As a child we spent many a Mother's Day with my paternal
Grandmother, going to her tiny Methodist Church in her tiny town. Every year
was exactly the same. Everyone wearing a flower, red if your mother was
still alive and white if she had gone on to be with Jesus. My poor Daddy got a
severe tongue lashing one year when he wore what my Grandmother considered a
pink flower - she took that to mean that he thought her half dead. (But that is
another post all by itself.) And then there was the recognition of the oldest,
youngest and newest mothers followed by all the children in the
congregation lining up in front of the alter to sing the M-O-T-H-E-R
song.
M...is
for the many things she gave me
O...means
only that she's growing old
T...is
for the tears she shed to save me
H...is
for her heart of purest gold
E...is
for her eyes, with love-light shining
R...means
right, and right she'll always be
Put
them all together, they spell "mother"
...a
word that means the world to me
I
always felt uncomfortable about the O part. It just didn't seem right to
point out that the mothers were getting older. It especially bothers me
now since I am that "growing older" mother.
But
this post is not about mothers or the trappings of one day a year. It's
about my Momma.
Hardly
a day passes when I don't think of a gift Momma gave me or something wonderful
she taught me and I am so thankful. Our family was not Norman Rockwell perfect but Momma made every birthday special, sometimes spending weeks planning the theme, making the party favors, decorations and invitations by hand - long before there was a Martha Stewart or Pinterest. And the homemade birthday cakes were legendary - from a rocket ship in the year of the moon walk to a ladies hat for a dress up tea party.
But this time of year I am always thankful for the way she taught me to love a garden and all the things in it. She taught me to grow flowers and trees - which ones need light and which ones need shade, which ones bloom in spring and which ones bloom all summer, in short, how to create another home outside.
To enjoy the quiet of a garden, that is one of the best gifts from Momma. And one I never grow tired of sharing with her. To sit quietly with a cup of coffee and take in all the wonders of creation. To see God in all of it. To embrace the renewal and the hope and the promise of a garden. To be thankful.
Last week as we sat and watched the birds feeding in my backyard she said, "How could anyone really look at a bird building a nest and not believe in God?" Good question Momma. Another gift.
Please Lord let me remember to be thankful everyday for
the blessing that is my Momma.
Happy Mother's Day, Momma.
