A tilt-a-whirly-gig, push and shove (“Get outta my way! I was here first!”) toward the Truth about this apple-pie-American quagmire of a holiday: Mother’s Day

I realize that these reflections barely scratch the surface of the depth of emotions contained in the calendar block dedicated to the celebration of maternity. But, like so much of what I do as a mother, I’m left to say: “At least it’s something.” An acknowledgement that it’s not entirely happy — not for me, not for other mothers, not for non-mothers, and not for all children of mothers (grown-up kids included). But like all other days, it is redeemable. Just like the recipients of the roses.

Mother’s Day could be called ‘the best and worst’ of holidays:

Joyous for some, injurious for others —

Sometimes both, depending on which moment.

A day to celebrate all the wonderful things that motherhood is,

A day to grieve all the A-B-C...X-Y-Z things that motherhood is not.

For one thing: The fact that not all mothers are wonderful.

(And even the wonderful ones aren’t always.)

For another thing: Motherhood itself is not always all it’s cracked up to be.

It’s not always dandelion bouquets and butterscotch pudding kisses and

footie pajamas on freshly bathed piggy-toes that fit in the palm of your hand.

It’s usually not.

For some, motherhood is simply not —

or, at least, not yet…

despite the deep, deep yearnings

of a would-be mother’s heart.

No, Mother’s Day is not just a day for

a dozen roses and breakfast in bed.

It’s also a day that presents

awkward dilemmas,

mournful memories,

bitter regrets,

and ‘hope deferred [that]

makes the heart sick.’

(a loathsome laundry list of human emotions)

The only purely good thing about Mother’s Day is

the same thing that is purely good about mothers:

The One who made us.

The same Truth that sweetens, redeems and buoys

every other day of the year

can also carry all God’s children through Mother’s Day,

with its delights, terrors and tears…

Bearing even better comfort than a hug and a kiss and

a Band-Aid on a scraped knee.

Thank you, Jesus (and I love you, Mommy) —

Amen.


Jabba pudding cup image from:
http://www.mycreativestirrings.com/2010/12/star-wars-kid-birthday-party-picture.html