Tomorrow is Mother's Day. I am posting what I penned last year. Maybe tomorrow, I will write about 2017.
I had my favorite kind of Mother’s Day. We packed up the kids and dogs and went on a new hike in Eastern Oregon. It was warm, sunny, and there was a tickling breeze. The drive there and back was exploding with intricate green creation.
The day wasn’t about perfection. It wasn’t about finishing the hike. It was about play. Beauty. Enjoying each other. There were moments I was frustrated. I always yearn to finish the summit. But with four kids, sometimes you just can’t. And I was able to let it go and look around me.
I saw my daughter. Beautiful. Curious. Her favorite moments where digging up crystal in a trickling stream bed. And laying in a rock bed, made just for her, with her feet in the creek. She was irritated by the heat and the hiking.
My oldest son found himself a bed on moss and stretched out for a nap. He climbed rock faces and complained now and again about his flat feet hurting.
My 10 year old son was happy and adventurous, glad when we turned around, but never did complain. He likes to keep the peace like a true middle child.
My 6 year old son was his chattering little self, always trying to keep up with the big kids and finally succumbing to tears when he got too hungry and too tired.
My husband was his gentle but loud self just pleased with the beauty and enticed by his prospecting heart to dig in the crystals on the hillside. We got annoyed with each other on the drive home and had a few “snappy” words before remembering the things we were choosing to let grate on our nerves, were indeed, small.
It wasn’t a perfect day.
Is any day perfect?
But it was beautiful. Restful. Adventurous. Joy-filled. And I am coming to understand perfection is never the goal. I just want to call the day good. And not all days can be called that.
Some days are awful.
And it makes me think.
For me, every day is Mother’s Day. My four kids are around me all the time. I can see the beauty of them and be glad to be a mom, every day. It’s not about a gift. A card. Or even a day set just for me. It’s about the practical day in and day out living that makes me a mom. That’s not to say celebration isn’t good. It is. I love to celebrate. It’s a reminder of the goodness in life.
I just think the real beauty is forged in the day to day and commemorated in our hearts.
And as always, when I think of mothers, I think of women. Women are life-givers. You can give life to a baby. A career or dream. A friendship or book. A movement. or painting. A vision or garden. A meal or vacation. A classroom or an adventure.
Women bring life in a thousand ways every day. I champion that. When I pay attention, it takes the pressure off trying to fill my heart up with one day. How could that ever work?
Let's open our eyes. Look around. Where are we birthing life? How? Cheer for yourself and cheer for the women around you who are doing the same with their God-breathed abilities and lives.