Prayer of the insignificant (repeat 2015)

There is nothing insignificant in the world.
It all depends on the point of view.
Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

(mum / Julie Cook / 2015)

Who am I oh Lord that you should consider my worth…
That you, the God of all that was…
Of all that is…
And all that will be…
Whose hands sweep across time…
Who has masterfully scattered the stars across the heavens…
And whose own breath is captured in the rhythmic roll of each and
every crashing wave…would look upon me,
a tiny speck in the vast churning sea of life and humanity…
And call me your own

(mum /Julie Cook / 2015)

A thousand tiny petals…
Each lovingly placed by your hand and your hand alone.
Counted, numbered and perfectly aligned.
Tightly woven.
Spiraling outward.
Unfurling simultaneously.
An insignificant happening transpiring daily and unnoticed by millions…
Yet You are keenly aware of it all as nothing, absolutely nothing,
takes place on this planet without your desire and knowledge

(stamens full of pollen / Julie Cook / 2015)

Each tiny microscopic dot of pollen exists because You have deemed it so.
Every single unassuming spore, necessary to set a miraculous chain
of events into motion,
Exists only because of You.
Pollination, a miracle unto itself, yet countlessly taken for granted,
Plays out every day, over an endless expanse of time,
as yet another flower blooms.

My mind is woefully limited, unable to grasp the vastness of all that is You.
I cannot understand how or why You, the all encompassing You,
stops because of the small and insignificant me.
Yet stop You do.

You stop to
Listen
See
Touch
Care
Love

Long before my birth, You claimed me as yours–
with both the rising and setting of the sun.

The Psalmists tells me that each hair on my aging head is accounted for
And that nothing which transpires in my life escapes your knowledge.
As I often…
Question…
Wonder…
Argue…
Curse…and rail against the seemingly random and mindless fates
of life that appear unfair and unjust.

Yet each life is inextricably linked together
Each breath, each tear, each sound of joy, pain or sorrow
is woven tightly together, as the Master of the Universe
Jehovah-Jireh has declared it so . . .
As You, the Master weaver, Jehovah-Rapha has knit my heart to your own.

May the Glory of the Heavens declare your Majesty, Oh Lord. . .
May the earth, and all that is in it, sing your praise.

And may my seemingly insignificance, which is held tightly in your hand,
as I am never from your sight, be a testament to your enduring Love
Forever and always…
Amen

(Hope in a flower / Julie Cook / 2015

the love of a mother

“Only a Woman, divine, could know all that a woman can suffer.”
Willa Cather

(hand carved wooden figure of Mary / carved in France / Julie Cook / 2014)

Have you ever loved someone so much that you’d do anything for them?
I mean anything.
You’d cut your arm off for them.
You’d stand in front of a speeding train for them.
You’d lay your life down just to move Heaven and Earth, all for them.
If they were facing some sort of challenge or difficulty, you’d trade places with them without blinking.
You’d take the pain,
the suffering,
the anguish. . .
Whatever it is, you’d take it and take it willingly and gladly, just to spare this loved one the pain, the suffering the anguish. . .
all because you love this person just that much. . .

If you are a mother, a mom, a mommy, a mum then you totally “get it”—you understand those questions and statements.
For those hard questions with the impossible answers are what constitutes the love of a mother.
Doesn’t matter if your child is 6 or 26, if they hurt, you hurt.
If your child is going through difficulties, challenges, hardships. . .
you’d take each and every one of those difficulties, challenges and hardships just to spare your child—
Because that’s the heart of a mother.

As my own heart currently heaves heavily for my own child–
As I pound the gates of Heaven as hard as I can–
As I scream out to the void of stillness–
As my frustration and anger is all so bitterly palpable–
As I assail the God of all Creation. . .
. . .because that’s what a mother does for her child—she sees, she watches, she hopes, she cries, she suffers, she wishes, she dreams, she hugs, she consoles, she remains outwardly positive—
And all the while, she prays.
She prays day and night.
She prays without ceasing and riles at the maddening silence from above.
She badgers and harangues the God of the Universe as if He’s merely not paying attention. . .
As if He has no idea of what was going on.
As if He doesn’t actually love this child any more than the mother.
What?
Loves him more than I. . . ???

Try telling any mother that someone else loves her child any more then she. . .
For that’s how mothers are—they are tenacious, defensive, voracious, strong. . .and yes, they would move Heaven and Earth for their child. . .yet on those occasions when they can’t move the Heavens, they can’t make things right, they can’t kiss it and make it all better, they can’t stand in as substitute. . .a heart silently breaks.
I don’t think anyone can ever fully grasp the pain of a mother’s heart.

And as it is on just such an occasion, as my own heart currently breaks–as in it is breaking now— as my own frustration is enough to break me, as my voice is raw and hoarse from my shouting to the God of both Heaven and Earth, and as my eyes are swollen from the shedding of countless tears, my thoughts race across time to another Mother who most assuredly understands my frustration, my pain, my sorrow for my child, for she suffered grievously for her child long before my own heartache began. . .and there is solace in a shared pain.

Then Simeon blessed them and said to Mary, his mother: “This child is destined to cause the falling and rising of many in Israel, and to be a sign that will be spoken against, so that the thoughts of many hearts will be revealed. And a sword will pierce your own soul too.”
Luke 2:34-35

And a sword will pierce her soul. . .

This is the time of year when we find our thoughts turning to the story of a young timid woman, along with her equally young husband, seeking shelter during a long and arduous journey as the time arrives for the birth of their first child. . .
Yet it is to this same woman, who 33 years later, witnesses the brutal betrayal, beating and ultimate public execution and murder of her son—It is to this very public story of the very private agony of a Mother’s heart which draws me inward and touches my own heart in a deeply profound manner.

And so it is. . .and so it goes. . .
a pierced soul will continue to assail the Heavens, as the tears continue to flow, as the prayers continue be spoken without ceasing. . .
As the heart of a mother continues to be battered and bruised for the love of a child.

Hear me, O Lord, for Your lovingkindness is good;
Turn to me according to the multitude of Your tender mercies.
And do not hide Your face from Your servant,
For I am in trouble;
Hear me speedily.
Draw near to my soul, and redeem it;
Deliver me because of my enemies.
Psalm 69:16-18