A Mother's Day Story

Once there was a young, beautiful mom named Margaret, who lived in West Virginia, and she had a daughter, her oldest child, named Helen.

Helen was joined by a brother (on the pony with her here), and then a sister, and then another brother, and then another sister. As the big sister, Helen got some good practice taking care of her younger brothers and sisters, which gave her some preparation for eventually being a mom.

First, though, she married Ted.

Helen and Ted had a darling (if I do say so myself) and smart daughter named Annette (in the picture to the right), who could apparently read when she was about two. Then they had a boy named Tim, who clearly loved having his big sister read to him. This was good practice for the daughter, who would one day read to her own children. Seriously, Helen supported Annette in her love for books, and she taught Annette how to read before she went to kindergarten. This was one of the best things anyone ever taught Annette to do. Thanks!

After awhile, they had Kristi. And then Helen, the mom, had three children. She made sure that they went to the doctor, dentist, and got glasses when they needed them.

Annette, Tim, and Kristi grew up, and their mom loved and helped them all the way. This is Helen at Annette's high school graduation with her mom, Margaret. Three generations of women, all of whom at some point, became moms.

And if Helen was excellent at being a mom (she was and is), she was and is just as excellent at being a grandma, when Annette became a mom. This is Katie, the baby, the first grandchild. Eventually there were Jonathan, Elizabeth, and Garrett, all of whom love their grandma very much.

And this is that baby Katie, with her grandma, Helen, and her grandpa, Ted, at her high school graduation a couple of years ago. And while Helen doesn't hold Katie on her lap anymore, Katie does know where to go when she can count on being loved and metaphorically held on a lap.

And I think we'll just say, "Happy Mother's Day, Mom!" You are loved! (This story is starting to make me feel old, and there always will be more to add to it, so I think we'll stop here.)

Not So Hard

I was talking to a mom of two little ones, and we were watching the younger one exercising his newly discovered walking skills and the older one was trying to tell me something, using her newly discovered skill of saying words. The mom observed that my Jonathan would be graduating from high school in a few weeks and asked how far Katie had to go before she was finished. I told her that after Katie finished her internship in Kalamazoo in September, she would have one more semester, and then she would be finished with college. She had a sad look on her face, and she commented, "That must be hard, having them grow up."

Hard. I understand what she's saying. Having cute little ones who are learning something new literally every day, who love you and want to be with you more than anyone, whose greatest thrill is crawling into your lap with a favorite book is an amazing thing. And I loved experiencing all of that with my children. But hard for me was having my daughter come home from kindergarten with the "homework" assignment of counting all the coins in daddy's pocket--and this young widow didn't quite know how to get that one done. Hard for me was reading all of the reports about fatherless teenage girls who often engage in premarital sex and get pregnant as they seek the male attention they aren't getting from a father. Hard was having to be the adult in the passenger seat trying to teach a teenage girl how to drive--a job I will always maintain is a father's.

And hard was knowing that no one was helping my boy learn to play sports. Hard was wondering if it was the right thing to let him go to the men's room by himself when he was too big to go to the ladies' room with me, but still so young. Hard was realizing that he wasn't having the opportunity to do "guy" things: go camping, do auto repair, hammer, and use a screw driver. Hard was wondering how this boy would ever learn how to be a man growing up in a home with two of the girliest mom-and-sister girls there ever have been. Hard was worrying about how I would get him through the teenage boy hormonal things (of which I knew nothing) and teach him how to shave and tie a tie. Hard was wondering how I would punish him once he was bigger than I was. When Dorothy of the movie Jerry McGuire complained to her sister Laurel, "Do you know what most other women my age are doing right now? They are partying in clubs, trying to act stupid, trying to get a man, trying to keep a man.... Not me. I'm trying to raise a man," I was whispering, "that's me" to the TV--after the kids were in bed and I was spending another evening alone watching a movie I had watched at least five or six times before.

I think, for the most part, hard is not the word. Perhaps it's relief some, and thankfulness even more. Thankful that God knew my limits and brought a father into Jonathan's life who has taught him to shave, tie a tie, and mow the lawn (okay, he's working on that one). Relieved and thankful that in a couple of weeks he'll be graduating from high school and plans to go to college in the fall. Thankful and relieved that he attributes his understanding of the gospel to that father. Thankful and relieved that the daughter has been spared the pitfalls that many teenage fatherless daughters fall into and is developing her gifts and finding her place in this world. Thankful and relieved that despite our driving challenges, she has her license, and thankful and relieved that when she's had a couple of accidents and some car issues, she's had a father to help her through.

So I understand where you're coming from, mom of two adorable little ones. It's hard to fathom a day when those little ones will no longer need you like they do now, when they own their own cars and would rather not spend Friday evening with you. But for a once-single mom whose kids have made it through to a place she feared they might never get to, it's actually feeling a lot less hard.