Johnny's Three Mommies

Four years ago, in Ethiopia, when Johnny became our child

"Rushing river of days,
Cradle every parent's child in
your waters.
We launch our babes in fragile baskets,
Moses multiplied by millions,
released from muddy shores.
We squint to see around your bends
As our hearts are carried away.
We toss small sticks to float behind the baskets,
our prayers."
Rev. Meg Riley

"You are my sweet, sweet baby." I said a few days ago, as I squeezed Johnny and gave him a big kiss on the forehead. He looked up and me with a strange smile, and replied, "But you are not my only mom; I have three mommies." I was a bit confused by the three mommies comment, and asked for clarification. "I have you, and my Ethiopian mommy, and God," Johnny explained. "I have three mommies." I nodded and gave him one more kiss. "That is true. And we all love you very, very much."

Johnny and Mommy today!

Sunday was Mother's Day, and I thought of Johnny's comment quite often. His birth mother, an Ethiopian woman, spent a year loving her little boy, until she was too sick to care for him any longer. She brought him to a hospital, where she knew he would be safe, and she returned to her village, certain that she would not live much longer. I desperately want her to know how lovely Johnny is, how funny and generous and full of life! I want to thank her for loving him so much during his first year, because he radiates love, because the love that she gave him will always be a part of who he is. I want her to see Johnny's eyes light up beneath those beautiful long lashes and feel the way that he runs and takes a flying leap into my arms. But mostly, I want a world where all mothers can hold onto their babies, and watch them grow into the amazing, spectacular human beings that they were created to be. On Mother's Day, I couldn't help but cry for Johnny's first mom, and that is why I so desperately need the reminder that Johnny offered to me. God is our mother, too.

Johnny's third mother, our mothering God, holds us tight when we cry, wipes away our tears, offers us hope, and strength, and comfort. For all the mothers who have to say good-bye, our mothering God is right there, crying with them. And as I contemplated our mothering God, it brought to mind another one of my favorite poems. I will leave you with it, today, in thanksgiving for Johnny's two other mothers, and in faith that Johnny's Ethiopian mother is with Johnny's divine mother, and together they are watching Johnny with joy and love, just as I do, every day.

"Bread-baking, kitchen-dwelling, breast-feeding God,
We return to your lap and to your table
because we are hungry and thirsty.
Fill us again
with the bread that satisfies,
with milk that nourishes.
Drench parched throats with wet wonder;
feed us ‘til we want no more.
We come to your lap and to your table
and rediscover your romance with the world.
As you nourish us with the bread of life and the milk of your
word,
let your Spirit hang an apron around our necks.
Fashioned and patterned like that worn
by our Lord-become-friend, Jesus.
Instruct us here in the halls of your kitchen-kingdom,
with the recipes of mercy and forgiveness,
of compassion and redemption.
Leaven our lives
‘til they rise in praise:
Offered, blessed and broken
for the healing of the nations."
Rev. Ken Sehested