Honoring My Mother
Mother’s Day. It’s that time of year when we set aside a few moments in which to pay tribute to our moms. And well we should. But only one day? A measly 24 hours? It’s not enough. Mothers deserve to be honored everyday, for they spend a large portion of their lives denying themselves for the sake and betterment of their children.
My mom gave, assisted, cheered, nurtured, and more, certainly neglecting herself along the way.
She bought me a hat and jacket I didn’t need in order to get me into my first-grade classmates’ “stocking cap” and “Windbreaker” clubs, replaced my 45’s that were smashed when my bookshelf fell from the wall, and surprised me with a weight bench when I began lifting in high school.
She passed along a love of reading and learning, fostered an appreciation for art and music, and encouraged me to develop and use my artistic and athletic abilities.
She taught me how to manage money, handed down her sense of good taste and eye for detail, and cultivated basic cooking, sewing, and housekeeping skills.
She went above and beyond her duty as a parent when she allowed me to play my music loud, bent the truth a bit to help me out of a jam (“You just missed him, Brenda”), and became my benefactor, editor, critic, and supporter while in college.
On numerous occasions she picked me up when I foolishly ran out of gas, ironed my clothes when I was late or in a hurry, and went to the office on a Saturday or Sunday to print my essays.
She recognized that I was a perfectionist and waited patiently while I fussed over small stuff. She whisked me off to the dermatologist when the first signs of acne began to dot my face. And she invited me to share her interest in family, family history, and the past in general.
My mom did things that I thought were mean at the time but have benefited me beyond measure now: making me wash my own clothes when I turned 14, enrolling me in summer band where I was the only drummer (terrified at first, I did just fine at the big concert for family and friends), and signing me up for Bible school classes in the middle of summer vacations (a seed was planted that has me in love with God’s Word, regularly studying the King James Bible, and trying to live my life for the Lord).
My mom always kept a close eye on her kids, yet knew when to grant them a bit of freedom. She let me and a buddy sit by ourselves while watching Jaws at the Cooper, turned the two of us loose in the labyrinth-like Cinderella City mall (for a couple of hours), and on one occasion let my sister and me spend an entire afternoon on our own at Elitch’s (a big deal for two junior high schoolers).
My mom knew how to get her family through almost any ordeal. A favorite memory is capping a long, hot summer day of errands with ice cream at Diary Queen. Slurping our shakes in the family’s new jet-black ’74 VW Super Beetle, we all chimed along with Elton John’s “Crocodile Rock,” my brother, sister, and I forgetting all about our endless afternoon of grocery shopping and visits to the dry cleaning shop and fabric store.
I could go on and on. . . .
We all know that life is not about how much we’re given. Yet love often manifests itself in giving, and love is often recognized through receiving.
I don’t know why my mother gave up so much for me then and continues to give so much to me now. I do know, however, that it has all been given out of love, and I feel loved for having been the recipient of her generous giving.
None of us gets to keep his or her mother forever. My mom and dad lost their mothers in 1998 and 1981, respectively, and my cousin lost her mom in 1996. Though I share their pain and loss, I don’t quite know how they feel. I still have my mom, and hope to (the Lord willing) for many more years. While she’s here I want to honor her each and every day, and tell her that I appreciate everything she’s done for me — seen and unseen, known and unknown.
Happy Mother’s Day, Mom. I love you. Without you I wouldn’t have made it this far.
Note: A Mother’s Day gift in 1999, the above piece was written for Shirley Baxendale, my incredible mother.
