Religion

I became a mother at 27 years old. I took to it. I was never a child who wanted to hold babies like many of my friends did. I was happy to see babies across the room, feeling no desire to take one in my arms, to try to talk to them, or to even take all that much interest in them. I honestly wasn’t sure how strong my maternal instinct would be, given that I didn’t ever babysit or have younger siblings, and in fact, the first diaper I ever changed in my life was the inaugural diaper that my firstborn dirtied.

Four-year old Ivy and I stepped out onto a sunny street, plastic bags in hand to collect all the unnoticed treasures of a small-town neighborhood in the early spring. It was 72 degrees, and we ventured without jackets, without the itchy and sometimes cumbersome articles of clothing that winter forces on us. Just lightweight long-sleeves, jeans, and tennis shoes that were anxious to move.

“And behold, there arose a great storm on the sea, so that the boat was being covered with the waves; but Jesus Himself was asleep.”