Mothers are not all the same

Some people find it difficult to celebrate Mother's Day.

The Scripture

Psalm 63
interpreted by Deborah

O Glorious One, You are my God;
there is no one like You;
I have caught glimpses
of Your radiance,
felt glimmerings
of Your love,
and my soul rejoices.

And I praise You.

O Lovingkindness, You are my God;
Your compassion extends
to the ends of the earth,
to the ends of the cosmos,
giving life to all that is,
and all that ever shall be

And I praise You.

Almighty Healer, You are my God;
there is nothing —
and no one — outside
of Your love;
no spirit so tortured,
no soul so withered,
no heart so hardened
that it cannot be healed
and restored to fullness.

And I praise You.

O Sacred Darkness, You are my God;
You are there in the nighttime;
in the lonely watches,
the desolate hallways,
the empty rooms,
the silent vigils;
You are there.

And I praise you.

O Eternal Song, You are my God;
I hear Your voice in the sunrise,
it calls from every flower,
and echoes across the grain-gold fields;
the birds exult in You in the tree tops,
the seas and rivers clap their hands,
and all nature sings along;
You are wondrous.

And I praise You.

O Alpha and Omega, You are my God;
You were there at my beginning,
before I was formed
You knew my nature
and called my name;
You’ll be there at my ending,
to take my hand,
and see me through;
precious Savior and Redeemer,
there is no one like You.

And I praise You.

Praise the Lord!


Photo of a flower

~ Reflection ~ by Deborah Beach Giordano
May 12, 2019

flowersOn Mother’s Day

For the best of mothers:
the good mothers,
those who struggled
who sometimes slipped,
for those who tried
and occasionally failed,
who tired
but never gave up,
we give thanks
and joyful praise;

they did their best,
they saw us through:
the puke and poop,
tantrums and tears,
heart breaks and tummy aches,
the snot and snottiness,
the terrible twos,
the terrifying teens,
throughout it all
they loved us —

Those who held us,
hugged us,
and then
trusted us
to let us fly free;
to spread our wings,
to do and dare —
buoyed on their faith
and lifted up
in their never-ending prayers.

We give thanks
and celebrate
those mothers,
honor their lives,
cherish their memories
and shower them
with flowers and candy:
those mothers —
the ones Hallmark believes in,
the ones who love
and are loved;
the only ones
our society professes
to know.

But there are
other mothers,
mothers who hurt
and hate
and manipulate;
who seek to destroy
those they brought into being;
to dominate,
mark and wound
and maim;
women whose cold,
grasping fingers
strangle their children,
clinging, constricting,
controlling —
even from beyond the grave.

We remember them,
with sorrow,
and with pity —
for the joys they denied themselves
and the love lost
to their children.

And we remember
those children
who have not known
a “mother’s love,”
but only its inverse;
who smile and prevaricate,
avoid the subject,
grieving silently,
on Mother’s Day.

We remember them
with tenderness
and compassion;
we lift them up in our love,
hold them gently in our hearts,
and pray
that they may find peace,
and be comforted;
that their hurts
may be healed;
that their suffering
may be acknowledged,
that their lives —
their strength and persistence —
shall be celebrated;
that they shall be assured
of their worth.

On Mother’s Day —
and every day that God gives us —
may we be embodiments
of the best of mothers,
and be true and kind
nurturers and encouragers
of one another;

thus shall we truly honor
and celebrate
the good mothers
who blessed us
with their lives.


May Christ’s grace and healing love abound,


Suggested Spiritual Exercise

Reflect on these words:

He prayeth best, who loveth best
all things great and small;
For the dear God who loveth us;
He made and loveth all."
      ~ Samuel Taylor Coleridge,
The Rime of the Ancient Mariner