Mothers Day – In All Seasons

I am blessed,at thirty-one, to still have the physical presence of my mother in my life. The wisdom and steadfastness of her as love warrior in my life is a gift that I can never repay to her, but hope to pay forward with my own children. Here are her words. . .

Anyone can give birth to a child and become a mother. But it takes sacrifice, commitment, patience and love to become “Mom!”

It’s the sleepless nights tending to a newborn, the sacrifice of “self” each and every day, the constant watch over a toddler, nights spent awake watching over a sick child, the cancelled dinner or party plans at the last minute because of a fever or rash, the meals fit for kings prepared on a tight budget, the kissed boo-boos, the barf on your best dress, the holding of hands learning to cross a street and the trepidation letting go of hands to cross the street alone, the following of the school bus on the very first day of school to be sure they reach their destination. The lost games, the tears you don’t have power to heal but somehow you do! It’s standing in the rain to watch a sports game your child may or may not get to play in but wanting to be there “just in case!” It’s being there for first loves, first dates, first heartbreaks! Firsts! Lasts! Everything! Day in, day out. . . because, well, that’s what moms do!

Sometimes, it means raising a child with health issues, sometimes disabilities. Sometimes, it means burying your child. Sometimes it means tucking your dreams away for their future because they have other plans. And that’s okay, because they have a right and duty to follow their own path. And sometimes, it means watching them make horrible life decisions and loving them from afar, praying to God everything will be okay. And sometimes it means loving them from afar because their life’s goals take them far away from you.

Being a mom is one of the most joyous and rewarding vocation’s any woman can ever hope for! It is unconditional love at its finest. And it is so very true that, as a mother, your heart is walking around on the outside of your body. In my life, I have pieces of my heart walking around in eight incredible human beings. I’m proud that they call me mom and I’m eternally grateful to God for entrusting their care and upbringing to me and their father.

Moms are their child’s biggest supporter, toughest adversary in tests of the will and harshest dose of conscience when you’ve screwed up. But we do it for love!

To all the “mom’s” out there: Happy Mother’s Day! Give yourself a little credit for raising up the next generation! Motherhood is not for the feint of heart! Nor is motherhood to be taken lightly!

With Mother’s Day just about here, I’m not sure I can celebrate my mothering yet. I really haven’t arrived yet.

When I was seven and did my first confession, I remember confessing wasting energy opening the refrigerator and my white lies- and what if I was just keeping hold of information so I didn’t hurt anyone? I was innocent, and loving and trusting. But as I’ve grown older, I’ve become messier. A lot messier.

And not mom-blog messy of dishes undone and constant clutter, but the evil of spewing poison from my mouth, critical and judgmental, with downright disgust and hatred in my heart at times. For the ones I love most and hold most dear to my heart. Messy. Ugly. Sinful.

And my mother, my love warrior mother, continues to love. Love me! Love deeply. And speak grace and truth over me and each of my siblings. Holding us accountable to our ugly and our sin, but pushing us forward. Always forward. Higher. Better.

A mother’s love is the most beautiful love that pushes us to be our very best selves, because in Jesus, we can be. We are new creations and a mother’s love remembers. That somewhere in her messy, ugly, sinning adult, is the most beautiful gift from God. An infant. A new creation who is precious in His sight. Who is worthy of her trying, her love. Her all in all.

I’m not there yet. My children are babies. Whose energy is the most trying test for me. They are innocent, and loving and trusting. Their little mouths have only confessed utmost love for me. Never uttered disdain or hate. Their plump baby fingers have caressed and cared and clung. Never pointed at me and spewed ugly. Their eyes hold me in highest esteem, and they gift me with their love daily. They’re in the years where I hold the most power, the most say and the most time. In every moment, they are mine to steward over, to plant truth and grace into, and water and weed, and water and weed, and love on.

I pray. Deeply. That I will be able to be a love warrior in their lives. To always, always, ALWAYS love them deepest because they are so very precious. For all time.

True love “always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres.” (1 Corinthians 13:7 NIV) God’s gift of a mother’s love is somehow closest to that of Christ’s in its depth, power and sacrifice. I am eternally grateful.

I dedicate this post to my mother, who is truly the best. She is strong, patient, merciful, and passionate to a fault. She is incredibly beautiful, incredibly selfless and continually growing more comfortable in her own skin. She’s a true Love Warrior and my life counselor. She’s at least eight people’s hero. Oh, and she cooks good, too.

I eat chicken breasts when we have dinner as a family. I like to eat chicken breasts. This is indicative to the stage of life I’m in. My children are babies. I have two of them. I can find chicken for $1.99 a pound from a wholesale warehouse, from as reputable of a large scale chicken farm as you can find. So I eat chicken breasts.

My mother eats chicken thighs. She, also, likes to eat chicken breasts. She has grown, birthed, fed, trained and raised up eight children, and has been eating chicken thighs as long as I can remember. And her mother before her ate chicken thighs.

There are so many people wanting to be heard these days. So many causes to rally around, so many voices crying for attention. Turn on the news for a few seconds, pick up a paper, or check your Facebook homepage. There are so many people, defending so many positions, asking for so many prayers, so many dollars, so much support.

And then there are the selfless ones, like my mother. The ones there to listen, to empathize, to cry. They seem to be few and far between these days. In a world where “I want” comes first (and is often loudest), attitudes of love-service are hard to come by. But I’m certain they’re there, ushering other people’s needs ahead of their own as they’ve done for years.

The diversity of the gifts these selfless ones foster are endless. In the past thirty years, my mother has cheered on and welcomed a writer, a nurse, a machete-wielding forester (my sister has reached the apex of feminine strength), a building engineer, an airline mechanic and a restaurant manager into the pool of life. And she’s still stewarding two more. As her peace with herself grows, she encourages us in the path of trust as well.

These selfless ones don’t need their voices shouting above the crowd. Instead, they’re the ones whispering in the ears of their little ones, “You can do it. You are strong. You are powerful.” Picking them up when they fall, and raising them up to love themselves, to use their gifts, and to be the men and women they were called to be.

These selfless ones don’t need a “mom blog” to reassure them that one day they’ll have time for continuing studies and pedicures. Instead, they look to and walk with the God of Hagar in the desert. “The God who sees me.” They’re comforted by His love, His Will and His guidance, knowing that He’s there for every step.

The selfless ones know there’s no “secret” to the easy life. That it’s hard work, much prayer, and a lot of grace. Even when grace is just being able to look back and say, “I made it.” From the other side, it must seem a blur of tears and smiles, and laughter and hurt. But so beautiful.

While I trudge through and soak in the young mothering days, conscious of how fast they’re passing, how fast my babies are growing, and wondering if I’m doing any of it right, I know I will embrace that day. Saying, “I made it.” Knowing I’ve had a hand in nurturing some of the finest souls I’ve ever been honored to meet. I will smile, and, I hope, eat my chicken thigh in teary silence.

Tag: Mothers Day

Becoming Mom

A Thank You to the Selfless Ones