I braid my teen’s hair several mornings each week, but a few days ago, I thought about the days when my mom helped me with my hair—I learned to French braid from her. There were days I bemoaned the awful, awkward, uneven flip in my hair that I tried to heat into submission with a curling iron. And days I wanted thick bangs. The days I burned my fingertips while prepping for a high school dance, and Mom calmly (at least outwardly) worked on last-minute alterations to my homecoming or prom dress.
I remember how she listened to swoons and rants about boys. She listened in the morning, after school over chocolate chip cookies (of course she let me lick the beaters from the time I was little, and I still love cookie dough. Eggs are probably not going to be the death of me.), and she listened into the night.
All those years, I couldn’t begin to imagine what her heart felt. How tired she was and yet she kept listening. Or the ache when I didn’t talk but she wished I would (sorry for those moody, brooding attitudes).
My imagination couldn’t possibly begin to know the loving sacrifices until my own heart experienced that same skipped beat, whether of joy or sorrow. And even though I’m a mom six times over, labored for over 45 hours collectively, breastfed for 120ish months (that’s right around TEN YEARS), public schooled and homeschooled, none of that matches the experience or the sacrifice required of the teen years. I say this also with humility knowing that my “teen years” experience is still in baby stages; I’ve lived through a whopping 6 whole months with a teenager. Only 17 more years until my baby ages out of the teens. That’s a lot of learning left in my lifetime.
How could I have known the struggle to keep eyelids open during a teen’s anguished late-night chat? How could I have known the sacrifice to then get up on time in the morning for school and work? Or the personal battle to keep praying, trusting, and hoping that God really does have it all in control and my meager efforts won’t ruin my child?
I couldn’t have known all these things, even though I witnessed them in my mom. She lived and loved sacrificially through my years at home, and she still does! I simply didn’t realize what it took because I didn’t have the experience of living it myself.
When she sat up and told me to go to back to bed instead of sleep walking and worrying about awful projects; when she baked for us just because, and then taught me to bake cookies too; when she drove us to sports’ practices and games after long work days; when she taught me–patiently–to drive and helped me choose a first car; when she listened through high school about all the good and bad, then told me when I went to college to call her any time and she meant it; when she still meant it after I was married and had my own children. . .
through all this and more, my mom showed me what it is to love sacrificially and constantly as a mother.
Hers is a living sacrifice, and isn’t that what motherhood is? From
the very first moments of a child’s existence, mothers sacrifice from their very being to grow a child. Every day of my childhood and young adult years, she gave of herself–her time, her sleep, her energy, her advice, her quiet listening, her smile, her unwavering support. I know that even now, she’s giving of herself in prayer on my behalf, offers her support and advice at any time (and believe me, I’ve called dozens of times asking “what would you do if . . .?”).
From my mom, I’ve learned to pray unceasingly for my children, through long nights of nursing and sickness. To rub backs through coughing fits and tears. To laugh and to enjoy the small things, like dandelion bouquets and midsummer water balloon fights. I’ve learned to offer it all back to God who has it all planned for me.
And this past year? I’ve learned more about her strength than before. In the last ten-fifteen years, I’ve seen my mom take care of her own health more, set aside time for her passions and interests, and advocate for what she needs to be whole and healthy. Never before this past year of my own life have I valued that example more. I knew it was good for her; now I know how it’s good for me, too. Having seen my mom take control and strive for her best life, for the life God wants her to have, for peace and joy and happiness in her own life and in her marriage, I’ve seen the importance and learned to fight for myself in the same way.
I’m only 37. I still have a lifetime learning from my mom and the example she’s set from the time I was teeny. Thanks, Mom, for being you. I love you.
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Beautifully written Gina!
That was beautiful, Gina! <3 Thank you for sharing!
What a beautiful letter of love to your mother! I know her through Fiber Arts Ministry and she is an awesome woman. Debbie Patterson