Mother’s Day

Charm is deceptive, and beauty is fleeting;
    but a woman who fears the Lord is to be praised

                                                            Psalm 31:30

I know, it seems like I am writing a lot about my family relationships.   I am sure that this will sound disgusting, but my dad was that last scab holding back the pustule of emotions built up in the lives of my remaining siblings and myself.  Not a pretty visual, but an honest one.

Mother’s Day is this Sunday in the US.  I have three lovely, grown children who never forget me.  My birthday is a few days before, but I never get a recycled holiday from them.  I’m blessed.  For years it was awkward to me that they would make such an effort to surprise and honor me on both days.  My own memories of Mother’s Day are that it was a required event.  I believe we were told what acceptable gifts were and if yours wasn’t acceptable, it was returned without ceremony and often without thanks.

Those of you who have read anything I’ve written will know that my mother was a fierce narcissist.  She pitted one child against another and had favorites that could do literally anything and not only be forgiven but defended.  I was not one of those.  I achieved in certain areas, and she took credit for those achievements, yet used my intellect especially to mock me.  I was “smart but had no common sense”.

Most people now know that comments like that, repeated over the life of a child damage that child’s view of themselves.  I went into young adulthood with no idea of who I was or if I would ever be able to stand on my own two feet.

I met Paul in a very unlikely way.  He just loved me.  Everything he said was positive, and although I didn’t believe that anything he was telling me could be true, I listened.  I listened enough to marry him and start our own family.

Unfortunately, I still listened to my mother.  She was farther away in distance, but her voice still pounded in my head and soul.  It wasn’t until she started making comments about my children that I stood up and was done.  I wasn’t worth defending, but I’d defend my babies with my life. 

My babies are the most beautiful, joyful beings I have ever known.  My whole heart belongs to each of them if that is even possible.  I basked in their kindness, intelligence, and personality as they grew.  God has truly blessed them, and they are amazing young adults.  Paul will tell me that this is because of me, that I had much to do with this.  I can’t fathom this.  The messages of my own mother still get stuck in the crevasses of my brain and divert these messages.

All I know is that God brought me from horror to a family of love and gentleness.  I hate to say that my home of origin was horror because of my mother, but truth is truth.  So much of how a person sees themselves and sees the world is dependent on their parents.  I had no idea how to parent, except not to do what was done to me.  My sister Sue and Paul’s sisters were huge examples of how God strengthens and guides a mother.

We don’t all “mother” the same way, right or wrong.  As I’ve struggled with mental illness, I’ve thought that I had destroyed any “mom” influence I might have had.  It turns out that I have raised children who see the person inside, the heart and soul.  I struggle with this outer shell, but my love for them is infinite and eternal.  It amazes me that God used my illness, once again, as a positive in someone’s life.

I am amazed at God.  We continue to have disease due to our own fall ages ago, yet He can take that vileness and use it for the purest of reasons.

Thank you, God, for the three gifts you entrusted to me so long ago.  As I send them out into the world, I pray that they continue to be the sweet, loving, silly, faithful children you made them to be.  Let them love their own spouses and families as they have loved me.

I am the most loved mom in the world, or at least in my world!  Bless you all and Happy Mother’s Day