27 Feb What My Mother Gave Me

My life began on a fruit and nut orchard in Santa Cruz, California. Before we moved when I was not quite four, I had explored that orchard, eaten its fruits and discovered its treasures, which included a tree house my father and grandfather built for my brother and me.

When we moved to Utah, my brother and I once again had a hand-built treehouse that rested in a bing cherry tree in our backyard. I remember being six years old with red-stained hands and a belly full of cherries, which described my life in that season.

My parents gave me a love for the outdoors and we spent our family vacations camping in the the mountains of Utah and Wyoming.

My mother was always up for an adventure. She hiked and swam in the mountain lakes with us. She skinned the fish my dad and brother caught and fried them up for dinner. She drank from mountain waterfalls and later when I was a teenager, I had my friend take a picture of me drinking water from the same waterfall she did as a young woman.

When we got home from school, my mom was ready to sit down at the kitchen table with some cookies or snacks and hear all about our day. I distinctly remember riding the school bus home in my fourth and fifth grade years and thinking of how comforted I was to know that mom would be there waiting for me.

When we were sick, my mom made sure our sheets were clean and warm. She made us honey lemon tea (the recipe that I still make for my kids when they are sick) and read us stories.

As a skilled seamstress, my mother would make me new little purses regularly to match outfits “just for fun.” Once or twice (ok, maybe more!) I remember bragging to my friends, “Do you want a purse to match that outfit? I’m sure my mom could whip one up for you in no time!” If that weren’t enough, she made my prom dress my senior year of high school, which was a very complicated pattern.

Growing up, my mother was a close confidant. Sure, I had peers who were my “best friends,” but when it came down to unconditional love and quality time, mom surpassed everyone else in my life, hands down. She gave gifts to me of simple things that make a child’s life warm, secure, and hopeful.

My mother bore with me, staying close by my side through a few turbulent years in my adolescence. By about 10th grade, I decided I was done with high school and all of its drama. I wanted to move on to college but couldn’t. So I cried a lot, wrote a lot of poetry, and found refuge in my church youth group.

Sadly, during this time, I often pushed my mother out. To the one who had proven her loyalty to me, who had held me close and wiped my tears, I was often thankless and insensitive.  She loved me anyway. And in all those years, my mother rarely yelled at me. In those moments, I regarded her weak for not “fighting back” and yet now I stand in awe at the strength of patience and character she exhibited.

I had some extreme highs and lows in those years and my mother remained strong and steadfast, like a measuring line of stability for me when I wasn’t sure who else I could turn to; when my world seemed to cave in on me. She did not shame me when I made wrong choices. She loved me and gently nudged me towards truth and goodness.

My mother did not raise me to be like her. She encouraged my personal growth and interests, which were often very different from her own. But now, at 41 years old, I realize that while we have different personalities, I “caught” much from her that she quietly, persistently lived out in my presence.

She taught me by example to value my family and prioritize their needs. She taught me that the environment we create for our family matters and our availability to them matters. She taught me the value of peacemaking in my home.

She demonstrated for me that being a homemaker is not an outdated profession, but how it can be a vital role not only in the family but in society. So much so that when I became pregnant with my first daughter, I knew I wanted to follow in her footsteps.

As a mother myself now, my relationship with my mom is much different. I don’t see her as often and of course seasons have changed, yet one thing will never change:

In spite of our ups and downs, I still see my mother as the person who has had the most significant impact and influence on my life. Her influence reminds me much of Jesus’ parable of the kingdom of God being like leaven hidden in dough. Quietly planted, its original form appears both humble and small. And yet, and as time goes on, its power and impact grows, expands, and is fully realized.

So I want to thank you, mom. Thank you for being present in my life. For loving me when I was unlovely. For cheering me up when I was down, for bearing with my whims and extremities and passions, for being patient when I was rude, disrespectful, and thankless.

Thank you for teaching me the value of a mother who is available and unhurried. For baking cookies and making purses and swimming in lakes and chasing dreams. For listening to me through the years and for always being proud of me.

And most importantly, thank you for pointing me to Christ and for loving Jesus. There is no greater gift you could have given me than the legacy of your faith in Him. Happy 75th birthday. I love you.