Dear Mom,

Today is your birthday – we won’t say which one. But however old you become, know that every year you are appreciated more and more.

Truly, I don’t know where to begin. Or how you’ve done everything you have. I can’t imagine growing up in one town, only to marry a man who would take you to probably what seems like 101 towns. Moves every two years, houses that were not your own, most of your possessions in boxes, never to see light for years on end. I will never forget the move to Connecticut when I was eleven and you finally decided you were going to hang your pictures even if the house was only rented. I saw things I had never seen before. And after many moves, things disappeared that I would never see again. The never-ending task of lightening the load.

But wherever we moved – no matter how difficult – you made our new house home. School continued. Meals were cooked and served. Chores only changed location. You found us music teachers, activities and involved us with others so we would have friends. I can’t remember a time when you refused to take us to one of our activities, even though I imagine there were days you just wanted to stay home. After all, going out in the blistering cold with six, seven or eight kids – most of the under the age of five at any given time – just so someone could play the piano for 45 minutes couldn’t have been the life you dreamed about when you graduated from high school. But I would follow in your footsteps – and pray I would do it just as well – any day.

A whole book would not list all the things I have learned from you: cooking, math, time management, order, hospitality, flexibility, sacrifice, endurance and things I don’t even care to do like gardening, sewing and giving up what I want to do to do what someone else wants to do. Nor can I remember all the times you have listened to my complaints, sat quietly while I sobbed about my life, rejoiced in my high moments, and never failed to remind me that I am fearfully and wonderfully made even when I don’t think so. I couldn’t count all the clothes you have made for me or the quilts I have had on my beds. Even now, you faithfully stitch away at baby blankets for your grandkids – little ones that are now only hoped and prayed for.

Grey hairs and physical ailments have not made you any less amazing. Only more so, I think. I watched you this Christmas organize what could resemble a three-ring circus. Three vehicles, five drivers, four jobs (or six if you count Dad’s and that Grace has two), basketball games and practices (all of which you are in charge of arranging, contacting people about, getting refs, etc.) and still allowing your kids to go shopping or enjoy times with friends, get groceries and do their schoolwork. It’s true that toes get stepped on, feelings get hurt and someone is bound to feel slighted. Yet everyone is where they are supposed to be when they are supposed to be there. Not only should your kids and husband rise up and call you blessed, but so should coaches, other parents, bosses and friends.

For 29 ½ years, I lived under your roof. Not always happily, I admit; but now I often wish I was back there to find you at the sewing machine and tell you all about my day, my trials and my joys unspeakable. Over 900 miles and now nearly a year and a half’s worth of time don’t make you any less valuable to me. In fact, I have realized more and more these last two months that I need my mother more than ever. You have wisdom and experience that I didn’t know I would ever need. But then you always have. And I wonder if I shall ever be half as wise.

So today, I do rise up and call you blessed. I have never done anything to deserve such a mother as you. But I certainly praise God for you every day!

Love, Melissa

Me and Mom - the best mother in all the world!