"Write an essay on Three Reasons I Love Being a Mom." Three reasons? It's not enough. And how do you pick? Because being a mom is love. It is love personified. When you are a mom, you are fulfilled. You love unconditionally and you are loved back unconditionally. The only other unconditional love we have is the love of God.
I see that I write from a different perspective than a young mother. My children are all grown up and I see mother love from a mirror perspective. I see it in my own children as mothers.
I just lost my Mother, who has gone with joy to her heavenly home. As my siblings and I took on the task of dismantling a home I came across three testimonies of love. Let me tell you...
Away back in the closet we found three boxes, all neatly packed and labeled. One box for each of the two little girls that had run on ahead and were waiting for her on the far side of Jordan. Each one we opened, we could feel with what heartbreak and care she had folded and stowed these faded and worn mementos. Dainty, tiny baby clothes, toys, well loved and looking as though they had just been put away for the night. Well loved books, read over and over by parents and siblings. Scuffy shoes. Cards and letters. One white mitten. A pink barette.
One box holds tiny baby things from each of our baby days. Each one labeled with who had worn it. Some things, we all had used. A pristine white baptismal dress, crochet sweaters and bonnets, silken baby slips, nubby blankets, booties, all things pink and blue. "I'm old fashioned", she just said not so long ago. "I think boys need blue and girls need pink." Some say "made for you by...this aunt, or friend, or grandparent....
Our tears fall as we unfold and touch these precious things. I think of her, then, young and auburn haired. Busy about her motherly tasks. Cleaning and cooking for us children, sewing us new dresses, reading to us at night, hanging out the laundry on the clothes lines out back. Polishing our shoes on Saturday nights. Ironing our puffy sleeves and laces and ruffles. Washing and braiding our long hair. Canning and making jelly. Catering to the many guests that graced our home. Singing hymns as she worked and rocked babies.
Did she take these boxes out sometimes? Did she sigh and hold some small thing to her heart, just to keep close the love? Did she shed a tear? We didn't know the boxes were there. Maybe she could not bring herself to rub raw her wounded heart. Maybe they were there for us. So we could feel even a glimpse of mother love.
The last time I see her, she is frail. She seems breakable, but I know she is not. I know how the strength flows from her frail hand into mine. I know how her peacefulness graces the room when she is in it. I see how she tenderly loves the great grandbabies, even great-great grandbabies. I see her laughing with them, and I hear her reciting old nursery rhymes to them in her quavery voice. I hear in her questions that she is interested in the teenagers and how well she listens to what they have to say. I hear from her heart how she thinks my girls are beautiful mothers, and how she tenderly instructs them in mother hood.
When I stand beside her, peaceful in her eternal sleep, and I whisper "good bye, Mom", I know that I am not left motherless. Her spirit lies close to my heart. I don't dare ask for a double portion, nor even a whole portion, but I do ask God for a tiny, small portion of that motherly love.
Three reasons that I love being a mom. Three cardboard boxes. Three tears falling on a page. Three times I have been fortunate to love being a mother. One as a young mother. One as a grand mother. One as a great grand mother. Blessings on the moms every where in the world.
This has been fun, contemplative and wonderful. I enjoy hearing what all you other Moms love! I am going to nominate https://ahomethatgodbuilt.blogspot.com
for the beautiful mama blog award. I think you will enjoy her forthrightness. Lets pass all this wonderfulness on!