Mother’s Day is different for me, now that I’m a mom. It’s not so much that I’m included in the festivities, although that’s special too. It’s different because I see my own mom in a new light. All the years of sacrifice, the hardship, the open arms and encouraging words–parts of my childhood that I look back on with thankfulness. I know now how much it really costs to love someone unconditionally, even when they’re being unlovable.
Today I want to share a collection of poetry and memoirs focused on my mom. I’m so grateful for the example she gave me of motherhood and what it means to be a woman of God. I’m praying for many more years to learn from her wisdom.
When I was a freshman in high school, both of my parents got teaching jobs at a local charter school. Neither of them had teaching degrees, but had worked with kids for many years. I look back on that first year of teaching as a turning point in our family. It felt like a new leaf had been turned over, but it also felt like setting sail in an ocean alone. Everyone but me was at the K-8 school. My parents worked different hours than I was accustomed to. High school was much the same as middle school: lonely, awkward, out of place. Yet through it all, I could still see God’s fingerprints marking every area of life.
Portrait of My Mother
She sits, working on her laptop
Her hair pulled back on her head,
And she looks like a Greek goddess
Even though I can see the lines around her mouth
And smile lines on her eyes,
She doesn’t look anywhere near her age
As she tries to decide what to do on the upcoming family vacation
She listens to country music
Because it’s happy and upbeat
She gets frustrated with little technological things
But she tries to learn and understand
In the past two years, she’s turned into quite the scholar
The stay-at-home-mom I used to know
Has disappeared forever, I fear
School and work have taken the place
Of all the time she used to spend cleaning
And organizing play dates
We used to go to the library at least once a week
And the park
But now we fend for ourselves in terms of free time
And I can tell the difference in my brothers
Because they don’t appreciate the small things like I do
My mother taught me to see beauty
In everything
And I do
Because although things have changed
And will continue to do so
I will never forget what I was told as a kid
That making the most of what you have
Is better than having it all
By my junior year, I had finally found somewhere to belong: choir. They were just the sort of people I was looking for–quirky, talented, a little bit eccentric. But most of all, there was the community that took hold of me and didn’t let me go. After years of feeling adrift, I had a place to go at lunchtime. It was the same year my family began attending my current church and I got involved in the youth group. It was another first for me: people my age who believed what I did. And they welcomed me, social awkwardness and all. That year was another turning point. No longer was my identity wrapped up in my studies, because that was all I had to hold onto. And no longer was my faith something I packaged so others wouldn’t bother me about it. I don’t know if my parents noticed a change. But they were there, constant throughout it all.
Growing Up
They circle, navigating one-way streets,
Trying to find a parking spot in the busy downtown.
They end up walking two blocks to reach their destination,
The civic courthouse.
The daughter needs a passport
For her choir trip to Ireland.
Finally, after two other unsuccessful attempts,
They manage to turn in the paperwork.
On their way back to the car,
They stop in a sandwich shop and buy dinner.
The daughter is unaccustomed to her mother’s spending,
And she is delighted by the spontaneous nature
Of the afternoon.
Next, they venture to the bookstore,
Searching for younger brother’s book for school.
The daughter finds a collection of poetry,
And the shop next door has the other book.
The afternoon is still young, so they brave a thrift store
(Second hand stores hold hidden treasures in October.)
The mother finds a red shawl with three gold buttons,
Perfect for Ireland’s chilly March weather.
To complete the search,
She also finds the perfect gray coat
That she’s been looking for for ages.
As they drop into the car, laden with purchases,
The sun sets in the west on a beautiful day.
The daughter savors the moments of freedom
That are uncommon when they are together.
The mother is pleased with the day’s productivity.
Both are aware that in two years, everything will change,
And simple pleasures such as these could be few and far between.
It was on a cafeteria napkin that I wrote this next poem, as we rehearsed for the graduation ceremony. The administration gave us a chance to write cards to all the people who had inspired us, to show our gratitude to those who helped us get to where we were. For me, there was really no question who I was writing to. It was another turning point for me, as it is for most people. Graduation was saying goodbye to childhood and embarking on a new journey–adulthood. And though more significant changes would come to me later on, at that moment, it felt as though there would never be a bigger step towards maturity.
First Steps
From the first breath
To now,
Walking upright,
Standing tall
Spreading wings to embrace the wind
I saw the light of guidance
Arriving in many forms
Delivered from the hand of God
Into your arms
You held me when
I could not hold myself
And when you could not,
God did
Here with the world spinning
My world rotating
On a flexible axis
With the future flashing near
At the speed of light
Dazzling and beautiful
You stand, casting shadows
That encompass where I’ve been
I face forward knowing
That my first steps
Were not mine to keep
But yours