Reminder to Self and Maybe to Other Mothers

Yesterday was Mother's Day. If I'd forgotten somehow, then Facebook would have reminded me of this occasion for the last four or five days.

I have almost a thousand Facebook "friends". I'd say I've read at least 600 posts wishing their own mother a wonderful day. Some addressed a mother on earth, others mention a mom in Heaven. I noticed that some people who do not regularly post have switched their profile shot to a picture of their own mother or posted the rare comment.

Here's what I HAVE NOT seen....

"Happy Mother's Day, Mom! I hope when I'm your age, I too have six pack abs!"

"Mom! I am the person I am today because you always drove a BMW."

"My mother is the best Mom because she never had a double chin and wore perfectly starched shirts to school parties."

"My grandmother is the greatest because she looks like she could be my twin--no wrinkles!"

Now, for those of you that have beautiful, wonderful moms or grandmothers with six pack abs and look like your twin, I am not criticizing. I'm simply pointing out something that screamed to me in post after post after post.

The common denominator in all the posts was love. 

It's been another reminder that although we clearly value love, both giving and receiving, we as a culture often spend more time cultivating unobtainable, unrealistic goals as individuals. 

Mother's day is my reminder that I should seek healthy options so that I can live life fully. That said.......If I narrow down the mind chatter, I have to be honest and admit that so much of my valuable energy is wasted on the kind of stuff that doesn't get mentioned at memorials or days of being honored or in quiet moments of reflection.

But, if I love well, LOVE has implications both now and for eternity. Loving well is the hardest work we do; but, based on Facebook posts about moms and grandmothers love is what matters most.

PS....anyone out there want to throw in their motherhood card today or was it just me??? GAH. Love is hard.

Ifs and Woulda Beens

I woke up singing this song inaudibly today.

“Great is Thy Faithfulness, Oh God my Father.

Morning by morning new mercies I see.”

My woulda-been-a-versary was January 23rd. A Saturday, just as it started those 28 years ago. I walked down the aisle in a custom pure white hand beaded gown complete with a cathedral train all meticulously sewn by Mom. (minus the beads. I didn't have the time or patience to hand sew them. I glued them on! I'm a pragmatist.The dress will be worn once.) Pipe organ and trumpet filled the sanctuary with that glorious anthem. Exactly as I’d dreamed.

During this season I find myself asking important questions with no real certainty or angst that an answer will be available. I know two things:

1.    My decision was correct.

2.    I am aware of God’s faithfulness in ways I would have never imagined.

What if bubbles up on an uneventful Monday morning.
What if I'd married someone else?
What if I would have.....?

I call Mom and the first thing she said was, “Today woulda been Memo and Dado’s 79^th anniversary.” 

The if morphed to woulda been.

What a celebration that woulda been.

Woulda beens.

Ifs.

Ouch.

What do we do with those?

Today, in a hotel room, alone with my thoughts and computer, I find great comfort and answers in music. Hymns.

Ifs are sometimes snags. “…Precious Lord, take my hand.”

Some are stitches in a larger pattern. “….leave to thy God to order and provide.”

Some are important milestones in becoming human. “…mold me, make me after Thy will.”

Some are gaping holes that make no sense and make us fear that all is ruined. “…when sorrows like sea billows roll.”

Some woulda beens bring deep comfort in believing that celebration is happening in the now…together, whole, free. “…what a day of rejoicing that will be!”

I’m playing Gaither Homecoming videos on a YouTube stream. They are hokey, predictable, and the video quality improves vastly as they learn from their mistakes—much like me. They’re reminders of who I am.

I was born into a heritage of Christian faith. It wasn’t always orthodox or informed. It was sometimes harsh and judgmental. But, always it was steadfast, earnest, and sincere. I’ve continued in the faith with my whole-hearted effort to weave my story into the larger story of family and Family.

Hymns evoke emotions. Voices. Faces. Laughter

What would my life have been without hymns?

With a piano introduction, I can name the hymn and recall so many voices—Dado’s country bass. "I will cling to the old rugged cross."

Memo’s barely audible alto. "....what a privilege to carry everything to God in prayer."

Mom’s melodious soprano, "...all I have needed thy hand hath provided. Great is Thy Faithfulness."

Dad’s mellow baritone, "...I once was lost, but now I'm found."

Carol switching to whatever part she heard me singing, "...is nailed to the cross and I bear it no more.....It is well with my soul."

Specific images are burned in my memory of looking up with a craned neck to see all of them in Sunday’s best. 

I can see Scott sticking out his tongue at me just behind Mom or Dad. "...that saved a (tongue sticking out) like me."

I loved sitting during hymns, bending low, peering beneath the pew admiring shoes—trying to match the voice with the shoes.

Skipping ahead to a time when the hymn was used to enhance a worship song in my weekly church service, I see both my grandmothers at Mom and Dad’s current home sitting on the green leather sectional watching these very videos—Christmas gifts enjoyed over and over. I see their hairless, wrinkled skin draped smoothly against polyester blouses.

Grandmother had great difficulty expressing her love with words. But I knew then, and now, her tears meant something.

"...can we find a friend so faithful, who will all our sorrows share?"

Only she knew.

This memory invokes ardent joy and mourning to gently ask that irretrievable question. Why are you crying?

Gaither Homecoming was a favorite in our marriage. Mom and Dad took us to a live event once. Another time I got tickets for one of Richard’s birthdays, maybe his 39^th? We had CDs and we watched the videos on some television channel. We preferred watching—the camera zooming in on audience singer(s) with light and smiles in their eyes. Lots of tears hovering, waiting for a blink to release them. We knew we were nerdy. At the concert we were the toddlers. We didn’t care. Which produces a smile. I hear his reedy, nasal tones—more pleasant than my words convey. 

                “Blessed assurance, Jesus is mine…”

Over a decade since then with entire years of destruction, rage, depletion, and re-building.

“Oh, joy that seekest me through pain.

I cannot close my heart to thee.”

Richard’s story is intertwined with mine, even with a legal document that severed the marriage.

My tapestry. No. Quilt works better for my heritage. Even with the black thread from charred remains, there are 21 years of red, orange, green, and indigo threads.

“I trace the rainbow through the rain…”

I’m wired for reasons, resolution, and redemption. My mind drifts….

“…pardon for sin and a peace that endureth…..strength for today and bright hope for tomorrow.”

Today after an evening of wondering what if? I come back to a place long held that is strengthened by music.

“Jesus loves me, THIS I know.”

Love is the thread that connects and intertwines all these songs.

What if I married……?

What if I waited longer…?

What woulda been?

What anchors me today as I mourn and rejoice—that paradox of Christian living is this:

“O LOVE that will not let me go.

I rest my weary soul in thee.

I give thee back the life I owe,

That in thy ocean depths its flow may richer, fuller be.

ONE love that will never let me go. I rest in the confidence that despite all, He dwells in the consequence. In the snags and gaping holes; whether by my choice or by my mistake or by life’s cruelty.

“…the promise is not vain, that mourn shall tearless be

I trust this. 

And song makes it breathe.

And this video is the string that sews this all together.