By Sandra Mullins Bost
Sometime in the tender days and months after losing Momma, I came across a simple thought on social media–one of those truths so obvious that it almost feels offensive when you realize how long it took to see it. When it finally settled into my heart, it left me undone. My spirit cried out, “How did I not know this? Why couldn’t I see?”
I can’t credit an author or a page; I don’t even know whether it was a reel or an article. But recently, I heard the same truth again–this time in a song. During the Hawaii performances on this season of American Idol, a young woman named Kyndal Inskeep sang a song she wrote for her momma, entitled “Woman of Me.” One line landed like a holy blow to the heart–mine and everyone else’s in the audience–as she sang:
“She was a girl before she was a woman; now she’s made a woman of me.”
She was a girl. That was it. So simple. And yet, so perspective-shifting.
Of course our parents were born, like everybody else. Of course they grew up, like everybody else. We know that. But somehow, when we’re children–even adults–it’s hard to see them as beginners, too. We imagine they arrived fully formed, steady, certain, equipped. The idea that their motherhood (or fatherhood, for that matter) is their first time feels almost disorienting.
But, it’s the truth. As I looked back on Momma’s life I could see: her motherhood was her first one. She didn’t get a practice run with another child or a rehearsal season to get it right. She just had to wing it.
Admittedly, she knew the Lord, so it’s not exactly the same thing as shooting blind, but–isn’t it? She just had to trust Him–with her blind Faith–that the decisions she was making were going to turn out right. She simply stepped into it–loving, trying, praying, adjusting as she went.
That realization has only deepened as I’ve let it settle. As a mother–and now a grandmother–I understand something I never could before (even as I sat with my finger pointed at Momma)–I have never had it all together, either. Not once. Even now, at 54 years old, having walked with Jesus for 47 of those years, I still get it wrong.
And the thought calms me: it’s my first time in this season of life, too.
Beyond that I realized–when she became a mother, she didn’t stop being a girl. She still had needs. Still had dreams. Still had fears and questions and growing to do. She was still learning. Still becoming. I just didn’t know. I couldn’t see her that way then.
And that’s where grace comes in–the grace of God for ourselves, and the grace He gives us to hold for one another. The undeserved, amazing grace that helps us trust Him to right all the wrongs and quiet all the fears.
That kind of trust doesn’t come from having it all figured out. It comes from releasing our need to understand it all. Realizing that we’re all just navigating our lives from this perspective for the first time. Realizing we’re all in need of more Grace, like the old hymn says, “Oh for Grace to trust Him more!”
Grace to stop judging past versions of ourselves (or our people) for what we didn’t know yet. Grace to trust that even when we (or our parents) were shooting blindly, God was moving us (and them) nearer to the Holy target.
As you reflect on your journey as a daughter (son), a mother (father), or a “Sasa” (grandparent) this week, lean into the promise of Proverbs 3: 5-6. Ask Jesus for more grace to trust Him with your whole heart–to trust Him more than your own understanding. Pray to see Him working all around you and acknowledge that He is Good. He will lead you closer to the version of yourself that He created you to be, as He covers every piece of your story–and your parents’–with His Grace.
It really is sweet to trust in Jesus.
