for Mom.

            My mom and I are often more different than alike. Pragmatic and realistic, my mother’s days are planned-out and purposeful; romantic and eccentric, my life is ruled by emotions and whimsy and, while I almost always have a plan, I rarely have a reason. The books she reads are about real life: Ann Rule’s retelling of  a crime committed and tried or Barbara Walter’s autobiography; meanwhile, I’m drawn to Austen’s lyrical love stories and the fantastical world of Harry Potter. Neither introverted nor shy, she appreciates time removed from others, alone with her God and her pets on her deck. I’ve always admired this, though never understood it, because I think it says a lot about a person to be so self-sustained. She is keenly aware of her blessings and takes great pleasure in quiet moments of contentment. Me, I’ve never been one for entertaining myself: my energy is based completely on the presence of others, whether I’m entertaining or being entertained. Often blind to my own richly blessed life, I seem to always be looking for the next best thing.  My mom has this incredible talent of finding true delight in the simplest things: the first round of strawberries from her garden, a sunset over the lake, my dad’s worn-in jokes, time with her parents and siblings, a warm chocolate chip cookie and ice cold Coca-Cola. Contentment is so rare, it seems…

            I often think of my mom having some extra-special hotline to the Lord—I’ve accused her more than once of praying perfectly suitable men right out of my life—because her faith in her Creator is sometimes more than my mind can comprehend. When I would resort instantly to questioning and railing against God, she waits patiently for His word, ever sure that He will come through in His own time. I haven’t seen Him fail her yet.

            I’ve seen my mom in times that most people—I hope at least—never see their parents. Specifically, when I was eleven, I watched her lose her first-born. Watching Adam’s heart physically break, I watched Mom’s heart break in sync with his as she committed him to the Lord’s care. In what is surely the darkest day of her and my dad’s life, their faith never faltered—in God or each other.

            I have my mother’s blue eyes and Roman nose—that’s how Dad makes a nose that neither of us cares for sound better—but our other similarities are more learned than inherited. I can’t count the things I’ve learned from my mom, but I’ll give it a shot:

-       The value of a dollar. “I’ve got a coupon for that at home. We’ll get it next time.”

-       A love of animals that may or may not supersede a love for humans. Dad and I are both off-the-charts allergic to cats: our home currently houses three of the delightful creatures. “I just called to tell you that the pets just did the funniest thing…”

-       The most adorable, lasting love for a man I’ve ever witnessed. It’s nothing short of amazing how after 30-something years of marriage she is so truly amused with him, like a favorite playmate. And trust me, this is no small feat: more like my dad than my mom, we are not always so perfectly amusing.

-       An efficiently planned vacation is the best vacation. “All of the books say that we should start at Space Mountain, go straight to Splash Mountain, and double back to Toy Story when the lines are shortest. And it looks like the best restaurants are in Frontierland, so we’ll need to be there by lunch.” No lollygagging allowed.

-       Monopoly. I’ve never actually learned how to beat her, but I’ve picked up some key strategies. Meanwhile, she can quote you the price of rent for two houses on Baltic Avenue off the top of her head at any time of day.

-       Diplomacy. Mom lives in the business world, so she puts quite a bit of thought in her dealings with people. More than once she’s interrupted one of my rants with an, “I might not say it exactly like that to that person.” More than once I have wished that I had taken her advice.

I could go on and on, but I’ll stop here because she doesn’t love the limelight like my dad and I—just wait until my Father’s Day post. Mom and I don’t always understand each other, but the older I get the more I learn to appreciate the differences. She’s my confidant, my personal prayer warrior, my voice of reason, my North Star, my biggest fan, my ideal for what a wife and mother and Godly woman looks like…. She is truly my very best friend.

Happy Mother’s Day, Mom. I love you to the moon and back.