I Hate

"I hate them with perfect hatred."
Yea, I clearly recall these lines from the Bible itself,
David's words
Pouring out his heart to the Lord
He is  always too honest for comfort.

Have I ever told the Lord that I hate someone?
Yea...but with a sense of guilt.
I reckon that He  won't be pleased
Telling Him such things don't come naturally
I like to be pious before Him.

And when I do hate am I conscious of His presence?
Almost never!
All I ever see before me is the object of my hatred
And a swollen sense of self esteem
While a fire within me is kindled.

If hatred is an art I would rate myself a pro.!
I am passionate in hatred
My ire is insidious
I slowly poison myself with it
But I wish the other would be harmed.

Yes I hate with "perfect hatred"
And I shudder at this realization
I am even ashamed to admit it
I go to lengths justifying, defending myself-
I hate but I am not wrong!

It's not so much my wrath at the other person
As what I hold within me
The contempt reveals so much about me!
My utter depravity and my poverty
And my need-my need for grace!

"'Hate' is too strong a word", I often say
But actually no word can capture the intensity of a heart that despises
It'll be a horrible word, too horrible to be uttered
It's ugly, it's terrifying, it's vile
No wonder then that I lose my peace when I entertain it.

I believe this is what my Savior knew
When He told me to ,love and taught me to love
He saw the hideousness of this sin
It raises its banner against Him
And against my soul which He loves.

May I then remind myself each moment how villainous hatred is
Until at long last I hate it with"perfect hatred"
It is only thing to be hated!

P.S. Even as I was writing this I realized that I have gotten into something more than I bargained for! This is not a very refined thought, I have agreed to disagree with myself here. But this will serve as a marker in my journey towards a clearer understanding of the scheme of things in this theme. Bear with me! :)

Longing Without Knowing

"Can you miss someone you have never known?", I was asked.
It was a "yes" then and it still is.
I miss some people I will never know
People whose lives have touched me and still influence my life.
I am not talking of obscure great men and women who made history
I am talking about"missing" someone in the sense of really longing for them
There's an empty space in your heart and life for them which  only they can fill
You know that they are supposed to be there but you find them absent
You have this acute sense of wanting and even needing them
You feel as if you know them though you've never known them
You miss them.

I miss my paternal grandparents, for example.
I never knew them but I love them and long for them
I know that they would've loved me too if they only knew me!
There's an empty space in my heart meant just for them which has never been occupied.
The Lord knew better and took them away before we even met here on earth
I don't complain about the emptiness though I have felt it
It's not a pain I cannot bear
I feel blessed that I love someone I never knew
And rest in the assurance that they surely loved me even though they might not have anticipated me.

Yea, then there was dear Josephine, my sister!
I have never even seen her
I wonder what she would have been like
If she had grown up to be a woman
What personality would she have graced?
What color would have been her favorite?
With what would I have likened the sound  of her voice?
Would she have demanded that I piggyback her and tell her stories just like her siblings?
Or would she have been the understanding one,
The one who would talk about grandpa and grandma with me?

And how do I not miss my dear nephew
Whose heart was so feeble that he had to go?
We didn't get to pick up names with glee for him
Like we did when his sister was born
Frail from the start, he had our hearts in knots
And then he was gone before the reality of his presence sunk in.
I would have been an absent aunt had he lived
But I would have cherished him nonetheless
Now I can't even speculate the" ifs"
He's gone, gone before I even saw him.

We might say at the risk of sounding debased
That one can do without a cousin or a nephew
They are not "necessary".
Objectively, I agree.
But what about the "necessary" relations?
That, one has to concede.

I miss without knowing them whom I miss
And I believe it's a blessing to be longing like this
This sense of loss makes me tender, makes me ponder
And perhaps makes my heart stretch  a bit more to accommodate more love
Love for others for the sake of those I miss.

My mind and my heart have not explored all the ramifications
Nor have I closed myself to the possibility
That there might be more whom I'll miss in the future....
I pray then that I'll have the tenderness of heart to miss them then!

I sense that calm over my face after all these years...that same one I used to have when I was so sure of God, myself and to a certain extent my future. My muscles are relaxed, my eyes steady, my cheeks brave, my ears drawn back yet alert, my lips settled in a shape I won't know how to replicate at other times and the overall contours of my face set as if I am feeling the warmth of the sun on my face after a cold winter's night. It sounds good,it feels good ...but I am afraid it might not be really good.

I recall the storms I faced after that calm, how it ravaged my soul, robbed my peace and defaced my heart. I remember being tossed about by circumstances, people and my own weaknesses. Is it coming back? Is this the lull before the storm?

When the storm comes your preparedness matters. Perhaps this is the time to be prepared? Perhaps. A part of me  feels excited at the prospect of facing the storm, much against another part which wants safety and quiet. But it's not for me to decide whether the storms should come or not. Is it?

So why am I afraid?

I am afraid that I might not go to the right place for shelter. I am afraid that I might not survive this time. I am also wary of  the lies...I am wary of the deception the calm wears....

The last storm broke me down. Am I stronger now? I like to believe I do. But still I am afraid to face the storm which might not come after all!

For Papa

One of life's greatest delights is to see growth-whether it be in a little baby or a tiny sapling. Thankfully, growth is not limited to the tangible and the physical. It encompasses the spiritual, the emotional and the mental too. I have been blessed to witness spiritual and emotional growth in people close to me, people I love and cherish. This includes even my parents. Over the years I have seen them love each other better, if not more than they used to. They grew in love and the tree of their love sheltered, protected and provided for us. The tangibility of their growth showed in the affectionate gestures and words towards each other and towards us. Their love is a living example that we fall in love and then grow in love. In falling we die to our own selves and in that death we find ourselves sprouting and growing in love (the death and resurrection principle I referred to in my last post). Love is not a spark that lights up your world for a moment and then dies away; it is like a candle which lights other candles though it is melting. It knows that life on earth is too short to even worry about how short it is; we are to live and help others live. I am so thankful that God helped me see this in my parents.

I wrote the following lines for Papa during my first year of college, away from home and alone in the confines of my Paying Guest accommodation. A lot has changed since then, all for good. My understanding of Papa has 'evolved' to see him more realistically and I hope more lovingly. I complain about not having received hugs here...well, I have received so much since then! And about the tears...let me keep it to myself for now....

I must not forget to add that the society we grew up in doesn't really display affections...this is one of the reasons we are so stiff most of the times. But things are changing for the better.

These are a teenager's musings, take it as that...she's a big girl now! :)

"Pa, did I ever doubt your love?
Ever thought you didn't care?
Took you for granted?

Questioned your decisions?

Misunderstood your corrections?

Yes Pa, I did.

Pa, I cried for the tears you didn't show
Longed for the hugs you didn't give
And wondered why you are this way.

But this is all I have against you.
I can't count the number of times you said"thank you"to me
When I did well at school or at anything that made you proud;
Nor the times you accompanied me
To school, to church, to the doctors'...
I saw you empty your pockets to fill mine
I saw you give up your dreams
To get me a new dress, or to pay for my picnics and trips.
You stayed by my side when I was sick
You woke up to tell me to go to sleep
When I'd be cramming for exams

(And you know Pa? You calmed me down by saying that).
I was aware when in the dead of the night

You'd come and pull the blankets over us,

And check whether we were sleeping well
Gently stirring us up if when we weren't.
I've witnessed the times you faced humiliation

So that we could be filled, so that we won't lack.
You knew what was important
You lived for what you could die for.

Thank you Papa for the many times you carried me,

For the wonderful stories you told

For the stuffs you mended-whether it was my teddy bear or my broken heart

For the errands you chose to go for us
For the dreams you helped us dream
And for so much more...

Everyday Pa, every single day
I want you to be sure that I love you

How can I complain Pa
about the tears and the hugs?
I know your heart bled for us
Your hand worked for us-
That was hugging in the real sense...
Oh, I can't comprehend it...!

I don't know how successful you are
But as a father
You are definitely a big hit!
I love you PAPA!"

At the Altar

Nothing is really yours till it has gone through the process of death and resurrection. I face this reality again. I am reminded that what I want should first and foremost be given up, and then should the Almighty in His sovereignty and love for me decide to give it back to me alive,it's mine to keep; else in faith I know it was never in my interest.

I wish I had the faith to believe so this time as well.... In spite of what I have known and still know to be true here I find myself in tears over what I have to give up. Perhaps I am mistaken...perhaps God wants me to fight for it and not just give it up? But no.It can't be, it isn't. This is such that I can lay no claim to it unless it is gifted and gifted,it is not. It is not to be fought for, it is not to be sought after without putting on rebellion and pride. I wish it was easy, I wish I had never placed my affections on it...everything was going so well until I was abruptly stopped and made to realize that I had been mistaken all along. I died a little that day.

I hope I am  not talking in the air...a few of you know why I am saying this. I am putting my condition to words so that they bear testimony to what I am feeling now. Perhaps after all these are over I can then come back and view this in a new light. I hope to pass this test. "Though He slays me yet I will trust in Him"..."When He has tried me I shall come forth as gold." I say these lines to myself again today... there's something I have to train myself to see and listen to.

What's in store for me I don't know. Yet I do know that the sacrifice has to be made and it means death of a certain part of me. I believe it has to be this way, I am being transformed, I am being renewed, I am being cut and chiseled to be fit for His crown. He loves me and He has always proven Himself to be true. So I believe and affirm today that His will is "good, acceptable and perfect." I am not looking back, I have raised the knife.

My Sabbath

Those three years I can never forget. Sundays were sunny, bright and clear. The neighborhood really serene because people were away at church; but I had company and that surprises me now. I hid lest I be seen but nobody cared, I got strange looks but never a word. Those were restful days, Sabbath indeed! I don't know what I missed because what was was replaced by newer things-things I never would have known if I wasn't made to stop.

Remember Lord that those days I was most ready to meet You, not because I hated this life but I was in love with your love for me and I was captivated by thoughts about the new abode you have prepared for me. Those were the days I began seeing you as my God and not as an colonial or imperialist legacy. You entered into my private world disrobed of my childish fantasies. There we were together talking about things which mattered to me most...remember the letters I wrote You? I told You my about my dreams, my fears, my shame, my struggles....There were a lot I didn't share too because I wasn't able to; but You knew, You understood...like You always do.

I held onto You desperately in the best way I knew. I realize now that I was not so good at it, You were the One actually holding onto me. You held onto me even when I turned my back those last days...such is Your love! I was attacked, tempted, persecuted...I was shaken...but Your grace was always sufficient.

I remember that You didn't forsake me in any way. You made me thrive by sending me songs for the broken nights and empty days. I starved for your Word and you fed me in miraculous ways...sometimes I wonder how I even survived because I wasn't on solids yet during that conflict! I longed for fellowship and You gave me friendships which I still cherish and nurture. You have always been faithful Abba!

I will always look at those years with a sad sigh but they will immediately be followed by songs of praises to Your faithfulness. They are etched in my memory as bright sunny days, with a tinge of melancholy but glistening with a soft blanket of inexpressible peace and joy. Yes,there was peace and joy then, in the midst of that turmoil...I knew and felt that I was totally on your side. I was away from church but closer to You. 

Papa

"PAPA!" That endearing sound!
It goes without saying that I adore my father. Everyone who knows me knows that!
My cousin says that I am a "daddy's girl". I am unsure what she exactly means by that...
But I love Papa and Papa loves me, so I guess she means that...but I disdain the exclusivity it might imply because Papa's heart is so big that every child he loves could be his"girl" or "boy". I know he loves my sisters, brothers and cousins a lot too and I lay no special claim to his love.

Nonetheless I have always shared a special,if not exclusive bond with Papa. He was never my hero, I never viewed him that way. Papa was well past forty when I was born and the first image I have of him is one of a reverent old man, the patriarch of our family,the pastor of our small local church, the one whom strangers called "baba", and neighbors called"uncle". He was so different from my idea of a hero, so different from the young and energetic daddies of my friends. I was so protective of him even as a little girl! Once I got very mad at a man who took some nails from Papa's hands in a hardware store! I thought he was snatching it away because he didn't ask whether he could have a look...and that man looked rough too. I was so mad I went home and told Mama that somebody took away Papa's nails at the store! Mama was probably amused and told me that I should have spoken up then!I was ashamed that I didn't. Papa was always so good to others that I feared people would take advantage of him. He never cheated, never fought, never lied...he was always reverent and kind...and the world as I saw it was a cruel one!

Papa is the epitome of idealism. I clearly remember that the title of one of the book on his shelf was "The Idealist View of Life". He has high ideals and principles and he is known for that. People take him for a moral perfectionist, an impossible to please person. He is widely misunderstood. He is a man of his words, he sticks to what he says. His view seldom changes once formed. He has definite opinions but he always encourages inquiry...I used to find this baffling!His teachings range from the abstract to everyday manners and conduct. He loves to read and his readings range from history to physics, from theology to philosophy, from poems to politics,etc. Often he would pick up our old textbooks and read them, learning all over again or perhaps learning for the first time. He still has his books,even notebooks from his college days. I used to fancy those yellow exotic pages and once took the courage to ask him for one of those but Papa flatly refused. I never asked for his" treasures" again! He refuses to throw them out, they are older than us and Mama thinks that they should be discarded if they are not being used. Papa disagrees and Mama understands....she is in fact the one who cares for his books and warns us not to soil or spoil them should we use them and as for some books she would insist we ask Papa's permission. Papa values education;though he had to forgo higher formal education because he had to take up responsibilities by taking up a job he never remained uneducated. He has read extensively. To give you an idea, his library has writings by Tolstoy, Joesphus, Vivekananda,H.G. Wells, E. G. White, Gandhi, Hawkings,Billy Graham,etc.. He also has an exclusive edition of the Arabian Nights, he has the Mahabhartha and the Ramayana as well. He never limited knowledge to the range of one culture. So along with our traditional folktales which he would orally tell us, we got to read the Grimm Bothers, Hans Christian Anderson, Aesop fables,Tennali Ramkrisna, Hetopadesa,etc. These might not sound so great now but it was a big thing then when books were scarce and expensive. Only the determined and crazy got all those!

He instilled in us a love for learning and curiosity. He might deny us many things but he won't deny us anything related to our education. I grew up feeling very rich because of that!

Papa loves children. It is a usual sight in our backyard to see him play carom with the neighborhood kids, singing as they strike their best shot! My little cousins are very fond of him and remembers every word he says, often repeating them to their parents. Papa is very fond of chess and would coax any potential partner into playing with him and of course they would play for hours on end! He often plays Chinese checkers with Mama and we used to enjoy playing cards in the evenings too.

Papa never tires of speaking. My aunt thinks that I got this trait from him! Often he repeats the same thing over and over again much to others'annoyance but I see that it's important-this shows the urgency he feels, reveals his constancy and the intensity of his convictions in what he says. Well, it took me sometime to realize this, I wish people also knew.

Some people say I look like Papa. That gladdens my heart because Papa is quite good looking and the photos of him in his younger days are dashing! I got his skin tone and forehead for sure and his liking for bitter food. Both of us love reading. It's a joy to share books with him! Papa can be quite critical at times and so am I. As a part of his pastoral ministry he would go home-visiting and I would hop along with him too, often my two younger siblings would join us. That way I came to know many people and visited many places I otherwise won't have known. Such experience also taught me to listen to "serious"conversations.

Papa was the one who was tough on me, tougher than Mama that is. I was a dreamer and usually very lazy. But Papa would make me work-he would make me carry firewood, water, sand,etc., make me wash his socks and shirts, make him tea, etc. He could have told others to do those works but it had to be me. He usually was the one who saw the wrongs I was getting into. He would reprimand me for being vain, for being careless and shoddy, etc.He would be quick to silence me when I am talking rudely or proudly.He often checked on us while we studied; needless to say he has caught me often lost in thoughts or playing with stationary. He taught me never to wallow in self-pity, never to lie or steal or bear false witness. He was always proud of my work but never satisfied-he would always point out areas I needed improve in. I still need to work on the very things Papa began working in me; I am glad he pointed them out and began the work too.

Papa would take care of us as much as Mama would when we would fall sick. He would sit beside us as he read, massage us, and tell us that we will be well soon. Most importantly,he would pray over us and when he did that I was sure that I would be alright soon. He is very affectionate. He would come check on us while we are asleep. He brings us lots of goodies to eat. He says all those silly things which only a father can tell his kids. He makes sure we have everything we need or even want. I don't doubt his willingness to provide so whenever he refuses me anything I respect his decision. He would lovingly roast eggs and potatoes for us. He spends hours making and packing goodies with Mama to send them to us now that we all are away from home. He would make "chula" and hot water bags for us as we studied during the cold winter days. I was the night owl in the family and would sometimes study late into the night,but Papa would insist that I sleep well. What a blessedness it was (and is) to know he cares....

Papa works very hard with his hands too. He almost single-handedly built two rooms adjoining our small government quarters. He would carve out candle stands, spoons, etc. from wood. He never shies away from menial work;in fact he even cleans our septic tank if need be! He once dug a shallow well near our home all by himself, he built out kitchen hearth in the traditional style too. All the cementing work in our yard has been done by him. He made a comfortable place for Mama to wash clothes by hauling big slabs of rocks from the river! He makes sure we have strong and enough clotheslines too.He also does all the fencing and pruning work in our little abode. There are more I am sure...

Papa is a fighter...he is a generous soul...he is so childlike too...he is naive at times...he has so many faults too...but He loves God and God loves him. God has given me the honor of hearing praises about Papa even from strangers and non-believers. People trust him...there's something about him which commands trust. I love the way he prays...I love the way he blesses us...I love the way he sings...I love my Papa!

When I went home from college for the first time Papa ran out to meet me on hearing my voice. How I long to see him again! I have been away from home for too long....O Lord take me back home to be with Papa and Mama again very soon!

Past that Passed By

I am glad that I miss some things...it means that life has been good. I am thankful that I can look back and smile. Sometimes I wish I could go back, just for a moment, just to experience the feelings I felt then...but I can't, so I have a feeling of  "missing" instead. And it's good.

I am glad that what has happened can't be changed. They have been captured in the pages of time past. Nobody can alter it, and God chooses not to alter it. Everything changes but not the past!

People may change the narrative or adjust perceptions of the past; but the fact remains that what was "is" there in the past and there are limits to adjustments and manipulations.

If time's arrow should take a detour, the tail would always be the tail, never the head. There are some "constants"...always.

Then there are also the tears I cried in times past; my memories contain bad and bitter scenes too. Thank God they can't be changed as well! What is my life story without those chapters on pain, hurt, loss, and sorrow? They bear testimony to the fact that I have lived, that is-loved, hated, risked, cried, lost, won,made mistakes...etc.. They mark my humanness and my need for God. If because of and in spite of the ugly stains I find myself closer to the heart of God, I have all the more reason to sing"Redemption's Story".

So I say again that I am glad some things can't be changed. And this gladness is not just some trick of positive thinking, it is faith at work...faith in God's redemptive work that reaches to the deepest recesses of even the past. And this faith like all good things is from the Giver of all good things who reconciles all things to Himself...

My past is redeemed. What more do I say?

Mama

I call her "Mummy" and when I am feeling sulky or kiddish I call her "Mama" or "Meeehhh". She's my mother, one of my greatest blessings.

I grew up feeling her like the air I breathe in. She was always around-when I woke up, when I ate, when I cried, when I went to school and came back, when I played....in fact I'd inform her of my every move, even when I had to go to the toilet I'd seek her permission and would keep on repeating it until she's take some seconds off her work and nod her head and said,"Okay!" It was important for me to be in her thoughts.

I can almost hear her voice ring loud and clear, echoing all around the house. She has a sharp voice which is unmistakably distinct, and she used it effectively-to call, to scold, to teach, to tell. She has a cheerful disposition, she is a conscientious worker, she is a stickler for cleanliness, she doesn't like black, she loves geraniums,she always cooks a little bit extra(just in case), she often breaks into songs, she has a really good memory, she forgives quickly, loves unreservedly.She can sew, embroider, weave, crochet, knit and do all sorts of things with her hands. She has a good collection of shawls and as a child my sister and I would always take delight in unfolding them and wrapping them around ourselves and dance gleefully, much to Mama's amusement and annoyance! I loved watching her get ready to go out for her work. She would often ask me for suggestions, though I knew she would ultimately go for her own choice! She would apply a layer of her lipstick on my sisters and I as well  before moving out and for this we would wait for our turn with our heads raised and mouths open! When she would late in coming back, we would get anxious and would run out on the little hillock and look out for her. We could usually recognize her by her shawl. I can still feel the delight on finally seeing her come down the winding steps towards our home!

 I love what she cooks; I have never been able to judge whether she's a good cook or not...partly because I have grown up eating what she offered on the table and partly because I know lots of people whose cooking I relish. Her cooking is beyond judgement -for me,it is love,purity, trust, warmth...all rolled in together! My friends and neighbors loved her cooking though-my lunch box was always sought after and the little treats Mummy would send over to the neighbors always got great reviews! An old neighbor even said that Mummy's fried rice is better than anything she ever tasted, it is like gold!

She has the most beautiful hands-gnarled and twisted by years of hard work. They are at once the most beautiful as well as the most ugly part of her body. Ugly because, in comparison to the smooth skin on her other body parts, her hands looks grotesquely unfamiliar; and they are beautiful because of reasons I find hard to express...they stand for love, for sacrifice...

My friends love her. I feel so proud to be her daughter when my old friend calls up to say she visited Mummy to share, to pour her heart out, even when I am not around...she love unselfishly and people know that. Once, another friend exclaimed, "I love your mom! " I asked why. She replied, ""Cause she's so motherly!" I smiled when she said that and I still do when I recall that moment. My friends love what she buys for me, they always say that Mummy has a good fashion sense! I don't totally agree but yea, she does have a good sense in clothes. Most of what I wear has been chosen by her and I wear them proudly.

Mummy is stronger than she appears...I have seen her cry a lot many times but she has always come back with that cheerfulness which is her hallmark. I grew up watching her pray on her bed each morning and night.
She would always remind us that God comes first and then parents, and also that we are always in her prayers. She taught us songs which we would proudly sing in Sunday School presentations. She taught us to pray. She bought us wonderful books we still treasure.She would take the day off from office to prepare us for exams. She has an amazing memory power...she can still count in Bengali, read Hindi, recall old Sunday School songs, etc. Still, she's eager to learn. She often calls us to ask about the meaning of a new word she has just heard on TV, and when I tell her something new I have read in the Bible, she'll ask for the reference and look it up in her old Bible written in our dialect. I have often heard her asking Papa the meaning of difficult Bible passages. She tells us, "Now you are all more educated than your father and I, you must teach us back! " Such is her humility! I know that she takes pride in our learning so I make a conscious effort to tell her about some interesting things I have come across. Whenever she calls me she always asks,"Any new news?" or "Do you have something to say?" I therefore read the news on the internet just to update her.I recall a funny incident in which my younger sister and brother were arguing; Mummy intervened and said,"If you want to argue, argue in English!!" We all burst out laughing.

She lives for us, she always have....she didn't cry when Grandma passed away because we were around...I know she wanted to be beside her  while she was unwell but she chose to stay with us. She sacrificed her pleasures to keep us comfortable, to ensure that we don't miss out on anything. Our aunt once said that Mom was so "ferocious"  and protective when we were little, but now that we are grown up, she is more relaxed! Her colleague, herself a mother said that she has never seen parents loving their children as much as Mummy and Papa do. My uncle speaks of her as the perfect homemaker. I smile at  many  such comments about Mummy from people we know.

I never really identified myself with Mummy. As a child I was more attached to Papa. When Mummy would spank me and my little sister, we would cry out for Papa. I would always follow Papa around and unlike my sisters who would tell Mummy all the events of the day when they came home from school, I was never the story teller. I preferred sitting alone in a corner or snuggling up to Papa to hear stories. But Mama says that I have always been good with words and that's the reason why she would send me on errands-during our younger days phones were rare so we kids had to run around with news!

They say that there comes a time in a girl's life when she thinks her mother is her worst enemy. I have been through that phase-during my teens. I was a rebellious teenager who caused much heartache to Mama. I blamed her for everything wrong in my life, I argued with her, and said things I never should have said. I will always be sorry for what I said and did then. But Mama forgave me and loved me more than ever! She cried when I was leaving home for college, she gave up her favorite things especially for me when I was packing then; she made it a point to call me everyday though her phone bills ran up sky high....she still does...and she always shares with me what's in her heart. Over the years since I left home we have only grown closer. I often used to wonder whether people close to you can feel your pain even though you are miles apart and you haven't told them of your grief . I know for sure now that they do because Mama always knew if something is wrong with us. One horrible night I cried myself to sleep; Mama called me up early in the morning to ask if I am alright because she couldn't sleep that night as well!! There has been many more instances when she felt the pain in my heart even when I couldn't express it. She is amazing, she touches my heart in places which are too deep for even me to reach!

I hope I love her as much as she deserves to be and much more too...she is someone who I want to be like in her devotion towards her husband and children. We would be lost without her...she has an indomitable strength I can only wonder at. With all her shortcomings,with all her mistakes she is still beautiful, perfectly lovable! She is a woman through and through...she is my mother, she is God's representative on earth to me. I love her more than I can say and more than I can even know! When God chose me to be one of her daughters He was being extra kind to me....

And when people say that I am very motherly, I hope within my heart that they mean I am like my Mama....