Mother's Day: It's a Choice

 

Mother's Day. 

Two simple words that I am sure invoke images of something for everyone of you. There are things that we expect on Mother's Day. We expect flowers or some form of gift. We expect all our chores to be done. We expect the Internet to explode with mother and children pictures, all dressed nicely and all smiling happily. That's the happy expectations of Mother's Day. But for others, Mother's Day is no different from any other day-nobody notices the sacrifices they make every day. Nobody acknowledges their sleepless night and long days. Nobody seemingly cares about them as a mom. And then there are still others for whom Mother's Day invokes sadness. On this day, they are once again reminded that their arms are empty or their children have walked away from their love or there is some other reminder of pain on that day.

Mother's Day has meant numerous things to me through the years. Eight years ago, Mother's Day was more of a hidden grief known only to a few that knew of that little life that we had hoped for, but that had been snuffed out too soon. Seven years ago, we had just moved, and escaped for the weekend because I couldn't handle the idea of being in church where mothers would be celebrated while my heart ached for the little girl that had been due on Mother's Day, but was 17 weeks in heaven instead. Six years ago, I buried my dad on Mother's Day. The first Mother's Day that I could celebrate with a baby in my arms and we had a funeral instead. Finally, five years ago, Mother's Day felt like a real celebration. And then one year ago, while the world was on shutdown, I was angry on Mother's Day. I really don't know why, except I think I had expectations, expectations that I considered unmet. I was mad at myself for my reaction and it took some kneeling and repentance to come around that day.

So this year, as I stood at the kitchen sink getting potatoes and carrots ready for lunch, I pondered a few things. I thought of my little girl that has been in heaven for seven years already and I was sad. I thought of the fact that I had a choice: I didn't know what this Mother's Day would bring, but I knew what I could bring to the day. I could bring a joy and contentment that no celebrations or lack thereof could take away.  This was a day for me to remember that I am a mother and this is a day, like any other, for me to love my children, to delight in them, and to see them as the precious souls they are. This was my day, yes, as the world sees it, but it is always my day. Every day is my day to remember that I am a mother and that I have been given a wonderful gift.

Seven and eight years ago as I mourned on Mother's Day, I didn't know if I would ever get to know the joy of being a mother to a little breathing human and I longed for that chance. Six years of mothering can wear me a bit thin and I can forget the blessings that I have been given. 

And so today, the day after Mother's Day is just as much of an opportunity for me to treasure my blessings as yesterday was. And tomorrow will be another opportunity and the day after that and the day after that as long as God gives me breath. 

It's a choice. Please choose the right thing.