I wrote a poem for my own therapy this morning after thinking over a women’s meeting I attended earlier this week. The group leader suggested that Mother’s Day is not a happy day for most women. She said something to this effect: they either have a terrible mother, a mother who recently passed away, aren’t a mother and want to be, are estranged from their children, have children far away they miss terribly, were a mother and blew it, etc.
I felt, sitting there among women who appeared to agree with this, that I wouldn’t answer the question of the night entirely truthfully. The question was this: What annual holiday, event or occasion is your favorite?
There was some bah-humbugging, and answers such as, “Memorial Day because I don’t have to do a thing” (because someone else’s sacrifice made such a society and therefore such a day possible?); and “I don’t like Christmas, it’s too much work” (rejoicing and celebrating and giving and showing love and looking at lights and listening to beautiful music and thanking God for Jesus is work????); and of course there were positive answers as well, but no one mentioned Mother’s Day as their favorite..
And so, to the question of the evening I answered, “Christmas.” I wanted to say “Mother’s Day and Christmas and my birthday and my anniversary and violent thunderstorms rolling down the canyons and deep fog settling over the peaks. I wanted to say my favorite time is early morning when the sun shines on the rocks on the cliff behind my house, and Fall, and really October through December when we have birthdays and our anniversary, and Thanksgiving (Yay!!!) and then gift shopping and gift making, decorating, caroling, wearing red sweaters, getting the tree out of the woods and making a popcorn garland (last year was the first time we did this – so cool!), Christmas music and movies, driving through town to look at the lights, reading Christmas stories like The Night Before Christmas and looking at the art in The Legend of Holly Claus and anything by Jan Brett, packages in the mail, and on and on. Then comes the after-Christmas party, and my birthday and New Year’s and then the glorious quiet of January.
And the winter rest.
Then Spring hints and pushes at winter’s slackening hold with the first crocuses peeping through the snow. And robins venture out. Thank you, God, for Robin Redbreast.
And there’s this morning, when I said to John, “It’s truly springtime! The ground is absolutely saturated, and the redworms are crawling all over the drive, and the aspen leaves are growing by the minute and the dandelions are here!”
And my thoughts go to my children, hoping for springtime in their hearts, and I pray for one’s salvation, for one’s answering God’s call to preach, for one’s owning his own business and excelling therein. And for the one at Fort Benning, Georgia – as I write he’s nearing the end of a 12-hour ruck march – I pray for strength and protection for his spine, for a second (or third) wind, and most of all, that he will give God all the glory for His unmerited grace and favor.
This is the glory of motherhood – being used by God to fight for our children, God’s children, all children, and to never give up until the victory is won. And God is so marvelous as to bless the childless with spiritual children. Many are the children needing a surrogate mother, a spiritual mother. Whether we have natural children or not, whatever our mothering situation and status may be, we are women, and therefore uniquely qualified to nurture and to fight. And to win. In Him.
And so, even with great sorrow and a history of prayers for women regarding children – aborted, lost, wayward, rebellious, sick, sorrowing, never conceived – I nevertheless reserve the right to glory in this day, and in the hope of His calling.
And here’s my poem, Happy Mother’s Day to Me.
Happy Mother’s Day to me,
I say because I’m free
Free to win and free to dance
Free to seize another chance.
Happy Mother’s Day to me,
Blessed by God to really see
Life to give, life to share
Anointed of Christ who truly cares.
Happy Mother’s Day to me
From the God of Love to Be
All He ever hoped and planned
Life so good, life so grand.
Happy Mother’s Day to me.