Guest Post: Heavenly Mother’s Presence
Guest post by Kaylee Petersen. As a creative and professional writer, Kaylee is forever seeking opportunities to get lost in words. She graduated in Liberal Arts and travels frequently to better understand the world, all while coming home to her family and friends at the end of the day.
When I think of the world,
I think of the weight of the Mother.
She is not like a feather
So gentle you fear She might be lost
In a soft breeze passing by.
Instead, She is grounded in the dirt,
Made of soft curves and hard edges,
With freckles from watching us play
In the tall summer grass as we grew.
Among Her wrinkles, She wears
Faded scars from a world
She has created, Her calloused hands
That held onto our broken branches
When we withered and shrunk from heavy winds,
So afraid we thought She was gone.
Yet in the silence, I feel Her,
As familiar as the heart lines on my palms.
Together, we now become whole.
She is a comforting force
Leaning against me so I know
In the warmth of Her arms
I will not walk alone.
Neither shall I––or we––
Mourn nor love nor be afraid alone.
I have known the weight
Of the Mother all my life
For She has born us in Her arms––
The weight of the world.
This post is part of a series, Contemplating Heavenly Mother. Find more from this series here.
Soothing words. Bringing comfort to my heart this morning. Thank you!
This is wonderful
Wonderful words indeed. I woke up this morning following a dream of having paid a visit to an older woman’s house. I was in her backyard. I knocked on the backdoor. She had just returned to her house. She was busy changing her clothes – I had caught her at an awkward moment. I was going to work in her yard. Soon many people were in her yard. There were trays and bags of trays of small flower blossoms. Some people were giving directions on where to plant the blossoms. Most people stood by listening. But the yard was small and the planting areas had a lot of brick work in them. There were only small sectionsbof dirt open for planting.
People chatted while busily taking the flower blossoms from the trays. However, planting work was minimal. It was obvious that the current condition of the yard did not lend itself to planting. I think all the chatting was a distraction from dealing with how best to go about planting the blossoms.
The woman of the house was now dressed in a robe. She walked along a paved walkway which ran along side the garage which was in the backyard. She wasn’t hiding herself, but she wasn’t being conspicuous either.
I found a small plot of dirt among the brickwork. I held my position to stake my claim to this open bit of soil. I had asparagus in my hand. I was going to plant it. I woke up.
Thank you for the post.
Beautiful. Thank you!
Such gorgeous imagery. Thank you.
I find comfort in the solid earthiness of the Mother, too, rather than intangible or wispy imagery. Thank you for sharing this.