“Contemplate Your Navel”

“For you created my inmost being; you knit me together in my mother’s womb.” Psalm 139:15 (New International Version)

Back in 2004, I wrote short sketches (known as the “Lisa and Mary Plays”) that would introduce themes for our worship service. One of the sketches was titled, “Contemplate Your Navel.” Written for Mother’s Day, Lisa and Mary have a conversation over a cup of coffee about their complicated relationship with their mothers and with mothering their own children. Maybe you can relate. How does one fulfill the command to “honor your father and mother” when their parenting skills do more harm than good, and you are left with deep wounds? Lisa has an interesting suggestion. Here’s the script.

Mary and Lisa find a table at the “Royal Pancake House” and get settled. The waiter arrives and begins to pour them coffee.

Lisa: (To the waiter) So do you have any of your famous brownies this week to go with the coffee?

Waiter: Sorry, we sold out. But we have a lunch special—liver and onions.

Lisa:: I’ll just have coffee.

Mary: Me too. (The waiter exits) We need to find a new restaurant.

Waiter: I heard that! (Lisa and Mary giggle.)

Mary: So, what are Frank and the kids planning to do for you on Mother’s Day?

Lisa: They’ve threatened to cook dinner and you know what that means…

Mary: More work for you. I know. The last time the kids cooked dinner, it took me two days to clean up the kitchen. Vanessa told me, “I’m not cleaning up. I cooked.” And the only thing ‘clean-up’ means to Ben is that he gets to bat fourth in the line-up.

Lisa: (Sighs) I can’t wait until our kids are parents. Then they’ll finally appreciate what we go through.

Mary: Trust me, I can wait. I pray every day that I won’t be a grandparent until I’m at least 50.

Lisa: I’m with you. (sips her coffee) What about you? Do you have plans for Mother’s Day?

Mary: Not really. I may take the kids to my mother’s place. .

Lisa: You don’t sound very exciting about it.

Mary: I look forward to Mother’s Day as much as I look forward to a root canal. I look at cards that says all these mushy things about how wonderful she is and how you appreciate how she raised you—things I don’t mean. I wish they would make cards for dysfunctional mothers. “Dear Mother, Thanks to you, two psychiatrists have been able to send their children to college, and four therapists have purchased new cars. Take comfort in knowing that you have contributed to the nation’s economy with your parenting skills. Happy Mother’s Day!”

Lisa: Your mother couldn’t have been that bad. And what parent doesn’t make mistakes? I should know. I’ve made my share.

Mary: I’ve sounded like my mother more times than I like to admit. I vowed I would never manipulate my children with guilt like she did me. And what do I do?

Lisa: Manipulate your children with guilt.

Mary: I vowed that I would never say to my children, “I wish I had never had you.” One time I was so frustrated, I actually said that to Vanessa. She just looked at me with those narrow, angry eyes. And I couldn’t believe I had said it. I had hurt her so deeply. I started crying and apologizing and asking her to forgive me. I’ve re-lived that moment over and over in my head.

Lisa: I get it. There was the time I slapped Tania across the face for talking back to me. I was so triggered. It was my worst moment in parenting. I still regret it.

Mary: I still feel so bad, and I’ve ask Vanessa to forgive me multiple times for what I said. She tells me to forget it, but I can’t. I had heard those words come out of my mother’s mouth more than once. She must have meant it. It just came out so easily. Sometimes—I hate to admit it—but sometimes the only emotion I have for my mother is hate. I know I’m supposed to honor her, but I struggle with knowing how to do that when I feel like she messed up my life.

Lisa: I contemplate my navel.

Mary: What?

Lisa: I stand in front of a mirror, and I look at my belly button.

Mary: That’s weird.

Lisa: I know. It’s a big joke in my house, but it helps.

Mary: Helps?

Lisa: Think about it. For nine months, you were connected to your mother, and she shared her life with you. Everything that went into her system went into yours. That umbilical cord was a life-line that fed me, gave me oxygen, and enabled me to develop. Every time I look at that little hole on my body, I think of my mother. I tell Tania to do the same thing—especially when she’s angry about something I do. Bottom line—if it weren’t for our moms, we wouldn’t be alive.

Mary: If it weren’t for her, I would have a life.

Lisa: I know your mom made mistakes–even some big ones, but you don’t have to like your mother’s parenting to honor her. She did one thing right. She carried you for nine months, and I’m glad she did. Otherwise I’d be sitting here alone, and you know I already talk to myself way too much. When you get home, take a deep breath, look at your belly button, and think about how blessed you are to be alive.

Mary: I’m not sure it will work for me. I haven’t seen my navel since I had kids.

Lisa: (Laughs) Don’t worry—it may be hiding, but it’s still there. Hey, I have another idea! Let get our navels pierced with a “Mom” charm.

Mary: No thanks. Just contemplating my navel is weird enough.

END

Whether your mother was the best of the best or she was less than the best, take a moment to “contemplate your navel” and thank God for her. She carried you while God “knit you together.” She shared her body with you and gave you birth. You were born fearfully and wonderfully made, bearing the stamp of God that gives you dignity and worth. You are not a mistake. You are not unwanted or unloved. You are loved by God and precious. And it all started in your mother womb–God’s creative arts studio. That’s worth contemplating..