I used to hate Mother’s Day. I have written about this before, so I won’t belabor the point. Suffice it to say, I used to believe that Mother’s Day was the one of the biggest lies of all. It was a day of demonstrated appreciation that seemed to say to me something like, “This card and dinner at Red Lobster is our way of not having to carry our part for the other 364 days each year. You don’t have to clean up (pause) today, sucka!” I know I’m getting better and better in my own skin, though, because this year I am not dreading Mother’s Day. I’m not calling it Mule’s Day. I’m actually sort of excited about it.
I haven’t swallowed a magic elixir that makes things easier or tidier. I’m not taking anything for my mood. My house is messier than ever as I prepare to move homes, and I am working harder than I ever have before. My kids’ needs are greater than they were when they were babies, and I am doing things I have never done before, such as pleading for financial aid from the school and seeking county assistance for the medical needs of one of my children. I’m exhausted, but I’m making decisions and signing deeds and taking out loans all by myself. I get calls from people seeking payment on stuff I never thought possible, such as the daily phone call from the finance department at the cemetery. My one hundred/month apparently isn’t sufficient. But, I buried my dad with dignity, and I’m keeping my kids fed, clothed, and educated. I pass kidney stones almost monthly, and my teaching is laborious, but I feel on fire with the zeal of God. Truly, I’m starting to feel happy again, and my happiness is rooted in my gratitude. I think the shittiness of recent years has finely tuned in me an appreciation of decency, and my eyes are opening once more to the radical joy of mere being when being is experienced as gratitude. Continue reading “Her Love is the Love of God by Natalie Weaver”
Feminism and Religion 