The House of My Mother: A Daughter's Quest for Freedom

by Shari Franke

Becoming a mother, in my faith, is a spiritual calling of the highest order, a chance to emulate the divine and participate in the grand tapestry of creation.

But as I reflect on the many incongruities of my childhood, I can’t help but feel sadness for the baby girl who cried for her mother. Who wanted a different kind of love than the kind she received. A love that allows for vulnerability, for tears, for the full range of human emotion. A love that allows a child the freedom to feel.

No child should ever have to earn a parent’s affection. And no amount of achievement can ever fill the void where unconditional love should be. Today, the mere thought of sitting at a piano triggers some of my earliest and deepest anxieties, all tied to my mother. It’s a shame how the most beautiful things, even music, can be ruined by the shadows of our past.

In my young mind, I imagined couples setting timers, treating the act with the same clinical detachment as baking a cake. Plug it in for thirty seconds, and voilà! A baby is on the way.

It’s a covenant, which means a special promise we make with God. By giving a portion of what we have to Him, we show that we trust Him to take care of us in return.”

But being a mother is a divine calling, and I know that by raising you in the faith, I’m doing God’s work, too. And that’s reward enough.”