My Mother

Well, it is Mother's Day in just two days so what else--or should I say 'who' else--would I write about?  I've been blessed with a wonderful mother.  I know a lot of people say that, and probably most of them mean it, but I can't imagine having a better mother.  There is a lot that I appreciate about my Mom and I can't possibly cover all that is wonderful about her in a simple blog post...but I'm going to at least make a feeble attempt.

As I type on Lindy's laptop I am sitting outside on my patio basking in the gorgeous sunshine.  My mother and I both live for days like this.  If she were here she would be sitting close by reading a book and drinking a glass of iced tea.  We would be absolutely content.  If it were a perfect day for us we would have already been shopping and out to lunch.  If it were a really perfect day there would have been time spent on the beach at some point.  

There are some things about me that I know disappoint my mother.  The first one would probably be that we don't live close to each other and don't get to spend time together on a regular basis.  My Dad preached my grandmother's (my mother's mother) funeral almost 12 years ago and I remember a part where he said my grandmother told him some time in the past that he was getting paid back for taking my mother away from her.  You see, my mother married a preacher and followed him wherever the ministry took him.  I did the same thing and my grandmother told him, mostly in jest, that he was reaping what he sowed for taking her daughter far away.  Not being close in proximity disappoints my mother, but I know she understands because it's the path she also chose.  I know that it also disappoints her that I don't call often enough.  She would also prefer that I was a little better at hand-written letters and cards.  This is important to her and I should do better at remembering that.  We now have an additional way to stay in contact and she's become very adept at texting.  There are probably many other things about me that disappoint my mother, but overall, I know she would say that she is proud of this person she helped to mold and shape.

I've come to realize that you have such a different perspective in regards to your mother when you become one yourself.  There are many things that I appreciated at the time, but now have a deeper sense of gratitude as I remember my childhood.  I remember that my Mom would always put aside her book to talk to me, no matter what.  I recall actually testing it once.  I was about 13 or 14 years old and I went to talk to her and she was reading a book.  She put the book down and talked to me.  Then, we just sat in silence for a while and she went back to her book.  A few minutes later I said something else and she put down her book again.  It was nothing important that I was talking about but this went on for several minutes.  Me sitting in silence, then talking, her putting down her book and patiently listening to me, her going back to her book....  She never knew I was testing her but this minor event stayed with me.  I knew without a doubt that I was important to her, more important than whatever else she happened to be doing.

My Mom was at home with me until I started second grade.  At that point we moved to Springfield, MO from Searcy, AR and my Mom had to go to work.  I never really appreciated the significance of this in her life until much later.  I took it in stride and don't recall being emotionally scarred by having a working mother.  I believe it had a much greater impact on her.  She was a secretary and she hadn't worked outside our home in a very long time.  Years later, she told me that there were times she would be so frustrated by having to recall all she knew to be able to do her job and had so much angst about going to work and not being home for my brother and me that she would lay her head on her typewriter and cry.  (That's right, I said typewriter.  We are old).  In spite of her frustration, she never brought that home from work.  It was around this time that my Dad started traveling and he was gone about ten days a month.  He was also pastoring a little church and when he was gone my Mom would preach.  So, my Mom often tells me that I am crazy for trying to fit so much into a summer, a month, a week, a day, an hour; but she's forgotten all the craziness that her life was when my brother and I were growing up.   She worked full-time, had two kids and all the activities that they could scrape by to afford, a house to clean, meals to cook, and a church where she covered for my Dad when he was gone.  Who's crazy???

Since my Mom worked full-time I don't remember there being a tremendous amount of baking around our house.  When my Mom did bake something that wasn't going with her to work or to church I was so touched.  I know that's a little loo loo, but chocolate chip cookies speak to me.  I also remember that she was into making rag dolls for people at one time and when she gave one to me, I cried.  I'm not sure why I was affected by that, but just knowing that she had made one for me was a big deal.

When I was in high school I was in marching band.  We had band practice every morning at 7:00 during marching band season.  For two years my Mom got out of bed every morning, bright and spunky as always, and took me to school early before she came back home to get ready to go to work.  She never once complained.  My parents encouraged me to be in marching band so it would not have been her way to complain about something that was a requirement for what she had encouraged me to do.

If you've ever wondered where I get my fashion sense, you only have to look as far as my mother.  When I was growing up, my parents didn't have much money.  I was a "free lunch" kid and didn't know it meant we were without means.  I thought it meant I was a princess and they gave me my lunch and morning milk for free.  Delusional, I know.  But, in spite of not having money we always looked nice.  She learned from her mother that "looking good is half the battle."  My grandmother would also point out families with filthy kids, dirty clothes, etc.  and say, "no pride, no pride."  You don't have to have money to be clean and look nice.  My Mom made a lot of my clothes and you can just imagine what kind of duds she set me up in.  She was scared of Vogue patterns but once in a while I could convince her to attempt it.  Everything she made always turned out fabulous.  I also had really long hair growing up and she fixed it different for me every day.  One year, I think it was 4th or 5th grade, we decided to see how many days through the school year we could go with me wearing a completely different hairstyle.  I think we made it through the first quarter.  Not bad.  Through the years, my parents exercised a lot of discipline and wisdom in their finances and they had greater means.  This translated to me as more clothes in my closet.  I attempted one year to see how many days I could go to school without wearing the same ensemble of clothes twice.  (I really need a hobby, I know).   This was encouraged by my mother and she taught me how to accessorize during this time.  We still love to shop and it's pretty much a standard with the ladies in her family that if we've been under the weather, and we're back out shopping again, we are on the road to recovery.  Shopping is our barometer.

My mother is really beautiful and always has been.  She's modest about it but I know she was a knock-out in her growing-up years since she still is a gorgeous woman.  I feel a little guilty saying this because so many people say we look alike, but she has much better cheekbones than me.  I have better lips, so we're even.  When I was a little girl and would go to visit her at her work I would be on the elevator and people would automatically know I was her daughter because we look so much alike.  I've included a recent picture of her at Gavin's birthday party--and I did not photoshop it.  She still is classically beautiful and has the best fashion sense of any woman I know. 

Much greater than all the lessons about outer beauty were the lessons she taught me about character.  She taught me to treat others the way I want to be treated; keep an open heart and don't expect for others to have an ulterior motive; marry a man who loves Jesus, loves me, and loves his mother.  She also told me my life would be much easier if I married someone who shared my values and beliefs and if I remembered that marrying the man also meant marrying his family.  I took that to heart and married the best family I could find.  I did well to listen to her because I benefit from the closeness I share with Lindy's family.  She also taught me about patience--I'm still trying to learn that one--and about how a wife should treat her husband.  I guess I should listen closely to that advice since my parents will celebrate 50 years of marriage in September.

Unless you've been hiding under a rock, or you've just not read my recent blog posts, you already know that I just experienced a miscarriage.  Why would I mention that at this point?  Well, here's where I come to the transparent part.  You see, I have three boys who I love dearly and wouldn't trade for all the world, but my dream of having a girl has never been fulfilled.  I have come to terms with that over the years.  I really have.  This pregnancy ended before I was able to know if this baby was to be a boy or a girl.  I was talking last Sunday to some dear friends named Joe and Wendy.  Joe encouraged me to pray and ask God whether the baby was a boy or girl and to name him or her.  He believed that God would give me that answer.  I don't doubt that, but as I prayed about it I realized that I don't really want to know whether the baby is a boy or a girl.  Here's why.  If Lindy and I decided not to pursue having another baby and I felt God telling me this baby was a girl then I would be even more devastated.  One of my main motivations in my desire for a girl was so that I could experience the same type of wonderful relationship I've had with my mother.  Boys love their mothers, no doubt, but it seems that as they grow older and marry they eventually gravitate toward the girl's family.  There are exceptions, but as a rule, it's true.  I also wanted to see the kind of woman my little blonde-haired, blue-eyed girl would grow up to be.  If I knew the baby that was never meant to be was my final opportunity to have a girl, I know there would be great disappointment for me.  It's good enough for me to just accept that my "baby" is in heaven and I will see him or her again one day.  Here's where I encourage you to read the book "Heaven is for Real" if you haven't already.  You'll understand why after you read it.

Well, Lindy asked me if I was writing a book while I've been sitting here.  This blog post is long enough but still falls short in conveying what a wonderful blessing my mother is, and has always been, to me.  We won't be together this Mother's Day.  Remember, we both married pastors??  I will be preaching this Sunday at our church.  If you haven't heard me before, just know that, according to Lindy, I preach "like a woman."  I'll take that as a compliment.  If you don't have a church home and want to come, I can almost guarantee that you will cry and laugh and probably cry while you're laughing.  Hopefully, you'll leave different than when you came.  If you want more logistical information you can go to www.myrestorationchurch.org.  

Love you, Mom.  I wouldn't be who I am today without you in my life.