WORD

I am a journaler and I love to write, like most painters love to paint. When I was a little girl, I learned the gift of letting go, letting my heart pour out onto paper. The gift of letting my thoughts direct the strokes of my pen. Often, only a single word finds its way to my page because words are often insufficient for the cries of my heart. A single word, a single name— “JESUS!” Other times, my soul flows like a river cascading through pages. Every time, whether word or river, He is faithful to meet me. 

Our son and daughters are journalers. My Leo and our son are wordsmiths, gifted songwriters. My mom majored in English and Speech and has a passion for words, and my father is a storyteller. Words, well, they are a part of my heritage, a part of my life.

When Meagan was about 16 and studying Spanish in high school, she came home one day and said, “Mom, from now on I am going to call you ‘Misma.’ It is a Spanish word that means ‘same, constant,’ and YOU are my constant.”  Her face—unforgettable. Her words poured over my soul like lavender oil. Words failed ME at that moment. I was speechless. But my heart was overflowing with thoughts and emotions. I grabbed her and just held her for a long time. 

Meagan began calling me Misma intertwined with Mom and Rebecca. And she began to address all her notes, cards and texts, Misma. Each time, my heart would just melt. I have cards and letters I go through often, Happy Misma’s Day! Happy Birthday Misma! And with this new nickname, she taught me to sign my notes and cards, ‘tu Misma,’ meaning ‘your Constant.’ Not once did I sign those words without pause and humility. ‘Your Constant.’ Phew! My eyes well with tears.

I have been everything but constant these past years since the crash. Last year, I began to cry out, “Whatever Meagan saw in me, anything, everything she saw in me that inspired her to call me Misma, I want to be again and more.” I want to be unwavering and steadfast for my husband, my family, the people I meet, for my God. I want to be like a tree planted by the water. 

They will be like a tree planted by the water that sends out its roots by the stream. It does not fear when heat comes; its leaves are always green. It has no worries in a year of drought and never fails to bear fruit. Jeremiah 17:8 (NIV) 

I have set the LORD always before me, because He is at my right hand, I shall not be moved. Psalm 16:8 (KJV) 

Yes, my soul, find rest in God; my hope comes from Him. Truly He is my rock and my salvation; He is my fortress, I will not be shaken. Psalm 62:5 (NIV)

So last year, December 14, 2017, I did it! I did what my heart has been yearning for, but this time not on my paper, and not through my pen. I had an artist tattoo Misma on my forearm in Meagan’s handwriting. One word. The power of a single word. Misma. A sweet reminder of my daughter’s heart. A tangible word now engraved on my arm—a constant visual reminder of my challenge, my inspiration. And, just as Jesus has been faithful to walk with me through this difficult journey, He will continue to meet me and mold me into His image. Have mercy, sweet Jesus! Help us be more like You, “Jesus Christ, the SAME yesterday and today and forever.” Hebrews 13:8