My Mother

It seems like every Mother’s Day I sit at my laptop and wonder where I am going to find the words to describe my amazing, wonderful, inspiring, gentle, remarkable, astonishing mother. Even Proverbs 31 seems to fall short at times…

This year, two things come to mind. First, as I sit on my bed and type this, is her sacrificial love. This is the first time I moved into a place that wasn’t furnished. And since most of my belongings remain in Indiana, I have had to purchase things I took for granted. I didn’t have to purchase a bed frame, but I did have to get a mattress set, sheets and looked for a comforter. As I stood gazing at the myriad of choices, it suddenly hit me that I had never had a store bought quilt/comforter for my bed. NEVER. Mom always quilted me something. When I told her that, she said, “Never?”

“Never,” I confirmed.

“But I think…no, I guess even your first one was something I had made. Mmh.”

A week later, she asked me what I wanted. I decided on a “Rag Quilt” with patches of dark blue and red. It is now on my bed.

So, no. I have lived 33 years and NEVER had a store bought quilt on my bed. And every night, I can go to sleep under my mother’s love.

They say that imitation is the highest form of flattery. Doesn’t always feel that way, but it brings to mind the second thing. I want to be like my mom. After 33 years to think about it, I’d pay just about anything to be a wife and mother. I’d live barely making ends meet, trying to figure out what I can do to help put food on the table. I don’t think I’ll ever be half as good at it as my mother, but I’d pay just about anything to try. I know I probably have no idea what that could truly cost, but there’s very little I desire more than to have a husband and children to “rise up and call me blessed”. Not because of who I am – but because I have a mother who I rise up and call blessed. And thank God for her.