Musings for my Mama

I have this vision of my mom sometimes. I was around 12, we are at our old grey house, outside, by my  very own apple tree. The apples off that tree were cotton-candy pink on inside, but tasted tart like a granny smith. I loved that tree. Mom was in the sun, and we were all outside and she said, "Guys, let's have a picnic outside!" And so we did. We brought out sandwiches made with homemade whole bread and picked apples from our trees and sat and laughed. 

She's like that. Pretty flexible, most of the time, with some sort of loose plan in place.
I remember being upset about some friend issues I was struggling with at the time and I had a hard time talking about it. I was caught between childhood and the angst of teenage life.  Sitting with my mom and siblings, belly-laughing and listening to Mr. Popper's Penguins was exactly what I needed. My mom has such a calm presence about her; peace overflowing out of her and shining out of her eyes. It always has. You could be having the worst day and just sitting with her would calm you. I wish I could go to back to 12 year old me. I would shake her, gently of course, and say, This lady right here? She is the real gem. You don't sweat those other friendships as much. She will be your friend for life. 
I would also say, Stop trying to grow up so fast. Sit there outside in your yard, listen to your mom read, cuddle your baby sister and soak it in. Teenage drama will be there waiting for you, don't worry. 
She was sitting in the sun that day, reading that book to us, and she looked so beautiful. It was that inner beauty Proverbs talks about it. It was overflowing out of her.
God's faithfulness to me in giving me her brings me to tears. I wish I was more like her. She is slow to anger. Seeks truth from God's Word. Full of wisdom. Overflowing with love.
I often say too much and and think later. I did then, and I do now.
I credit my mom with so much of my childhood. It was a good one. A happy one. Filled with life and laughter and joy. Full to the brim with structure and hard work, too.
Lunches were a memorable part of our homeschool days. I feel so privileged to have spent so much time around the kitchen table. We weren't rushed. We were mostly home, eating spaghettios, top ramen or bean with bacon soup. We got really into juicing at one point and made carrot-apple-orange juice often. Memories of those days were slow, like honey from the bottom of the bottle. A little old, a little sticky but oh so sweet. As I got older, the less interested I became in those lunches. Oh, to go back now, you silly girl, who wants to grow up too soon.
You know what I don't remember?  Her being stressed out. Oh, I remember moments of when she would be hiding in her bedroom, in tears. I get that, now. Completely. But as a general rule, she was filled with peace. Not a lot ruffled her feathers. I'm sure it was loud and crazy and messy. I'm sure she felt like she was constantly doing dishes or picking up dirty socks or cleaning smudged fingerprints.
What I do remember is that she always sat down with us at lunch. I didn't realize until I became a mom how important that is. I am often guilty of feeding my kids and then rushing around like a crazy person trying to get all the things done in the 20 minutes they are sitting down. My mom didn't do that. She was pretty much always sitting with us, either teaching us bible memory verses or reading us a book. It made mealtimes especially peaceful.
I like to think I have a unique perspective on my mom because I was the first. The first to be potty trained, homeschooled, learned to ride bike, navigate friendships, buying makeup, shopping, all of the things. I like to think we grew up together, in some ways. We were both experiencing firsts, me as the literal guinea-pig kid and her as a first-time mom. I was always so stubborn. I would fight to the death on something I felt was worth fighting for. You know I so appreciate about my mom? She didn't try to squash that out of me. Instead, she tried to gently re-direct it. It (sometimes) worked.
 I will never forget when I realized she was just a human being with emotions like me and not just a mom. It was when I made her cry over something rude I said and it made me feel awful. I knew then, I took it too far. I'm pretty sure it had to do with Saxon Math. And like my mom's MO is, she sweetly and tenderly forgave me, and we moved on. "Love doesn't keep a record of wrongs" - she emodies that verse from 1 Corinthians. 

She always told me I was born to be a teacher. I remember emphatically telling her no. Look how that worked out. She was right. She always encouraged my writing and would read anything I wrote. She still will.  She took me to the library and let me check out stacks and I do mean stacks of books each week. I remember living away from home during college, dealing with some heartbreak, and calling her and catching my breath when I heard her voice. There it was. Peace. Full circle.

You're the best and I hope you know it. You are because you've let Jesus completely transform your life into a picture of peace. You are centered because you look to God first, and that has left an indelible mark on me. You don't always claim to have the answers, but you always lend a listening ear and you will pray for me. I'm sorry for shutting you out during my teenage years sometimes. You were so patient with me. My prayer is to have half the amount of patience you had and continue to have with me, with my own precious children. 

Mama, this is for you. I love you.