This week, I hurt my back. I have wrenched my back in the past, but nothing compared to this episode. Bullheaded as ever, I tried to push through. Showered. Dressed. Packed my lunch and headed to my car to journey on to work. But upon opening the car door, I could not force my body inside. I physically could not get into the car. And so, I shuffled back inside to allow my body the rest it needed.
The pain intensified and while I went through my list of dear ones who might come and be with me, I just hated to trouble anyone and most were at work anyway. My daughter came and helped for a time, but at her urging, I called my folks to come and stay with me. This was what made me cry the most. I am supposed to take care of them at this stage of the game… not the other way around. They, of course, were more than willing to drive the two hour trip and stay with me until I felt better.
And they came with my little dog who got in the bed with me and nuzzle healing energy into my being. They poured loved all over me. They ran errands, tried to get rid of the ants in my kitchen, heated up the rice pack for my back, and traded it for ice the next time. They propped my pillows, told good stories, and took me to the chiropractor. They helped me by loving me, by showing up, and by always be so faithful to each of their children and grands.
But today, I want to focus on my Mom. Dad had called me many times that morning when he heard I hurt my back, and that meant so much to my heart. He was willing to bring ibuprofen from two hours away if that would help me feel better! But no matter what our age, there is something mystical and inevitable about our need for mothering. I needed my Mom to come and tend me as she always has… with understanding and wisdom and patient love. Mom showed up with homemade pumpkin bread. She leaned over me in my bed and touched my face the way I image she touched it when we were first face to face in a delivery room. She reminded me to take the time I needed to feel better, to trust my body, and to allow others to step in and step up. She sat by my bed and poured out her own stories… just like she and my grandmother did when I was a child sleeping in the bed with my grandmother. Their talking and storytelling would lull me to sleep, and I felt that ease these many years later.
Mom cooked me eggs that never taste that way when I make them. She cleaned out my refrigerator. She put socks on my feet. She appreciated the sky and the mountains just like I do and tried to describe their colors to me as she looked out the windows. She asked about my friends and told me about hers. And then she shared with me about how she prays at night. She said that every night she prays for women who are widows and for those who live alone. And with those sweet words, I knew that mother understood that I needed her, that I need her. She understands an element of my life that she has not lived, and she recognizes the vulnerability that comes with being a single woman in this world. I cannot tell you or her what that meant to me. It is yet another reason to love my Mom.
I am thankful for both of my parents for so many reasons. They hold out to me really different ways of being in this world. But today, I want to acknowledge the beauty found in healthy mother-daughter relationships and for the feminine ties that keeps us grounded. My Mom is always about others. She is self-sacrificing in ways that are admirable and sad… because she deserves to find her own glorious beauty outside of the service to others. My Mom has hands that create nourishment in every single thing she makes… hot rolls, cards, crocheted hats and blankets, flower gardens, soup, church alter decorations. She knows how to pinch pennies and stretch leftovers. She has a huge heart that remains tender most of the time. She loves happy endings and Kris Kristofferson and Tom Jones. She adores her granddaughters and is proud, very proud of her sons. She is faithful to my Dad and together they have built a strong, loving marriage that is a testimony to commitment, honesty, and a true belief in each other’s individual goodness.
Mom is one of the strongest women I know. She has faced more than her fair share of sorrows, of concerns and hardships, but even so… she plants the flower seeds and follows her heart to wherever there is need. She takes loaves of bread to the teller at the bank. She gives cookies to the garbage collectors. She feeds the birds. And she takes care of me like none other.
I give thanks that life grows from life and that love grows stronger with love. Thank you, Mom, for giving me both. You are precious beyond words. May that which you give always circle back to you with warmth and joy.
The pain intensified and while I went through my list of dear ones who might come and be with me, I just hated to trouble anyone and most were at work anyway. My daughter came and helped for a time, but at her urging, I called my folks to come and stay with me. This was what made me cry the most. I am supposed to take care of them at this stage of the game… not the other way around. They, of course, were more than willing to drive the two hour trip and stay with me until I felt better.
And they came with my little dog who got in the bed with me and nuzzle healing energy into my being. They poured loved all over me. They ran errands, tried to get rid of the ants in my kitchen, heated up the rice pack for my back, and traded it for ice the next time. They propped my pillows, told good stories, and took me to the chiropractor. They helped me by loving me, by showing up, and by always be so faithful to each of their children and grands.
But today, I want to focus on my Mom. Dad had called me many times that morning when he heard I hurt my back, and that meant so much to my heart. He was willing to bring ibuprofen from two hours away if that would help me feel better! But no matter what our age, there is something mystical and inevitable about our need for mothering. I needed my Mom to come and tend me as she always has… with understanding and wisdom and patient love. Mom showed up with homemade pumpkin bread. She leaned over me in my bed and touched my face the way I image she touched it when we were first face to face in a delivery room. She reminded me to take the time I needed to feel better, to trust my body, and to allow others to step in and step up. She sat by my bed and poured out her own stories… just like she and my grandmother did when I was a child sleeping in the bed with my grandmother. Their talking and storytelling would lull me to sleep, and I felt that ease these many years later.
Mom cooked me eggs that never taste that way when I make them. She cleaned out my refrigerator. She put socks on my feet. She appreciated the sky and the mountains just like I do and tried to describe their colors to me as she looked out the windows. She asked about my friends and told me about hers. And then she shared with me about how she prays at night. She said that every night she prays for women who are widows and for those who live alone. And with those sweet words, I knew that mother understood that I needed her, that I need her. She understands an element of my life that she has not lived, and she recognizes the vulnerability that comes with being a single woman in this world. I cannot tell you or her what that meant to me. It is yet another reason to love my Mom.
I am thankful for both of my parents for so many reasons. They hold out to me really different ways of being in this world. But today, I want to acknowledge the beauty found in healthy mother-daughter relationships and for the feminine ties that keeps us grounded. My Mom is always about others. She is self-sacrificing in ways that are admirable and sad… because she deserves to find her own glorious beauty outside of the service to others. My Mom has hands that create nourishment in every single thing she makes… hot rolls, cards, crocheted hats and blankets, flower gardens, soup, church alter decorations. She knows how to pinch pennies and stretch leftovers. She has a huge heart that remains tender most of the time. She loves happy endings and Kris Kristofferson and Tom Jones. She adores her granddaughters and is proud, very proud of her sons. She is faithful to my Dad and together they have built a strong, loving marriage that is a testimony to commitment, honesty, and a true belief in each other’s individual goodness.
Mom is one of the strongest women I know. She has faced more than her fair share of sorrows, of concerns and hardships, but even so… she plants the flower seeds and follows her heart to wherever there is need. She takes loaves of bread to the teller at the bank. She gives cookies to the garbage collectors. She feeds the birds. And she takes care of me like none other.
I give thanks that life grows from life and that love grows stronger with love. Thank you, Mom, for giving me both. You are precious beyond words. May that which you give always circle back to you with warmth and joy.
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