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Posts Tagged ‘hurtful choices’

Clearly, I meant to post this yesterday.  But, as is so often the case, things got away from me.

 

Over the years I’ve written a few tributes to my father, but I don’t recall ever doing so for my mom.  I’m sure this has to do with the fact that my dad contracted a terminal illness (and passed away) at a relatively young age.  But honor shouldn’t be reserved for the dead, and kind words ought not be saved for eulogies.  So on the occasion of Mother’s Day, I thought it would be fitting to share a few thoughts about my mother.

 

My parents had four children, three stair step boys, and then, more than a decade removed, a daughter.  I was the bottom rung of the first wave, and easily my parents most challenging kid.  My oldest brother was one of those precocious children, who talked as though he was 35 years old by the time he was six.  Our middle brother was quiet, but did well in school, and excelled at every sport he ever played (My grandmother actually referred to him as her “Golden Boy”).  And then, I came along.  Blind as a bat, emotionally unstable, and full of imagination; I was literally walking into walls by the time I reached school age.  Between struggles in the classroom, skirmishes on the playground, and little brother meltdowns, I was a kid who required a lot of parenting.  And because of my father’s demanding Air Force career, the lion’s share of that fell to my mom.  I have no doubt that it was at times exasperating, and exhausting to deal with me.  Lord knows, that was the way it felt to be me.  But my mother was never one to shrink back from a challenge, and she wouldn’t let me do so either.  As much as I wanted to accept the rather overwhelming evidence that I was simply an inferior model, she was having none of it.  She made it her mission to ensure that all of her kids would be ready to face to the world, and little by little, I began to pull out of my tailspin.

 

Unfortunately, just about the time I grew strong enough to stand on my own two feet, I began to drift into things that my parents had strictly forbidden.  My weak sense of identity caused me to look for the place that I fit in, and resulted in me trying a little bit of everything.  In those years, I made many disappointing and hurtful choices, but my parents stuck with me.  My mom’s persistent belief, and her prayers of protection, were without a doubt a key to surviving that season.  Though I broke her heart many times, she refused to give up on me.

 

It took some years, but the seeds that were planted throughout my life finally took root, and things began to turn.  God finally convinced me that my mother had been right all along, and that I wasn’t some sort of defective piece of machinery.  In His grace, God allowed me to become a father, where I gained a new appreciation for the kind of love it takes to raise a kid like me.  As I look back, I can’t help but think that God gave me to a mother that He knew would be strong enough to fight the battles, and persistent enough to go the distance.  Indeed, my mother is an extraordinary person, whose love for me has made all the difference.  If not for her, I would not have become the man that I am today.

 

As I look back, I thank God for the love that she and my father shared, which showed us that marriage was meant to last a lifetime.  I thank God that she refused to raise boys who sit around in the underwear, watch cartoons and don’t know the first thing about taking care of themselves (or anyone else).  And I thank God that after years of dealing with my disarray, He rewarded my parents with their best kid, my sister.

 

Happy Mother’s Day mom!

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