Don't Understand But I Do

My daughter's friend's mom stood up and publicly acknowledged her daughter for who she was, the blessing she was to her parents and community, and then prayed for her daughter to keep the faith.

This was my very first Quinceañera mass and it was all in Spanish; and, even though my brain doesn't speak Spanish, my heart totally does.

So the Baptist call and response tradition in me was all...

via GIPHY

BECAUSE I COULD FEEL EVERY WORD THIS KID'S MOM WAS SAYING even though she was speaking Spanish.

The mom was barely five feet tall and wore a sparkly beige dress with blue accents that mimicked her daughter's dress. Tasteful, but not full-on mother of the bride or anything.

I figured she and I were around the same age.

We're in that phase when you shave your legs less and pluck your chin more. Both of us understand that we've got more years behind us than ahead. Both of us understand this isn't a drill -- it's real life.

We're passing a torch right now and praying for our babies. Praying hard.

My tears understood every bit of that, and I figure that's why they so easily found their way from my throat, to my eyes and to my cheeks. My pinky finger tried to fend them off, and even with the help of a tissue, it was all to no avail.

I didn't understand every word of what my Sister-Mom said, but I could understand in way that only mothers can, regardless of language, nationality, ethnicity or race. I said an Amen for her and her daughter as much as I said it for my daughter and myself.

Some folks believe if we don't have borders, we don't have a country. Some folks believe if we don't have an official language, we don't have a country.

And to those folks I say:

Country and borders ain't nothing but something we made up.

Mother-hearts prove that out by speaking a universal language that exposes every frailty of nationalism and highlighting the strength of our common bonds like faith and family.

Dios, te damos las gracias por habernos reunido.

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