“My mother didn’t want me,” the woman commented to the women assembled around decorative tables for the Mother’s Day Tea. She paused, waiting for her statement to sink in. “Really. She didn’t want me.” Watching this lovely woman speak, with her beautiful smile and twinkling eyes, made her statement seem ludicrous. I thought she was joking at first. “I was my mother’s last child, the fourth. My siblings knew it too (that she didn’t want me). When I was a baby they took me to the neighbors and tried to give me away.” She paused again and looked out at us. I chuckled imagining the scene, the ladies in the room giggled thinking it was funny. The pause grew in length. The woman’s face remained serious, she wasn’t laughing. Then her voice quivered, “It may seem funny now, but it wasn’t for me.” I realized our mirth was misplaced and wished I hadn’t laughed.

She was dead serious. This lovely woman of God, beautiful in feature and dress, had been unwanted by her mother when she was a child. What a contradiction her words seemed in contrast to the gracious woman standing in front of us. It was hard to believe. She looked down at her cupped hand where she held a rock, one she had chosen moments before from a basket of gems that had been sent around the room by the speaker, who had used them as an illustration to anchor a thought.

“You see,” She said to us, “I picked a plain colorless gray rock. It’s not much to look at, is it? (pause) It’s like me. Plain and ordinary, that is how I see myself.” The contradiction grew stronger, her words were in contrast to her beauty, her very features glowed with a freshness, an invigorating presence, an inner sanctuary of a woman who knows God in an intimate way. I sensed she was gaining peace with God. Her words arrested everyone’s attention. The room became completely still. The pause included all of us now. We wondered what she would say next.

“God made me, God loves me, and God keeps me.” She read the words etched  in her own script on the back of a bookmark like we’d all been given at the tea. “You can know Him.” (pause) “He will keep you too.” Her voice drew us to the words of life, much like a droplet of water is absorbed by a sponge. I had been the speaker for the Spring Tea, I was the one who had passed the basket full of colorful rocks around for each woman to pick out a rock for their own, later to hold in their palm as I would read the words that had been written so long ago by St. Julian of Norwich in the fifteenth century. I would quote words that she had been given in a vision of sorts, where she saw herself holding a little hazelnut in her hand and these words came to her. “God maketh it. God loveth it. God keepeth it.”

St. Julian’s words had been adapted to personalize the message for my audience. I closed my talk with the thought that God made each of us. He loves all of us. And He will keep us because each one of us is important to Him. The music of God’s goodness came to me as I listened to this woman speak and wrap up the meeting. I could tell she was wanting to communicate a fitting closure. God was growing a light inference from the past, this historic triplet, into words of comfort, peace and healing–and in such a way that passes all human understanding. “God made me, He did. God loves me, He does love me. God keeps me, because He is a good God.” Her words spilled forth as her sober comment now became one of joy. She continued on to invite everyone in the room to know the Maker, the Lover, and the Keeper of Whom she spoke and in Whom she has put her faith and belief. A radiance slipped into the room full of daughters and mothers as we knelt with our hearts at our Maker’s feet. These were precious words to keep close and remember forever.

God made me. God loves me. God keeps me. Thank you, dear God, for giving those words to Julian of Norwich. We all need to know we’re loved and kept, and that You, dear God did make us according to Your design. Thank you for encouraging that lovely lady on that day to speak up and share her painful past in order to draw our attention to Your love for her and for us. Something seemed to complete in her as she said them. It felt as if we were watching a miracle as You touched her soul. The truth is, we all feel worthless at times just like her. Thank you for loving, keeping, and making us. Amen

Side Note: The woman I spoke of has been battling a very serious health issue which has required special treatment in a clinic out of state. A couple of years ago a crowdfunding effort was being made on her behalf. She is still with us. Praises to God.

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