Mother's Day

It's Mother's Day. If you are one, you start thinking a couple different directions: toward your own mother, and to the children who make you a mom.

 Every year I am touched with the little gifts, cards, sentiments, and acts of service, that punctuate this day.
Some are very small and not quite as touching...like this morning when one of the natives came out dressed for church.
"You look nice." I said.
He replied "What can I say?...I'm my Mother's son! ...that's your compliment for the day."

And some are big and very touching... like the Chief getting up way early to fix the coffee and cook  for the annual Mother's Day carry-in dinner the men of our church put on for the ladies. Every year they do an absolutely outstanding job and this year was no exception.

This year some of the men got up in church and serenaded all the mothers (And mother's-in-law) with song.

I think maybe we ladies have some room to step up our Father's Day observance, actually. We should have a carry-in where we all bring our husband's favorite foods...or let them choose what they'd like us to make.
But that's another discussion...

This is my first Mother's Day without my mother. Her best one, no doubt. A couple times in the last couple months I have found myself talking to God about her..."Take good care of her God. She was so good to us all. Give her Your best royal treatment, please..." and then my prayer fades away when I think of Who I'm talking to and how absurd the words must sound to Him.

I wrote this little piece up about my mother years ago. Some of  you have already read it, I know. I wrote it fast and it's no literary gem, but it was the beat of my heart at the time and I am going to repost it here...because it's Mother's Day, and it's still the truth...


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The most unfortunate thing I think, is that while I was growing up, I did not at all appreciate my Mother for the treasure she was. She was just "Mother". As reliable as the sun. As consistent as the seasons. As fun as a puppy.... with none of the mess. As comforting as peach cobbler with a little cream drizzled over it on a rainy evening.

She wasn't nuthin' but the truth when you were bad. And peace, perfect peace, as soon as your spanking was over.

She was as unconventional as a hot pink Buick. And as much fun as exploring an old house for the first time.

She taught me that praying and reading your Bible every day were important, that God is everything you need, and when things get unbearably stressful to break into gales of uncontrollable mirth.

She taught me that life is about 10% circumstance and 90% attitude.
And that people are very much fun to watch.
That it doesn't matter what you look like, or whether you ever get married.
And that if you don't know how to spell or pronounce it, to look it up.

She taught me that it is much better not to show up at a social event and have people wish you were there, than to show up, and have people wish you had stayed home.

She taught me not to worry about what people think about you...... that nobody's thinking about you anyway.
And that if you are somebody, you don't have to try to be somebody.

Probably, the light began to dawn  in my dormant awareness as to what a special person she was when as a teenager my friends would be over to see me and wind up sitting and talking with my mother. "You're mom is so cool" " You've got a neat mom!" " I LOVE your mother!" were things I began to hear regularly and suddenly I realized that she wasn't the same as everyone else's Mother.

She was forty-four years old when I was born, and a year older when my little brother made his debut. But she was by no means worn out. The spring before I got married she and I would get up early several days a week and play tennis before we had to go to work. She was good. She beat me far more often than I beat her.

But it wasn't until I had six children of my own that I began to truly marvel at her and her six. How did she make it look so easy?? How did she keep from ever losing her temper? How did she always have time to talk with us? How did she wind up at the end of every day with plenty of time to read to us? How did she manage to always appear to know exactly what she was doing? She's a miracle. My miracle.

The hand that rocked my cradle, without a doubt, rules my world.

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God bless all the mothers today. And the motherless. And the childless.
God bless us all.