I wasn’t planning to write what I’m about to. I actually had a few other ideas I was intending to formulate into words and punctuation, but then I saw the yellow and red banner at the top of the World Race site: “Blogging Challenge: Mother’s Day!” Consider challenge accepted.
You know, life is hard. Being a mom is hard. I’ve never been one and even I know that. Imagine being a mom to five radically different yet somehow similar children–all of which you homeschooled at one point or another. A daughter who, in fifth grade, was taller than you and could probably take you on. Another daughter who hated vegetables and was obsessed with a pair of overalls (yours truly). A third daughter with the wildest curly hair and the purest demeanor. A boy who was so big and chubby and loud that everyone thought he was five when he was two. And another baby boy who–well, Matthew was a pretty great baby from what I can remember. Then again, he was pretty much my belated birthday present. (Good one, Mom!)
Ever since I can remember my mom has been there–not just there, but present. Pouring out herself into our lives. She gave up everything and then some for my siblings and me: her job as a (paid) teacher to be a stay at home mom and teacher of multiple grades at one time. She became a secretary, a cook, a nurse, a counselor, a disciplinarian, a chauffeur, a cheerleader, a librarian, a housekeeper, a prayer warrior. And more. For my siblings. For me. Now that is one extensive resume.
So imagine how weird it would be for your job description to little by little diminish. One by one your pay gets cut, your network of people you’ve so tirelessly and constantly poured into leave. Grow up. No longer are you a chauffeur because what sixteen year old wants their mom to pick them up from practice? Frozen burritos replace home-cooked family style meals because what teenager has time (or desire) for that? What do you do–how are you supposed to react–when your daughter is no longer content staying local (let alone the same country as you) but would rather do something crazy like travel the world for eleven months? What then?
I know that if I were in my mom’s place, I’d be broken. Hurt, bruised, confused, lonely. Wondering if I did something wrong to make all my kids move away, or if all the years that flew by were just a waste of time. If everything I ever did, said, or thought meant a single thing. Or if my life was a complete joke.
Mom, if you’re reading this, let me tell you. It wasn’t wasted. You didn’t do something to make us run off. You didn’t do it perfect, but who does? In fact, I’d say you did quite alright if I can confidently follow God around the world, if Amanda can get married and have a positive marriage to look back on (because you and Dad are STILL together). If Mary Ann can go on to grad school (two years early, mind you) because she was taught to be diligent and work hard and not give up. If Luke can, like me, dream of traveling and exploring and chase down those dreams because he has parents that believe in him, too. If Matthew can learn to push through current struggles and distractions because he knows the fight is worth the reward in the end.
You didn’t fail. You have succeeded so much beyond what you give yourself credit for. And I hope you know that Mother’s Day isn’t just another day on the calendar. Yes it reminds me of pain, of past regrets and present frustrations, but it’s worth it. IT’S WORTH IT. Because you’re worth it.
Happy Mother’s Day, Mom. I love you.
