Tomorrow (as in, starts in 58 minutes) is Mother's Day. This holiday has always brought up a complicated array of feelings for me. Being the mother of very small children, I feel generally underappreciated in my efforts because so many things I do are simply necessary--who's going to feed the baby his breakfast; who's going to run upstairs and bring Sara Beth more toilet paper; and who's going to cut peanut butter & cinnamon sugar sandwiches into hearts and stars for lunch? Yes, Daddy can do these things...but Daddy must also work so that we have breakfast, toilet paper, and the stuff to make sandwiches! I'm pretty sure every mother I know feels this way at some point, and I'm not completely convinced that it gets any better until, perhaps, the children are grown and have little breakfast-eaters of their own to make them realize how much work this mothering thing really is.
Then there's my own mother who was, shall we say, overwhelmed by life itself. She was young, undereducated, poor, abandoned, and constantly seeking love from the wrong places. And I was, well, I think I was a little much for her. I was very intelligent, highly motivated, and I was constantly striving for more than what I had been born into. So mostly I spent my life being left alone to do my own thing. And I'm not even sure that I identify the woman who raised me as my mother because, despite all the worry and trouble she must have gone to in order to raise me, I never felt an emotional connection with her at all.
Looking back on my life, there are several women I would celebrate as my "mothers". They were ladies who spoke to me about life and the way it works. They listened to me at times when I could not find words to speak about what I had done or what was going on around me. And each of them offered me a small way out of the unfortunate circumstances I had grown up in. Cathy, my 8th grade language arts teacher, opened up my vision of the future when she told me quite sternly that I needed to go to college...and graduate with a degree. At the time I said, "Okay," but I really had no idea how utterly different doing that very thing would make my life and how evident God's hand would be in getting me to that point. Cynthia, who was technically my boss, listened to me as though I were one of her daughters (even though she already had two) and opened her home to me when I felt unwelcome in mine. Pammie was the youth director at the first church I attended. She was the first to show me God's view of my life and the one who showed me where His plan was leading. She taught me objectivity in a time when I was incredibly emotional about everything. She pushed me to move beyond the default settings for my life and seek out the best future instead of simply a good one.
As I (literally) moved on from each of these wonderful ladies, God drew me to a place where He would unfold His plan for my life--and show me a mother's love like I have never known. Women will give you a range of emotions when describing their mothers-in-law (yes, that's the correct way to say it), and these feelings range from plain oddness to downright hatred. My mother-in-law, which is a term I only use to define her socially, is the one who enters my mind as "mother" and since I actually call her Mama, it makes things very awkward if we are ever in the same room as my actual mother. Her name is Margie, which I also feel odd saying in the same way I feel odd about my own children calling me Stephanie...something about it just isn't right. People have assumed we were mother and daughter for years now--some have even said we look alike--and we often have those "great minds" moments where we end up thinking or saying exactly the same thing. I find in her a comfort, a peace, and literally my best friend. There was a time just before Chris and I were married when we thought she might be sick--really sick--and it caused me physical pain to actually look at her with the thought of losing her to some unweilding disease. There are things she has done for me that I could not bring myself to ask my own mother to do because we simply do not have that type of relationship and I can not imagine being at this place in my life without her. And so, on Mother's Day, amid the children clamoring for Grandma's attention and the hours spent at church, I celebrate my Mama and praise God that He would create a woman with a heart big enough to take in many "children" who are not physically her own.
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