Monday, November 8, 2010

A Thicket Called Womanhood

With this 365 I thought I'd take the chance to say a word about mothering my daughter at the age of 15:

purifying.


Like a vat of molten precious metal heated to the point that all the impurities rise to the top for skimming.  That's where I've been the last couple of years - vat...molten...heat... and I have a very "good girl."  

I suppose it could be argued that high school years are the very same trial by fire.  (1 Peter 1-23) She must understand feeling pushed emotionally to be more mature than you feel you have strength to be.  She must know what it's like to be so on the verge that all it takes is one more set of rolled eyes to tip over the edge.

To be walking where you've never seen a mother walk before, unsure if you're going at the right pace- or if you're even going in the right direction. 
When she turned 12, I came to the end of my memories of my mother mothering me (and my memories of that gentle lady were ideal.)  It was as if we were walking down a familiar path that suddenly turned into nothing but thicket.  A thicket called womanhood.  Some days I am literally picking my way (or my battles) through tall undergrowth, praying with each step.  Other days I should be.

And like any good survivalist, I am dropping unnecessary baggage of selfishness and diffidence as I go, like a trail of dry bread crumbs leading from what we are to what we're becoming.  She's dropping some too.  
But, I've noticed wether we walk carelessly or a bit apart through this territory, we do keep a similar pace.  I'm thankful for that.  We're in the same wood.  Given the day of the week, we may feel alternately lured by the beauty or a bit lost in the denseness,  but we are at least together through it.
    
I have no clue what her mother memories will be like.  When I'm moving forward, it is toward a feminine expression of Christlikeness.  I am hanging on to my vision of what I need to be, not what I was yesterday, hoping she'll catch the same vision of the former to strive for when she's older.  Maybe her memories of me will be defined by my persistence in weakness.   


(365 Day 299

No comments:

Post a Comment