A Mother's Message

Part of my Mother's Day gift this year came a week ago.  I kept it to myself for six days,  and now it's time to share.

It was a message.

Last Sunday, I was in church, as I am almost every Sunday morning.  Worship is my favorite part of the week, but last week, I was struggling to be in the right space with my heart and my mind open and free.  I didn't realize it on my own until a gentle hand from beside me came, followed by loving guidance and prayer, commanding the enemy to flee.

And just like that, the tears began, as they often do, as I suddenly found myself in worship, really in worship.

And seconds later, I realized what was hindering me.  You see, the week before was tough in momma-land.  I struggled through it almost every day, having been sick for multiple days with a nasty stomach bug, the kids and I both feeling the strain of it mentally and emotionally.  Each day was fraught, on some level, with challenges between my children and I, my children and each other, or myself and myself.  And I had, on multiple occasions, doubted myself as a mother.  More than once, I was wondering if I was a good mother at all, if I was really able to do it all as the only parent involved in my childrens' lives right now.

Much of the time, I believe I'm a good mom, because I know that I've got God with me in it all.  I always know God is with me, even if I don't feel him, but I'm not impervious to the self-doubt that seems to plague most all mothers at some point.

But, in that moment, I was given a message.

"You wonder if you're a good mom, and you fear you are a bad mom.  You fear you are not cut out for the job.  But, you KNOW and you BELIEVE that I made you perfect in MY image.  You know that I called you to be mother of those children.  So, if you believe that you ARE perfect because I SAY you are perfect, then you must KNOW and BELIEVE that you ARE THE PERFECT MOTHER for your children.    You are perfect."

Oh goodness, did I cry.

There was the answer to my doubt and my struggle.

Am I always a great mom?

Of course not.  I struggle. I make mistakes.  But, I try to learn from them, and I try my best (almost always) to be a good mom.  I've prayed countless times, asking God if my purpose really is to "just" be a God-loving mother to my three children, raising them in the Spirit, and He seems to tell me that it is my job now, in this season, to focus on them.

So, I know that I'm called for them.  But, I've doubted anyway.  I'm human, after all.

But here I was, weeping, as I felt the Father telling me, so clearly, that I'm not good.. I am PERFECT.

Up until tonight, I hadn't shared this word with anyone.  I've been keeping it in my secret arsenal as I began the week leaving church, thrown into battles and fires as a momma always is.  But this week, it was different.  I didn't doubt myself. I didn't doubt my parenting.  I saw each battle as a lesson in growth, grace, mercy, persistence, and patience.  Yes, I am sure I was imperfect in parenting.  But, I AM the perfect parent for my children.

Tonight, in silent meditation on a two hour drive home, with the children sleeping in the back seats, I felt the pull to share my personal message.

Tomorrow is Mother's Day.

And I realized, this message isn't for me alone.

No.

This message is for all women out there in mothering roles- biological mothers, adoptive mothers, foster mothers, aunts, grandparents, sisters, close friends, mentors, teachers... and anyone else I may be unintentionally forgetting.

YOU are PERFECT.  God made every single one of us, whether you accept Him yet or not.  And knowing He made you, the Bible says that we are each fearfully and wonderfully made (Psalm 139:14), and we were made perfect in God's image (Genesis 1:27- because God is perfect).

Each child you are given is a blessing from God, and if you accept your calling to be in the lives of child (young or grown, really), then you need to know that you are the perfect one for them.

Yes, you're going to make mistakes.  You're going to be imperfect as a person, but you ARE perfect for the job.

In being imperfect and simultaneously perfect, it is your duty to embrace the imperfection, to learn from it, grow because of it, and share it.  Because we are made stronger and we are formed more beautifully when we do.  And, it's a blessing to others when we do.

Each of us is going to struggle.  It's a given.  But, knowing you're made wonderfully and specifically for the purpose of being a mother of any kind to any child in your life, you can carry on when you do fall short.

But, you have to be willing to accept God in it all, to live up to your true perfection's potential.

With God, you are renewed each day (Isaiah 40:31, Lamentations 3:22-23).

With God, all things are possible (Matthew 19:26).

With God, you can do hard things... like what I believe to be one of the hardest things of all- being a good mother. With God, you can keep on when you feel like giving up.  You just have to ask Him to guide you, lead you.  You have to abandon your need to have everything in control, and let Him be the one to help you.  And it's easier said than done.

I have to do it, personally, every single day, and often more than once.

I believe in you, Mommas of all kinds.  God believes in you, too.  It's why He placed children of all kinds in your life.

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I apologize if this read was a little difficult to understand or decipher as I am quite exhausted and about to fall asleep. I just couldn't go to bed without getting it out there.  I hope it makes at least a little bit of sense.

(This entire message also very much applies to every kind of father figure out there, too.)

She's still with me.

June 19, 1939.  A beautiful baby girl was brought into this world.  Her name was Leora Mae.  Through the years, she grew into a loving child, a wonderful mother of six children, a wife, a single mother, a grandmother, and a great grandmother.  She was a cake artist, a baker, a cook, a crafter, a singer, a dancer, a friend, a mentor, a chatter, a joker... and so much more.  She left this world on February 1, 2007.  It's been an emptier place since.

It's hard to believe that it's been 9 years since I last heard my grandmother's voice.  Had she not taken her place in heaven already, she would be 77 years old this weekend.

I miss her so.

But, lately, I see more and more that she's never truly left me.

I don't say this in a ghost-haunting or angel-on-earth sort of way.  I say this as a reflection of myself and of my own daughter.

My grandmother is someone I have always cherish and respected.  I look up to her, even still, knowing that she went through many struggles in her own life, and came out of them still smiling, still believing in God, still professing His love and her faith, and still believing in the good in people and the good in the world.

She had a husband she loved, but due to complex reasons, it didn't last forever... much like my marriage.  The reasons for our divorces were greatly different, but the result was similar.  We became single mothers, never in our lives imagining that would be the case.  She raised her six children on her own, and I wonder often how on earth she did that, when I struggle with only three young ones to provide for.

She was one of the biggest influences on my faith.  I loved growing up going to church with her on Sundays.  She would bake goodies for the fellowship hall, and we would attend. I sat next to her, instead of going to Sunday School, and gladly took sermon notes.  I sang my heart out to the hymns and professed my beliefs via the Apostles' Creed, and would pray the Lord's Prayer with heartfelt meaning, not just reciting it as many.  I loved our time together.  I attribute my desire to continue to go to church largely to my Grandma as my mentor and role model in my early years.

Instead of turning away from God when life got hard and messy, she turned to Him.

Now, I can't say that my Grandma was never weary or burdened, or felt worn down raising her children, because obviously, I wasn't around to see it.    But I believe she relied heavily on grace and mercy and all of the promises God makes to us to sustain her each day, through each frustration that motherhood inevitably brings.   I strive to live in that fashion.  Though, I wish she was around to help remind me on the toughest of days, I know that I have other supports who will and often do, not to replace my Grandma, but to walk alongside me as she would if she still could,.

I developed my love for baking and crafts because of my grandmother, largely, as well.  I would often come over to her house and help her bake or cook, or we would paint things, create knick-knacks, doo-dads, earrings, and Christmas decorations.  We colored, and drew, and played card games while listening to the radio, singing along.  She loved country music, but also hymns and Christian songs.  I can still see her foot tapping under the table while her black radio sat beside the window and we played Yahtzee or some other game.  We would both sing along.  I hear songs that remind me of her frequently, and I still sing along and remember her vividly.

I miss her so, Some days more than others, but always, I miss her.  I wonder if she would be proud of the choices I've made, what she would stay when I start crying with struggles, what advice she would give to me in the trenches of single-motherhood, and how much she would love going to church with me now.  I long for her to have met my children. I think she would be amazed and overjoyed that they love to pray, that they sing "Jesus Loves Me," and that they're learning other hymns that I can't help but sing sometimes.  I think she would be so excited to hear my oldest tell his siblings about the Garden of Eden or about Noah's Ark or about the Resurrection of Jesus.

I believe she would tell me I'm doing a good job out here.

As I said, though, she's never fully left.  You see, I feel her inside me, somehow.  Not in a physical way, but in a way that's influenced my spirit, my soul, my mind, and my heart.  I think that she helped me develop so much during my younger years that parts of her personality are shining outwardly through me.  I believe I'm very much like her in ways I never saw before.  I suppose trials will bring character you never expected, and that is what happened here.

I also see her in my daughter.  Norah was named after my grandmother's blood line, the name coming from her own mother's middle name, Nora.  I've loved it forever and to be able to pass it on to my own daughter was such a blessing.    But it's more than a name.

Somehow, I see my grandmother in my daughter's eyes.  Now, my daughter has brown eyes, as does her dad, but when I look at her, I don't see his eyes.  I see Leora's eyes.  I don't know how to pinpoint it exactly, but they seem so familiar, like I'm looking at my grandmother all those years ago.  My daughter looks like me, she looks like my mom, and she looks like my grandmother.  Some of her stances, her gestures, her poses, her remarks, her expressions... they all remind me of my grandmother though.   As much as I  miss my grandmother, I love that about my daughter. 

I wish I could tell my grandma happy birthday this year, to her face, in a card, over the phone... I've left her notes on her grave in years past, done commemorative photos, poetry, and blog posts.  I miss her the most on her birthday.  It's always a hard day, and I often find myself lying in bed, crying over my loss, wishing she was around, and stunned that I've made it so long without her.  I remember the night she died I sobbed hysterically to my former husband "I don't know how I'll live all these years without her with me!"

Somehow I have.

I suppose, it's because she still exists, within me.