Continuing our theme Spirituality of Parenting, Michael Bennie, a father of three daughters, offers a reflection on how becoming a parent changed everything.
She came like a pearl from the oyster, a glistening gem wrested from blood and tangled tissue. Her life begun, our life-as-before ended. What had God wrought?
Suddenly, I was more like God than ever before—I had co-created this miraculous being! She needed me, trusted me, belonged to me, reflected me. Along with her mommy, I was her source, her sustenance. Maker and protector.
For the months of May and June, Spectrum's Spirituality section will feature moms and dads exploring the spirituality of parenting. We begin with this reflection by Sarah Fusté, honoring the sacrality of motherhood, even in dirty diapers.
Just imagine this: a young woman is visited by a celestial being who tells her she will conceive the Son of God. Without any of the usual sweaty, earthy exchanges, the Most High “overshadows” her and she becomes pregnant. For forty weeks, or perhaps the rest of her life, she is left to wonder over this mystery.
Born in Jonkoping, Sweden, 29 July, 1905 Dag Hammarskjold was the fourth and youngest son of Agnes and Hjalmar Hammarskjold. His father, Prime Minister of Sweden, was heavily occupied in state affairs, causing a two month delay for his baptism and naming. At that time he became: Dag Hjalmar Agne Carl Hammarskjold.
two thousand years ago,
they expected a royal messiah,
but he came as a carpenter
two thousand years ago,
they expected him to judge sinners,
but he washed their feet
they expected a coronation,
but they attended a crucifixion
in the garden
they expected a beloved corpse,
but they found an empty tomb
they expect condemnation
let us show compassion
they expect self-righteousness
let us be humble
they expect judgement
let us love
Just last week I was watering my indoor plants and inspecting a late summer acquisition from the bargain rack of my local nursery. I can’t resist rescuing these orphans and trying my hand at coaxing them back to life. “This one's doing pretty well,” I noted, spying a few new green leaves. “But what is this bump on the leaf?” I inspected the leaf more closely and found that it was a butterfly chrysalis. After scouring butterfly books, I discovered that it was the chrysalis of the Cabbage White, a rather mundane denizen of agricultural fields and also of my garden.
“I charge you with love’s authority, if you give this book to someone else, warn them (as I warn you) to take the time to read it thoroughly. For it is very possible that certain chapters do not stand by themselves but require the explanation given in other chapters to complete their meaning. I fear lest a person read only some parts and quickly fall into error. To avoid a blunder like this, I beg you and anyone else reading this book, for love’s sake, to do as I ask.