My mom is my favorite person in the world. My husband says this is okay for me to say because she is also one of his favorites.
I think I could write about the people I love forever and never get tired of it. I’m not ashamed in any way of telling you because I hope you might also be so brave as to express how you feel about someone before their body betrays them, the dementia sets in, ears are too deaf to listen, and eyes are too blind to see whom they have loved well. Or, forbid it, your time ends prematurely here on earth.
Don’t let anyone tell you Mother’s Day is just a gratuitous way to keep the Hallmark business alive. A good mom can never be over-praised. A good mom-like friend is equally worthy.
God made moms as keepers of memories, secrets, treasures. He lets moms in on the hidden things of life–all the hard, gratifying work the world cannot understand. Throughout a mom’s life, He matures her with His wisdom. He satisfies her with His promises. If God thinks so highly of mothers, and if your mother gave you life, how should we love them?
Call her. Feed her good food. Write her long-winded letters. Send her random boxes of love. I’ve sent my own mother empanadas and ice cream and a whole sandwich kit from New York City that boasted “the Largest Deli Sandwich in the World!” Most recently I sent her an air fryer. She won’t have room on her countertop for it, but part of the fun for me is imagining her opening the box and fussing about where to put it. She always gets giddy over the small things (drawings and letters and packages), and so I’ve made it a point to find the exact point at which is too big of a small thing. Will my mom, who still sends me money in the mail to buy ice cream to “enjoy the spring weather” ever let me repay her to the full extent she has loved me?
I’ve flown her to Colorado to meet all my babies when they were brand new. On the fourth baby, she arrived, kissed my newborn, then ditched me to go float the river with my husband, her son-in-law. I didn’t mind because I love seeing her have fun. My goal is to see my mother, who has never stopped working, enjoy life to the fullest.
She is the one who let me fly to South America when I was only 17, and then again when I was 19, because she knew I needed to spread my wings. I don’t think she trusted I was necessarily mature enough, but she trusted God, and so she didn’t shut the door out of fear or anxiety.
I learned other languages and culture, and I learned how to take risks. She lived quietly, yet vicariously through me, and I didn’t even consider that in my mind until my own kids were born.
And now that my own kids are growing up, I’m coming to understand how valuable, how impactful, and beautiful is is to have a mom that doesn’t coerce or manipulate her children, but instead loves openly and freely, expecting little in return. She didn’t have a picture in mind all along of who she wanted us to be, so she didn’t set herself up for the disappointment of us growing up and out of reach.
Because of her mindful approach, she now has ten adult children and daughters/sons-in-law who adore her.
I have sung songs for my mom and texted them to her. Two years ago, I recorded the song, A Mother Like You (by JJ Heller) with my kids and sent it to her (you should also look it up and sing it to your own mother if you’re ok at not crying. It took me a few tries.). I’m not sure she’s ever thought I was much of a singer or guitar player, but she likes it when I share my creative endeavors, so I do it anyway. When I was at her house for Easter, we got out the instruments and serenaded her…She pulled out her cell phone and videotaped us–she treasures these moments.
Her refrigerator and walls are plastered with my and my siblings’ art and cartoons–and some of us are closing in on forty. Her shelves hold my 30 year old Barbies and every dish and pinky-sized plastic fruit that came along with the Barbie kitchen in 1993. Who in the world can keep track of itty bitty Polly Pocket and her itty bitty dog? My mom, that’s who. I don’t know of another soul on earth who keeps such meticulous care of her third child’s old toys (sorry to my own third born, it’s rough). She remembers my favorite cookies and cakes and bakes them on my birthday, even though I live 800 miles away and won’t get to taste them.
My mom comes from a line of great moms. I called her mother, my grandma, on the phone several weeks ago, and she was tickled to hear my voice.
“You know,” she said, “I was looking out the window the other day as the mailman was delivering his letters, and I thought to myself, I sure hope there’s a big long letter from Pearl in there.”
To be fair, there was only a small card, but God had answered her wish just the same. A mom is never not thinking about her kids.
Love your mom. Don’t assume someone else will do it for you. Don’t just wave off another week or year before you tell her you are you because of her.
You won’t come close to repaying her for what she’s done.
But I think you should go ahead and try.
