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  • Writer's pictureDeena

Mother's Day

The blossoms on the lilac bush are about a week or so from making their debut.

Just in time for my birthday.

Happy Wednesday friends.

I'm more than grateful to have been born smack-dab in the middle of Spring.

Give me all the overcast days, rain and then delightful spurts of the sun blindingly-beaming through the clouds.

Springtime clouds always make me wonder if they are a little glimpse into what heaven looks like.

And with Spring comes all of the Mother's Day events.

I've never been one for a day for Mothers.

Oh, don't get me wrong, I love a good celebration.

Our Royalty motto is after all: "It's not a party unless something is hanging from the ceiling!"

I am a firm believer that birthday's, anniversaries should be celebrated to the fullest - ON THE DAY.

But here's the thing, when celebrating a birthday you need to just bring your birth to the party.

In the simplest form you are saying, "I was born. Let's celebrate that. I had absolutely nothing to do with this whole event. Let's eat cake!"

And that is why I can get behind a birthday 147 percent.

But then there's this whole idea of celebrating a Mother.

Because May also happens to be when I have three graduations of some kind or another, this also means that the tubs of family photos have littered the kitchen and living room, looking for the most embarrassing baby pic to show the world.

My oldest recounted after too many pics sent through the phone, that he spent most of his young life pants-less.

And in rifling through baby pics we realized anew and afresh that we ourselves were babies when we were having babies.

We have just about four pics of us between our wedding and our first "true blue crew member" making his grand appearance.

FOUR pictures of "us" before we were "parents."

Four pictures of us trying to figure out what each other thinks of how the toothpaste tube is to be properly squeezed before being in charge of another human being.

And I am in awe of mothers in general.

I think every single mom should be given steak and chocolates and flowers to line her kitchen counter.

Just not this Mom.

Tell me you don't feel the same way.

Mother's Day to me is a reminder that I served cereal for dinner too many times.

That I lined-up the crew and spanked them all because I couldn't sniff out the real culprit.

Mother's Day is an audible blooper reel of "shouldn't have," "forgot-to," "why did you?" and "You should've known a lot better."

It circles around all of the imperfections and insecurities and makes you wish you had more pictures of your girls wearing big pink bows more of your son wearing actual pants.

It's a smattering of "I think YOU are awesome-sauce. Me? I'm just gonna go do the dishes over here..."

We interpret Proverbs 31:28- "Her children arise up, and call her blessed; her husband also, and he praiseth her." as "they may say it to be nice, but if I am a good, Christian Mom I cannot accept that praise and blessing."

When I look back at the very beginning, motherhood felt like breaking up with myself.

This boy who made us parents took for-evah to make his appearance.

Which is still very much like him on a long Sunday afternoon...

We named him laughter, which was fitting for all of the rigamarole it took to get him into our arms.

I went into labor "crunchy"and came out with major surgery and enough medication to see "bubbles" floating down from the sky.

Oh that actually makes ME laugh out loud.

I was barely used to someone else sleeping next to me let alone a "third party" invading the whole deal.

This little boy was the happiest and sweetest thing I had ever seen.

He was long and lanky and seriously smiled at his own shadow.

No one in my family had nursed a baby and I was not ready for this whole occasion.

I think I threatened to give this child to the nearest orphanage more times than I can recall.

My dear husband would just sit by me and remind me that I was actually his mother and that wouldn't be the best option.

We had too much skin in this game to let him run feral.

If you think you are something and a bag of chips just have a baby.

They will remind you that you have an extra heaping of selfishness that needs shaved off.

I mean marriage is a great "goad" to remind you that life isn't all about "you," but parenthood kicks it up a notch.

And this mysterious controversy takes place when you just need a break from this adorable creature and yet you miss the pants off of them the minute the door closes at Grandma's house.

Sorry Isaac. The pants jokes just keep coming.

I recently watched the most touching video about a woman seeing the Lord really meet with her through the birth of her 4th child.

I usually steer clear of "birth story" things because somehow six C-sections make my stories less amazing, although the last few years hearing my husband offer this information to people kinda makes me feel like a superhero.

He always says it slow and drawn out for the dear newbie to comprehend and even raises his eyebrows for full effect.

I love that guy.

In this video this dear Mama so eloquently talks about how in the middle of the worst one hour ride to the birthing center, when contractions were coming back-to-back, she could feel the presence of the Lord in a wonderful vision.

She said that she could just see the Lord holding her hand as they ran up the beach into a wave that washed over them both.

She said the smile on his face was full of love and excitement. Overjoyed just being with her.

The contractions took a difficult turn and she was brought back to the reality of the car, the road, the clock slowly ticking the time away and she was scared.

In her spirit she told the Lord that she couldn't continue. It was just too hard.

She then, through tears explained that the Lord showed her himself, with the very same smile and delight CARRYING her into the waves.

The part of the testimony that broke my own heart wide open was her saying that the Lord was no less delighted to be with her when she had to be carried.

There was no condemnation or sadness.

There was no differing in his love and delight whether they were hand in hand or she was completely carried with no strength of her own.

And THIS reminded me of my very own motherhood.

Moments and weeks and years when you feel like you are defined by your weaknesses.

And in the middle of muddling through how often I forget that my weakness doesn't turn the Lord away from me.

(rewind and re-read that.)

Sometimes the chicken comes out juicy, we have three heart-to-heart convos before lunch and remember which proverb perfectly fits the situation at hand.

Sometimes we are hand in hand.

We are thriving through his never-ending Holy Spirit's strength and feel his smile on us.

But what about the days that bring waves of migraines and depression and frustration, and not enough ground beef and chronic pain and the lot,

It's on these days that we are carried not with a scowl, but with delight.

(Makes you want to dance around the kitchen does it not?)

Could it be that we cannot accept the love and blessing of our children on Mother's Day because we have lost sight of the no-holds-barred loving gaze of the Lord?

We are ashamed of how often our failings have made us "carrying" material instead of "hand in hand" material?

2 Corinthians 12:9 - "And he said unto me, My grace is sufficient for thee: for my strength is made perfect in weakness. Most gladly therefore will I rather glory in my infirmities, that the power of Christ may rest upon me."

If our weaknesses are opportunities for the Lord's strength to be magnified, I'd say that the Lord is seen a great deal more in the "carrying" than in the "hand in hand."

Is my motherhood journey a giant portfolio of God's strength? Absolutely.

His glory spills over every picture of me disheveled, every shortcoming relived in my mind and every laugh over my own embarrassment.

All truly is grace, isn't it?

It's not cliche.

Will tears still come around the table when a meal is served to me and my kids bring a collection of cards with dear, loving words?


But I do hope this year that I can glory more in the "carrying" than I have in the past.

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