Month: May 2014

Remembering Why We Started

Remembering Why We Started

I sat in the back of my friends’ vehicle as tears silently fell to the phone screen cradled in my hand. I felt silly and sheepish and scooted as close to the door as I possibly could, praying neither Terri nor her husband would look […]

So Tired.

So Tired.

I sit outside her door. Back against the wall, eye on the sliver of open door. Light from the hall falls across her tired face. Yet she grins, mischievous, eyes glinting in the light. I sigh. I know she is tired. She is cranky. She […]

A Dandelion for Mama

A Dandelion for Mama

“Wow! Look at that gigantic patch of dandelions!”

Jimmy’s voice conveys an awe that brings a small lump to my throat. At eight years old, and always trying to be a big guy, the fact that he can still look at dandelions and see beauty? Well, it makes me thankful.

Thankful because I see that giant patch of dandelions and miss the beauty. I see weeds. But then I remember.

I remember when I saw dandelions and gathered them up as fast as I could because yellow was “my favorite color ever!” I remember the flowers I’d bring to my mom, how they’d sit soaking up water from a juice cup. I remember how they were randomly scattered across the yard, and I’d stumble across them in delight.

My mom didn’t tell me they were weeds.

Instead they were these gifts. Right there for the taking. And I loved giving these gifts away.

My sister. She showed me how to rub them gently on my cheeks, and I had dandelion makeup. She was beautiful, and I wanted to be just like her. So with delight, I’d spread the yellow paint across my face, and she’d help me make dandelion necklaces.

She didn’t tell me they were weeds either.

This remembering. It makes me want to take a bouquet of dandelions to my mama too.

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Then I hear a little-girl voice answering her big brother.

“That IS huge, Jimmy! Just imagine all the dandelions in the world! I know that Jesus could hold them all!”

And couldn’t He though? Couldn’t He gather up all the dandelions and parcel them out to all the mamas He placed here on earth?

I think about all the mamas – all the women that mother me right up every day. And I know this truth: it isn’t carrying a baby in your womb that makes a women a mama, though that’s a precious gift from God. I think on all the women worthy of the most beautiful bouquets of dandelions.

The aunt who picks up her niece, and she gets her to practice and gets her to games because the only ball her niece’s mama recognizes are all the balls she’s dropped. So she fills in the gaps, and she mothers that girl right up. She mothers me up too, while she’s at it.

And the friend who loves on my kids like they’re her own. Hugs on them and disciplines them too. Most importantly, whispers it kind: you’re doing good, Mama. Just relax. And her smile and hug bolster me for a few more days til all I can think about again is how I’m doing it all wrong.

The woman from church who answers the tug on her heart and knows right when to call. Those days when I’m thinking my clean house is more important than the little souls I want lined up all in a straight row. She encourages me as she’s walked the walk I’m walking now. And she knows what I’ll miss the most.

The new mother who loves up her little baby. And lets me see it through her. The awe and the joy. She reminds me that this mothering thing? It’s a gift.

And the mother still waiting. Her arms are empty. Her heart is full. And she breathes whisper-prayers begging God above to fill her womb with life. But isn’t she already a mama too? Maybe more than us all. Because she sees the gift. And God’s promises don’t always look like we think they should, but he promises lavishly for the barren woman in Isaiah 54:1-17.

So I think all this to myself and my heart feels a prayer – me telling Jesus that I’d need a whole bunch of His giant bouquet for all the woman in my life who mother my kids. Who love me up.

Because they say it takes a village – and I think that’s right. Because I feel stretched thin and unsure sometimes in this race, and that’s when God sends someone else in this relay who will take the baton for a bit. So I can take a break. So I hear encouragement. So I feel loved too.

So for those in my village – thank you. Thank you for helping me to be a mom. Thank you for loving my children and for loving me. In my heart, I am picking dandelions with that childish anticipation and desire to bless. And I’m handing them to you, to put in a little jelly jar juice cup full of water. To remember that you are loved. And I am thankful.

Happy Mother’s Day.

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