Momma

I often refer to myself in the privacy of my thoughts as a prodigal daughter...simply because I fight whats best for me for the sake of battle and even maybe a challenge. Recently I watched my mother pray without ceasing (probably for me) and I saw her war-torn battle tested bible and prayer books. The tape and rubber bands barely held the paper together, the edges pig eared to tearing, and few bare spaces were scribbled in with deep passionate cries for change, help, blessings...something.
This made me cry. I felt so helpless for my mother, someone I fight with constantly... For what? The day she leaves me will be a horrible awakening of wasted pride. I should be proud of her and vice versa. I felt horrible that she was hurting so deep that even holy text left her empty. That even reading the same Jeremiah 29:11 "for these plans I have for you.." didn't appeal to her cries that I probably caused her to scream. Whatever prayer she was decreeing over me went unheard. I cried for mom then, and saw her as human as myself; but somehow better. She is my mother.