Revisiting Mother's Day

Mother's Day...all the FaceBook posts of how great everyone's mom is or was, the poignant memories of mothers no longer with their children, or how Mom is their best friend...ugh. I cannot relate. To any of that. Yes I had a mom, the mom God chose for me, but not one I would have chosen. I have gone through life feeling as if I have missed out on something vitally important and that no experience I had or will ever have will make up for what I missed.  Don't get me wrong; I adore being a mother, have since I found out I was pregnant with my first daughter, and I cherish and take seriously the responsibilty of that precious gift of motherhood to another human being. Such a miracle. And I have always relished the sweet gifts, cards, and phone calls from my daughters over the years, and now from daughters and sons-in-law and grandchildren. This weekend though was an eye opener and a heart tugger.

On Friday, my youngest daughter videochatted via FaceBook, starting out by apologizing for not mailing my card in time (yes, I am a Hallmark fan), and to say their weekend would be very busy so she was calling early (she probably just wanted to beat her older sister to the punch). Anyway, she and her 8 year old daughter stepped away from the video chat for a minute, and came back into the camera wearing matching, wait for it, egg aprons, aprons made out of chicken fabric with lots of pockets to collect eggs and walk back up to the house hands free, one for me and one for Sophie for when she visits to be my chicken whisperer in training. So so precious, so special to me that Becky put so much thought into such a simple gift (she knows I am obsessed with my chickens), and for her to put that much thought into a gift (as she usually does) blows me away.

Then this morning, Mother's Day morning, I get an audio call via WhatsApp from Malaysia, and hear the beautiful voice of my oldest daughter asking me if she woke me up, then happily telling me Happy Mother's Day Mom! She then proceeded to talk about her day (it was 12 hours later, Sunday night on Mother's Day there), and I was so happy to share the joy she felt being taken out to breakfast by her three girls, and opening cards, and the special service at their church. But the most poignant, sweet sweet thing was her telling me how she was putting on just half a drop of patchouli oil that morning before church when her eldest, Lydia, came in saying "Mom, something is wrong! It smells like Nana in here and you aren't Nana!" to which Mandy replied, "Yes Lydia, but Nana is my mom and I want to remember her and smell like her on Mother's Day." (My grandkids love my Nana smell, which is actually a blend of patchouli, orange, geranium, and frankincense oils that I have worn for ages). I had tears in my eyes and still do, thinking of that sweet daughter, usually self-assured, confident, and not really seeming in need of a mom anymore, saying those things. Picturing her dabbing on oil to think of me is a sweet reminder that she still is my little girl. 

Then I received a phone call from one son-in-law, a message from the other, and several messages from friends wishing me a happy, blessed Mother's Day. 

So how can I still dwell on the sadness and bitterness of the other side of Mother's Day? I cannot. God just keeps on blessing me and teaching me and showing me the beauty and wisdom of His wonderful plan. 

Happy Mother's Day to me!