He knew there would be joy. . .

I have been my mother's daughter for twenty-five of her fifty years. The moment God chose to form me and place me into my mother's care, He knew there would be joy. He knit my body together. He knit my life together. And He knew it would all be joy. He knew that the woman to whom He was sending me was both a warrior, and a wise-woman: Bold and strong, yet tender enough to ease any hurt. He knew that under her care, a vibrantly loving and happy family would be established. And He gave me to her. For that, among so many other things, I will sing Him praises until the day I die.

Yesterday, we honoured my mother. At her home, surrounded by the people she loves most, her fifty years were celebrated. I have no pictures. I had not the presence of mind to take any. But I have words. And I can only try to capture the warmth and meaning of the evening:

My mother. Dark blond hair streaked with grey, pulled into a twist because her daughter wanted to make her look beautiful. "Do my eyes for me?" she had asked; her makeup spread out before her. And so her daughter did. With care. So green. Her eyes are so green. She looked lovely. But nervous. An excited kind of nervous. The nervousness borne of a woman who is unused to being showered with gifts and attention. But she is worthy. Worthy. The Gardens. Lush and inviting. Green on green. Textures and scents commingling. Lovingly laboured over for years by two women. Determined to create a haven from bare, parched soil. Achieved. Sun umbrellas opened. Lanterns strung. Purples, greens and blues. Colourful table clothes rustling in the breeze. Waiting. The people. Young and old. Making a staggered entrance by twos and threes. Laden: With gifts and food. Laden: With smiles, hugs and laughter. Laden: With Histories that have been deeply entwined with my mother's. Some still interacting closely with her. A part of the inner, bustlingly busy circuit of her daily life. Some now pushed onto the periphery by time and circumstance. Few with fresh hides, unmarred by life's many pains. Most scarred. Having come to her with dark sufferings. Having battled through them with her. But all bearing her mark. All here to honour her. The atmosphere. Right. So right. Ease and comfort. No pretense, just realness. Light dims. Lanterns are lit: Globes of light suspended against the deepening blue of the sky. Candles flicker and glow from every table. Torches stand sentry. Warding off both darkness and biting pests. Arms encircle all of my children. Here, I am not their only parent. Music plays. From an elaborate nest of computers, amps and wires. A teenage-boy's concoction. My brother. He has exposed his soft underbelly yet again. His offering for the evening: Music. Old favourites drift on the air. Lady in Red. The Twist. MoonDance. . . My daughter dances and giggles. Holding hands with her pseudo-aunt, she is flushed with joy as her little feet move. We are her captive audience. People are clustered all over the yard. Their faces reflect a yellow glow. They are talking. Really talking. Enjoying one another. They linger. No one wants to go. A panorama spread out before me. I take it in. There is a sense that washes over me, and catches in my throat: overwhelming thankfulness. I want to cry. This is my life. This night embodies all of the blessings contained in my twenty-five years. And at the heart of it all is my mother and the God she serves. Back to my mother. The night finally grows quiet. Candles blown out. One by one. But my mother, she is still glowing. She catches me up in a long, strong hug. And I know what she is trying to tell me. And I don't want her to say it aloud. There is no need. But she tells me anyway. "Thank you," she repeats over and over into my ear. "I am so blessed by you..." No mom. It is not time for you to give. Half of your life has been been spent giving to me. Not tonight. Hear me. Mother. I am the one who is blessed be you.

She is near to tears. She is happy.

***

Words from friends:

"...strength, courage with deep faith ... generous."

"If there is one thing that sticks with me: compassion. And grace. You have helped me time and time again to love ... I love you."

"We apprecate your honesty, your faithful support and encouragement ..."

" you have been a cherished friend..."

"...ready with a hug when I needed it and a 'kick in the pants' when I needed it... I'm happy to call you dear sister."