that love, so deep, so strong, so fierce - it's beautiful

She was crying big, hot, angry tears into her phone, as she sat in the corner seat on the train.  Embarrassed, trying to hide it, but so frustrated that they spilled over and ran down her face unbidden.

Between curses and tears, her story came out in bursts to whoever she was talking to - her son, called into the principals office again.  Again.  She having to leave work early to get him.  Feeling misunderstood by the principal.  Feeling like her son wasn't been seen or cared for in the ways that he needed to be.  Feeling like he had been misunderstood and passed over for months now.  Angry at the habits he was picking up elsewhere, not in her house.  At the end of her rope.  Knowing she was going to lose it when she had to talk to the principal.  Knowing that she wanted to fight for him.  Frustrated with him.  Exhausted.  Embarrassed by how much this was getting to her.  Trying to get it under control before she had to go into the live situation.

Her love for her son was written all over her face, woven through her words, and poignantly apparent in her body language.

She apologized to me, as she got off the train, for cursing in front of my children.  I wanted to thank her instead, for mirroring for me how deeply the love of motherhood is felt.

It's felt in the core of your bones.  It threatens to tear you apart, even as it makes you stronger than you ever thought possible.   These little humans that we would - we do - give our lives for, each and every day.  They drive us to the limits of our sanity, even as they rescue us from the idolatry of ourselves.  They made us mothers, even as we strive to make them to be men and women of character.  They warm our hearts, fill our arms, try our patience, and strengthen our character.   It is not a job for the fainthearted - it's a daily battle that requires courage, perseverance, faith and so so so much love.  It is sweeter, stronger, and harder than any other job I know.   As we fight for them, with them, against them, and whisper in their ears each day, "Mommy loves you so, so much.  And I'm longing for, hoping for, and praying for the (wo)man you're becoming.  I'm for you.  I'm proud of you."

I wanted to tell her all of that.  Sister, I know.  It about tears you in two.  Even as you wouldn't trade it for all the riches in the world.

Instead I just said, "I'm sorry it's been a rough day.  But you're doing a good job.  I know being a mom is hard.  But you're the right woman for the job.  Hang in there." as she gathered herself together to head into her battle for the day.

Now, I too need to hear those words spoken over me.

Not three hours after I got home, we got a call from the pediatrician's office that we had just left, that has brought me undone as well.  Not necessarily bad news - but somewhat significant inconclusive tests.  Tests that require more tests.  Tests that might lead to nothing - or might lead to bigger, more scary things.  And I'm caught of the middle of a love that is so deep that it holds all things, and a fear that one of the ones that I love that much might be hurt or hurting.

And in the midst of my overwhelmed, feeling chaotic, fearful, tearful, and a bit lost - asking a few friends for support and prayer - trying to make wise decisions - trying to avoid google searching things - and trying to take good care of two little boys - I'm coming back to that very brief interaction on the train.

That love that cuts you in two, and then makes you stronger than you ever thought possible.

Sister, it's been a hard day, I know.

But you're doing a good job.  You're the right woman for the job.  Hang in there.  You'll make it through.  And those of us that are in that battle with you, with you, we know.  We're here with you.

And that love?  That love, so deep, so strong, so fierce that scares you - your tears, as it undoes you - it's beautiful.