Love Lifted Me.

One of my earliest memories is of my mother rocking me in her arms.  I remember the rhythm of the rocking chair on a hard wooden floor; caclunk, caclunk, caclunk.  over and over and over.  The warmth of her neck and the tap of her hand on my back, keeping time.  Time that tends to move more quickly than any of us like.  Remembering now what it must feel like to put on love like a blanket.  I remember my hair on my cheek, dancing with the rocking motion, and that it itched, but would float away off my skin when she would rock again.  I remember curling my fingers of my right hand on her back and feeling the softness of her shirt; tangling in a crocheted blanket hung behind her.  yellow. green. white.  soft.    My other hand clenched into a fist; nestled under my body; wedged between my mother and me; closest to her neck.  Safe. loved. sleepy.

Years later, I would rock my own babies.  Soothing my love onto them, in rhythm.

So, one day, after an exhausting something of another day, I was humming.  Gathering laundry and tidying up, I continued with a song from within. I was raised with music and hymns so this didn't surprise me.  But my mother, she stopped me.  "sing it again," she said.  I did.  "ah, you must be tired." she smiled.  Well, of course I am tired, I thought.  who isn't?  "Love lifted me,"  she said, "That's the song."  "Love lifted me.  Love lifted me.  When nothing else could help, love lifted me..."

My grandmother, her mother, taken from us too soon, would sing that song to me over and over to get me to sleep.  Like a magic spell, she'd let the lyrics fall over me and before long (sometimes a little longer) I'd drifted off.  I don't remember this.  I try so hard to remember her, but can't.  I wasn't even two when Jesus took her up to dance on the streets that are golden.  I understand that my mother looks just like her.  She must have been beautiful.

James Rowe wrote the words, among the more than 20,000 other poems and hymns he penned in his lifetime.  Born in 1865 in England; this particular song didn't come to him until 1912 after he had relocated to New York; lived life, worked hard. I wonder if he even considered that a mother, more than a hundred years later, would be so moved by the words he jotted down?  And when Howard E. Smith wrote music to bring the words to life, did he even entertain the idea that its melody would quiet a colicky baby a lifetime away?

So, when my days are longer than I prefer, I find myself singing the words.  Smiling when i catch myself involuntarily reliving a memory.  Reminded that Jesus keeps rescuing me.  safe am I. Love lifted me. Knowing lovely, strong women helped mold me into who i am today.  A mother, to a daughter, to her daughter, to mine....whispering warm words into little ears. bringing comfort, love, and deep yawns from one generation to the next.

                                                           Love continues to lift me.