A Mother's Bosom

Being a parent often causes me to reflect on my own childhood. Ever since I was a child I’ve felt the need to be strong and independent. I see a lot of these behaviors reflected in my youngest daughter. Many times I’ll see her simultaneously wanting to be autonomous and needing dependence.

In contrast, my oldest daughter requires loyal scaffolding. She does best with words of encouragement and assurance through physical touch. Often times, these needs put me out of my comfort zone and stretch me in ways that I need to be stretched. I’m learning how to be a better nurturer, and my 3-year old is exemplifying that for me with her care-giving character.

For as far back as I can remember physical affection has never come easy for me. Lately, I’ve been remembering how many times my own mother would reach her arms out for me in my distress, and I would push her away. I’m humored now as I watch my youngest daughter cry out for me to hold her and then flail in my arms to be released. It’s relatable. I don’t understand the drive to reject physical comfort, but I know how much I really need it even when my body cries out, “NO!”

Yesterday I was feeling extra heavy. I was carrying personal feelings of isolation and rejection while also bearing the weight of the struggles of multiple loved ones. I felt heavy and lonely. My mom had invited my brother and I to come out to a campsite she reserved with our kids so they could go creek wadding and pond swimming. I decided it was best to push through my feelings, put on my strong exterior, and go.

In the van, the kids asked to listen to the sound track from one of their favorite television series. They were laughing and dancing in the vehicle while I drove, silencing my inner voice. As I pulled into the campgrounds a song entitled “Granddad” began to play. The adventurous depiction through instrumentation brought me to tears as I thought of my own grandfather going through medical treatments and tests to determine the cause of some rather serious health concerns. He was supposed to be with us. My mom had reserved the campgrounds for them. I couldn’t keep my guard up any longer, and the tears began to flow. I started to think about all of the times I’ve taken for granted with my loved ones. I thought about all of the times my strong exterior kept me from a loving embrace.

I wiped my tears as we pulled in and hoped my mom wouldn’t notice the redness in my eyes. Yet, like my 2-year old, I also wanted her to see my hurt. I was yet again a confused soul hovering in the balances between vulnerability and resilience.

My mom and I never got a chance to talk that day, but for a moment she reached out to me and I let myself surrender into her arms. I could feel her body against mine, and I thought about how this was the first time since her breast cancer surgeries that I allowed myself to be held by her, chest-to-chest. I cried again, not really knowing what to say, but just allowing myself to be held.

When my mom first had her breasts removed after her diagnoses I entered a season of darkness. I struggled with postpartum depression and anxiety after having my fourth baby. It was something I had never experienced before, and it was the weakest I have ever felt in my entire life. I lost the pride of my autonomy and had to learn how to depend on others for strength. During this season I yearned for my mom, but I never knew how to tell her I needed her while she was going through so many personal changes and pains.

While out ministering, a trusted pastor and friend spoke over me. Her words were healing to me, but even more so was the way she pulled me close and let me lean against her chest. I hadn’t been able to be held that way, and I never before realized how important a mother’s embrace was. Unfortunately, it’s hard to understand how valuable something is until it’s no longer available.

Thankfully, during this season my mother and I found comfort in sharing our sufferings, and God gifted us with empathy towards one another. And, now, He was gifting me with another opportunity to recognize the value of a mother’s embrace.

I thought about King David’s words: “Yet you brought me safely from my mother’s womb and led me to trust you at my mother’s breast.” (Psalm 22:9 NLT) Here at my mother’s breasts was the first place I found value, safety, protection, and love. It’s been the place that I’ve unknowingly yearned for when I’ve felt worthless and lonely.

I could hear God calling out to me, reminding me to lean on his breasts.

In scripture, God revealed himself to Abraham as El Shaddai (Genesis 17), which means, “many breasted one.” A parable of Jesus tells of a poor man named Lazarus entering a place through death known as “Abraham’s Bosom.” (Luke 16) Perhaps this place that Jesus refers to isn’t the actual chest of Abraham, but the place where God called Abraham when he passed; to Himself—El Shaddai. Jesus himself even allowed his beloved friends to find refuge in his bosom. “Now there was leaning on Jesus' bosom one of his disciples, whom Jesus loved.” (John 13:23 KJV)

All throughout scripture I’ve noticed how God calls me to step into His love, His peace, and His rest. Every instance is an invitation to lie upon His breasts—to return to the place where I first found trust. There is where I know I am valued. There is where I know I am loved.

“Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls.For my yoke is easy and my burden is light.”

(Matthew 11: 28-30 NIV)