25 years ago my mom celebrated her very first mother’s day. Not being a mother myself yet, I can only imagine the depth of pride, joy, and sense of fulfillment she experienced on that day, as well as many others over the years. I want to write this blog as a tribute to my mother because I don’t tell her enough how much I love her or how I completely respect the woman she is, and because she doesn’t know—even in the slightest sense—how much she has shaped me into the person I have become.
One of the most significant ways she touched my life was with a seemingly insignificant tradition. Probably from the time I was an infant, my mom would buy me a book (usually from The Berenstain Bears collection…remember those?) every time she would take me grocery shopping. The grocery stores used to have children’s books on revolving racks near the check-out and I remember her guiding me in my selection. My attention was on the most colorful and decorated cover pictures, but she would patiently pick up a book, skim through the content, and show me what the book was going to be about—essentially selling the content of the book and thematic elements instead of the pictures. As an adult, when I retrospectively consider my emotions of excitement and intrigue of these moments, I can honestly tribute that tradition as the cornerstone of my passion for literature. To this day, when I drive myself up to Barnes and Noble, I experience that “school-girl giddiness” when I run my hands over the new, untouched book covers and skim the pages for content (rather than pictures). My mother taught me that books are a gift, in more ways than one. My mother taught me to love reading.
Through the years, unbeknownst to my mother and maybe even myself, I have watched how she handled life and all the love, joy, beauty, and pain that comes with it. I have fulfilled the truth of the adage that foreshadows every child reaching a point where she will truly appreciate the discipline and choices of her parents. My mother taught me what it means to love—which is meant to be simple, but, oh, how we make it so complicated. My mother taught me what it means to be a woman—a strong, independent woman who can make her mark on the word while nurturing her husband and children. My mother taught me what it means to be a Christian who must live by faith and walk in truth.
Mom, I realize now that you are the “citadel” of my life. You are the person I run to first when I need help, wisdom, and guidance and I know that is never going to change. I hope that my life can be a reflection of you and all that you have given me. No words could ever express what you mean to me—but I hope that this serves as a voice and speaks the truth that you have so beautifully spoken already. Happy Mother’s Day.
