It’s become so unfashionable to discuss faith that unless it’s brought up at a religious service, it usually implies the speaker is either a fanatic or a boor.  No one wants to hear personal revelation.  Anecdotal stories involving the supernatural are the stuff of snooze fests because they tend to be predictable:  Lost soul finds way and becomes insufferable.  Nobody doubts the authenticity of the transformation; only the new convert’s ability to demonstrate the same compassion that lead to it.

But grace manifests everyday, and it can leave one wanting to shout from the rooftops.  I know, because it happened to me.

No, I did not become a reborn Christian.  Nor did I feel compelled to shove my experience down the necks of my listeners.  In fact, I didn’t really tell anyone because I didn’t need confirmation that something extraordinary had occured.  I was living it and it filled my heart with joy. 

Never in my fifty-odd years did I think that I’d have a second chance with my mother, a woman whom made my life a painful, guilt-ridden anger trip. My earliest recollections were of wanting to get away from her, her rages, her petty manipulations and her all-powerful energy that suffocated me.  I appealed to my father, my ally against her, but he would not divide himself from her.  I was alone for years, the sole holdout pegged as either uncooperative, ungrateful or competitive.

My father’s early death only intensified the silent feud.  We went through the motions and properly discharged our social roles, but with a contempt so tangible despite the smiles that I’m certain it oppressed all who had the misfortune to witness it.  Decades of therapy, practice, and introspection brought no peace, so I gave up all hope for a reconciliation.  I wanted so desperately to have a mother, a real one, but resigned myself to my fate.  Not everyone has the luxury of a loving parent.

Over the years, I heard countless explanations for it:  Karmic destiny, ego battling ego,  jealousy, competition for my father’s favor, resentment, vanity.   Any one could have been plausible.  But as time passed, I lost interest in finding its origin and just allowed things to be.

And that’s when Grace intervened.

Circumstances flung us together for a short but intense period and during that time, something changed.  Were we older and wiser?  Did Fate smile upon us and grant us a reprieve?  Had God decided we quarreled enough?  Or did we finally let down our guards and confess we needed each other?  All I know is that when we parted, I felt like I was leaving the nest to fledge for the very first time.  I wept and so did she.

Maybe it was an atypical gestation, but I had the amazing luck to be born again… this time to a woman that I know with all my heart and soul loves me.  I can see her clearly at last, with all her beauty and strength, and I am so deeply grateful for the gift that I, too, want to sing from the rooftops:  So happy to have another chance and so humbled that it was given.


4 Responses to “BORN AGAIN”

  1. Dr. Kev Says:

    Beautifully written from the Heart. Thank you.

  2. Thanks, Dr. Kev! 🙂

  3. Kristine Says:

    Sounds like you practiced letting go and forgiveness. When that happens, love truly happens. Thanks for sharing, Kim!

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