Black Mothers Songs of Praise and Celebration

Giver of Life And God blessed them, saying, Be fruitful, and multiply. --Genesis 1:22 At every child's birth, a mother is born. As a mother, I have twice been "reborn." Each time, the process was nothing short of miraculous. My mother, Mary Elizabeth Clark, was still alive while I was pregnant with my firstborn son, Lonnie Paul. We'd sit in the late afternoon sun together, talking about the miracle of life and babies. She would tell me about her own experiences bringing seven children into the world; how I was colicky when I was born; how rubbing cod liver oil under my sister's chin when she was three days old helped cure her cold. Her stories, to me, were shining golden nuggets of wisdom, which I gobbled hungrily. I listened intently when she spoke; I wanted to absorb her every word. Ironically, as I was methodically preparing for the arrival of new life, I should have also been preparing for the suddenness of death: Mother died six months after Lonnie Paul was born. Initially, I saw her death--particularly as it related to my infant son and my new role as mother--as a cruel, bitter twist of fate: God was trying to teach me that life and death are inextricably, intertwined. I began to realize that God was right; life and death are intertwined--and in that knowledge there was no longer pain, but beauty and comfort. With the birth of my son and the death of my mother--dramatic, life-changing events that occurred in such rapid sequence--I came to understand and appreciate that I had been made part of the cyclical, universal motion of motherhood. I had been made part of the miracle of life. When my daughter, Mary Elizabeth, was born two years later, Mother wasn't there with me, standing at the kitchen sink, showing me how to give her a bath. She wasn't there to whisper gentle words of guidance and comfort as I struggled with our newborn daughter. But God is good that way: He'd already allowed me to fully absorb the life lessons that Mother taught me before she left. And over time, He'd placed within me the everlasting knowledge that motherhood and the concept of mothering never really stops. It lasts forever, even if we do not. Black mothers leave a legacy of strength and sustenance for their children. It is part of who we are, and who our foremothers were. If we listen very closely, we can still hear their words of wisdom, and in listening, comes learning. We can learn to be good mothers. We can learn to nurture our newborn or yet-unborn babies. And because we want to be as strong for our children as our mothers were for us, we can learn, over time, to sway gracefully with the universal motions of motherhood. The rhythm within us is intrinsic. --KRISTIN To my Precious Little One: Never had I imagined that I'd question my judgment in my decision to venture into motherhood. I have long known that this was one of life's greatest joys that I wouldn't allow myself to miss. But because my impending role of mother has preceded my role as wife, I've been forced to ask myself, "Am I the proverbial unwed black mother?" Never mind that I'm all grown up and have earned a respectable place in society, complete with a career, real estate and a loving man in my corner. Are others watching my growing belly and thinking "what else is new?" I share this with you only because you, too, will have cause to question your judgment many times in your life. And sometimes it will be merely because of the color of your skin and all the perceptions that brings. But even as I teach you to say "please" and "thank you" and all the other lessons of childhood, I'll teach you to have strength and conviction in all that you do; to know from within why you've chosen your path and to trust your motivations implicitly. Then, when you're inevitably labeled by those who know no better, you will notTaylor, Kristin Clark is the author of 'Black Mothers Songs of Praise and Celebration' with ISBN 9780385495790 and ISBN 038549579X.