Today I Saw God
The Nesting Tree
If there were room moms back then, she would've been a great one.If there were sports Mom awards given, she would have been well decorated.She cooked a mean pot roast, prepared an awesome peach pie and baked chocolate chip cookies like nobody's business.
Nowadays, there are only a few folks who remember Mom because she left us in 1982. That was eight years before I became a mom, which may help explain how completely delighted buttotally unprepared I was to be a mom. Diapers? Never done 'em.Naptime? Oh, they take 'em? Cribs? Bibs? Baths? High chairs? Pacifiers or thumbs? Nursing or bottles? Baby talk or big kid words? So many questions! It was a brave new world out there for me.
Books, of courseI read them, but Dr. Spock along with"What to Expect When You're Expecting"can only do so much. Nothing really prepares you for the unexpected, and those bundles of joy are the complete un-package.They foil you at every turn, then delight you at every opportunity. They have you totally wracking your brain (after you realize something is nowhere in any of the books) and completely surprise you when they solve it their own way. Somehow, they survive babyhood and so do you. This is nothing short of miraculous, really, given a mom's resources and the magnitude of the task.
So, as we come upon Mother's Day and I give thanks for my mom, I am particularly aware of so manyother "moms" in my life who have lent their wisdom and kindness and a heaping dose of patience. I am thankful
- For a stepmom, ever at the ready, who was devoted to my dad and my kids
- For an aunt who called, cared, listened and even read chapters of my novel
- For a neighboring mom who invited me to the first church that got under my skin
- For my mom's dearest friend, to whom my mom is still an ever-present companion
- For my friends who beautifully model what motherhood looks like and should be
In this last category falls Mary Anne, a special friend, the wife of a pastor and mother to three boys, who now has a gaggle of grandchildren. Recently she was diagnosed with advanced lung cancer. When she messaged me the news I was struck with complete disbelief. This vital woman, so engaged with her family, so alive in the church and so full of lifehow could she havereceivedthis devastating news?
From a thousand miles away, there was nothing I could do or say, so I did what I do: I rode my bike as fast and as far as I could. All along the way I asked,"Why, God? Why this woman? Why now? When she has given her whole life to her family, her friends, her husband, her church? Why this mom?"
That's whenGod drew my attention to the tree in the distance. It stood all alone, branches bare of leaves, with limbs reaching proudly upward and outward. Without foliage, it reminded me of the future I saw for my friend, when she would lose her hair thanks to chemotherapy and much of her body weight under the stress of illness.
Iclimbed off my bike, stood and stared. Looking at this tree, I God-imagined a nest in every branch. Each one securingits babies, some peeking out and cheeping to be fed, others wobbling to the edge to risk taking flight.How many young had this woman fledged? Not only her sons with their wives and young children but also dear friends she had walked beside: Bible study companions, congregation members, nearby neighbors and all of their children. I was certain that this woman had been mom to a vast arrayof children, including me and including my children.She was the nesting tree. No illness would ever take that away.
This Mother's Day, while I give thanks to God for my mom, I am especially grateful for the moms I know who labor in the nests of their lives with vigor, fortitude and creative aplomb. I smile to think of the moms my girls may someday be, praising God for the gift of Mary Anne and the many others who have taken me under wing.
It's what a mother does. It's what we're meant to do.
This post originally appeared on "The Kinesthetic Christian."