A Memorial to Moms

Since this past Sunday was Mother's Day, I thought it fitting to write a post for all of you moms out there, or at least the few of you who might stop in to read this blog. While our country has been honoring mothers for over 100 years, it seems hardly appropriate to give moms only one day of honor and recognition. After all, the rest of humanity wouldn't even be here if it weren't for mothers. In reality, very little of what truly goes on in a mother's life is about honor and recognition. Motherhood is a memorial to the pains of birth, followed by the pains of the heart. A life of toil, meeting the needs and demands of others, with snippets of joy and laughter slipped in. A stew made up of love, sweat, tears, scented soaps, dry hands and pretty scarves. A woman, but not just that, a mother, is a conglomeration of people; a melting pot of jobs and a garden of everything from herbs and vegetables, to flowers and cacti.

Photo credit Rebecca Trumbull

My mother, a small woman of English descent still wears a headscarf that makes her look like a little Polish babushka. She is a lady who knows how to whip up a pot of chicken soup and clean a house. She was a Sunday School teacher to 2 and 3 year olds for over 50 years. Her hands and face are wrinkly, but her eyes blaze with light and her heart loves to dance and laugh. At 89 years of age she still lives independently in the home I was raised in. 

My mother-in-law was an oncology nurse for over 20 years. She has a poise and dignity that carry over into everything she does. She makes fabulous meals and has been a source of love, fun and inspiration to her children, grandchildren and great grandchildren. In her retirement she continues to care for and help anyone her life touches including her own husband who has Parkinson's.

There are not enough pages to give moms their due. But we must also acknowledge that all we see on a day to day basis, only glosses over the surface of who a mother really is. She is human. She was born with a sin nature and struggles against it all of her life. She knows the voice of the enemy because he lashes her with guilt and regret. She has been down the road of "what ifs" a million times and has worn a spot in the carpet somewhere with her nighttime pacing. She could own stock in the Kleenex company and I know God has many alabaster jars full of tears in heaven. She wants to be what everyone expects of her, but also realizes that is impossible. She wants her husband to succeed, but more often than not, feels too overwhelmed to help him do it. She desires the best life for her children, but must only stand back and watch when they make choices that guarantee that life will not happen. She has hopes and dreams for herself, but she is willing to give them all up to simply be for everyone else.

Who is your mother? She is a warrior! She will fight for you. She is a priestess! She will pray for you. She is a bear! She will protect you. She is a light! She will guide you. She is a fire! She will warm you. She is so many things and more because that is who God made her. God made you, Mom and you are the crown of His creation! 

 

Am I at the Opera?

I came from a family that was relatively quiet. I have two older brothers. Jeff is ten years my senior and Kevin is 4 years older than me. Yes, I was the baby and I was a girl. Imagine my brothers' chagrin when they realized something alien came into the house on that day my parents brought me home from the hospital. Jeff was enough older that he didn't pay me much mind, but Kevin, he just wasn't too sure about this crying mess. 

As we grew up in a conservative Christian home, we ate meals together. I have fond memories of sitting around our kitchen table eating. However, I do remember it being very quiet. Maybe it was because I was a girl or maybe it was due to our age differences, but there was hardly any conversation. Just reaching for what we wanted, or a quiet, "Can you pass the butter?" I don't remember talking about school or other family or....well, anything.

But somehow we survived and we all made it to adulthood. I met my husband, Mark in college (and that is another story). The first time I was invited to his home for a meal, I was ill prepared for the event. I did not realize I was going to the opera. When we sat down to eat the delicious meal his mother had prepared I was expecting a meal, much like those at my house....quiet, with little conversation. After we said grace, there was some chit chat as we passed around the food. Slowly there was a rise in the volume and speed of the conversation. I was trying to keep up with the questions being asked of me and the other conversations that were going on at the table. Mind you this is not a huge family. Mark has one married sister, that's it. But all of a sudden I found myself unable to keep up with the voices, all talking at the same time, all trying to be heard. 

In opera the term is called imbroglio. It is usually a culminating piece where a number of characters are singing at the same time in a very emotional or fast paced way. So my first encounter with my husband's family was imbroglio. While it was a bit overwhelming, I was rather fascinated by it all. Over the years, I have learned to put my ten cents in (inflation you know) and I am able to take all the conversations in. And the family has grown. Two nephews, our own daughters and now additional in-laws and grandchildren.

Through it all I have come to appreciate family. Large or small, noisy or quiet, imbroglio or solo, it's all good. I am very thankful for the family God gave me, both by blood and marriage. I hope you are able to be thankful for yours as well.