Sunday, May 09, 2010
Your Momma Loves You
I made this for my mother when I was in elementary school. We used these paint-filled tubes with roller balls on the end. I was just learning to do cursive and wrote my signature in that way. She framed it and hung it on the wall for years. When she died, I found it in a keepsake box. She had all kinds of things from me in that box--cards I'd made, poems I'd written for her, photos, newspaper clippings, my hospital bracelet from when I was born. I never once doubted that she loved me. I never once thought "is she proud of me?" because I was surrounded by her admiration and encouragement and concern every moment that she lived.
Because I was separated from her until I was 4, I grew to realize early what a great gift God gave me in allowing me to be raised by her. Sometimes I would lie in bed at night after she'd heard my prayers and said goodnight, and I'd beg God to keep her safe and alive because I desperately wanted her to always be there for me. (I think she begged God to keep me and my brother alive, too.)
Even though she's now been gone for 13 years in April, it still sometimes strikes me odd that I can't pick up the phone and tell her about my day, what is happening here, about the unusual wildlife in my woods, like the night we heard the "woman scream like she was being murdered!" I would've liked to discuss with her what it could have been. Bobcat?? Owl? Cougar?? What was that?? I'd like to share with her a really good book that I know she would enjoy. I miss her prayers for me. There are times I think, "there's no one praying for me!" and I panic.It happens in the middle of the night when I know I've been forgotten by the entire world, except if she had been alive, she wouldn't have forgotten me.
The greatest joy for my mother was BEING a MOTHER. So when we said "happy mother's day!" to her, it already was, as was every single day from the time I was born.
Not every person had the joy of having a mother like mine.How would it be to have a mother who hated being a mother? Who not only treated you badly, but did things to make your life miserable and leave horrible messes for your life? Who hated the day you were born? Or worse, didn't care what happened to you?
If your mom wasn't someone who loved you, right now, pretend my mother was your mother. Pretend that she wrapped your day in prayers and tucked you in at night with kisses and stories. Someday when you go to heaven and you're looking around for people to greet you, I guarantee you that my mother will hold you and hug you, so very grateful you were born. If you're reading this and you didn't have a mother who was good to you, I'm praying for you today. I'm praying that you feel that security of knowing someone is praying for you.
And if you had a mother who loved you, thank God for her life because He Who loves you most put you in such a privileged place. I thank God every day for my mother because when I became a mother, I understood her in a way that comes from suddenly standing in her shoes. I got a glimpse of what it must be like for God to love us, too. He gave Jesus to a mother, because He knew, too, just what it was like.
If you're reading this, I am praying for you and thankful you were born.