on my hot coffee turned cold, Jesus led me to this beautifully written thought in my favorite book.

“Music is made in stress. A string pulled tight, it has to be plucked, moved from its comfortable, resting position. As the string bends… arches in stress and then releases, it vibrates- and there is the offering. The stress, these can be song makers. Maybe this is how to make life-worship. He holds tight and He strums and I can surrender to the music of God. Music could be made here.”
-Ann Voskamp

If this doesn’t scream motherhood, I don’t know what does! Even something as beautiful and powerful as music is born of stress, and tension. Bending and shaking, creating beauty. Glory born of discomfort. Strength out of weakness. Gold tried by fire, coming forth purified.

“The stress, these can be song makers. Maybe this is how to make life-worship.”

God is making music with your tears. He is orchestrating your joy filled moments. As He pulls the resting strings and causes them to move and dance, our lives become our own offering of praise. Our lives make noise.

“O come, let us sing unto the Lord: let us make a joyful noise to the Rock of our Salvation.”  -Psalm 95:1


The Greek word used in this passage is “Ruwa” meaning “to mar, especially by breaking, splitting the ears with sound”.

Especially by breaking.
In our breaking, our life song is played.

In the painful waiting, silence, and negative pregnancy tests.
In the stress and second-guessing over decisions made.
In the child physically present, yet emotionally removed.
In the empty seat at the dinner table and suffocating absence.
In the worry over the wayward child.
In the child abandoned by turned back or grave.
In the empty nest and navigating the tricky waters of parenting adult children.
In the sink piling over with dishes.
In the sleepless nights comforting, nurturing, dying to self.
In the joys of new life and babies born smelling of fresh angel kisses.
In our daily failures and victories.
In the monotony of the daily, the crust cutting, and coffees left to warm and cool again in microwaves.
In the first smiles and steps, babies turning into children, children into adults.
In scribbled thank you notes, and unexpected hugs.
In the needing and feeling needed in return.
In the laughter and joy uncontainable, love spilled out.
In the wise decisions, and children following deep ruts on paths of righteousness.
In God bending low and meeting us in our daily walks. Emmanuel. God with us.
In the little and big things alike.

The noise that wafts into the presence of our Father, so sweet to His ears. The noise that rises off of the knees knelt hard at children’s bedsides. Sweet noise wafting from the tears spilled in dark rooms over souls and unknown futures. Noise muffled and muted in the longing and hard things. Noise collectively entering the Throne Room of the Father creating a symphony. And He is glorified. It’s in our weakness His strength is perfected.
It’s in our short comings He rolls up His sleeves to work.

“Motherhood is messy because of imperfect humans raising imperfect humans”

Motherhood is messy. There is no manual. There is no outcome guaranteed to match our effort. There are no shortcuts or cheat sheets. Motherhood is messy because of hearts so full of love that they overflow and spill out all over the place. Like a full cup in the hands of a toddler. Sloshing over the sides, dripping onto the floor. Messy because of grace spilled out. Messy because of crumbs on countertops, never ending laundry, and spit up stained ‘everythings‘. Messy because of imperfect humans raising imperfect humans. The best most glorious messiness made perfect by Christ’s strength.

A joyful noise.
Our lives a song to our Savior.
Even the sour notes.

Happy Mother’s Day to all you ladies in the trenches with me!  There is nothing out of His fingertips, there is nothing, NO ONE unredeemable.  You’re a superwoman. Lean into God. He wants to shoulder your weakness. He wants to make your example an anthem to Him.

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