Even as she molded this flesh like clay, she knew it wasn't hers. The parts of me that stuck to her were as happenstance and inevitable as the parts of her that stuck to me. She was not god, not molding me in her image, but wanting only for me to find mine. And to love it. It's through a kind of grace I see her in me, as I see me in me. As I strive to see God in me, all the more. I feel lucky that I see me in her.
It's an alchemy, to teach a person to spin pain into love. It's an art to see God in all things. But pain has no owner. No shape, no form. There can be no ownership of the infinite.
You'd be surprised at which bone is said to be the holiest. A foot stepping down can feel like crushing bondage. Unmasked and inverted, that same foot can bring liberation. It can also be missed completely.