I'm sure she won't mind my saying but my beloved mom absolutely adores greeting cards.
They are her thing, her love language, her choicest possessions. Not a one received is tossed out. Ever. Each beautiful, bedazzled cardboard rectangle is saved to read and re-read. She savors every message printed on their colorful spreads. She soaks in the sentiments penned by beloved senders.
And then she keeps every treasured one ... in wicker baskets, pretty boxes, little plastic bins, rubber-banded and tucked away in drawers, stacked on shelves, or simply left within arm's reach.
Mom is 89 now. She may or may not read this post.
For decades and decades, she has reached out to hundreds of the broken and hurting with her own card / poem / letter ministry. She's a godly legend in the hearts of all who have benefited from her gentle kindness, her generosity of spirit, her quiet faithfulness in remembering what might have passed others by.
Needless to say, I spent quite a bit of time combing the Mother's Day section at the local Hallmark store this afternoon. My choice had to be beautiful, the words needed to be meaningful, for past experience tells me that my enveloped gift to her will be cradled in her soft, beautiful hands, to read and re-read when sleep eludes, when pain overwhelms, when hours are lonely, when her room is far too quiet, when the shadows dim.
If you're reading this, I love you, Mom. And if you're not reading this, you already knew it anyway.
For those who've loved and lost, Mother's Day can bring immense sorrow. For those who haven't been loved and have lost anyway, the same is true ... maybe even more so.
They are her thing, her love language, her choicest possessions. Not a one received is tossed out. Ever. Each beautiful, bedazzled cardboard rectangle is saved to read and re-read. She savors every message printed on their colorful spreads. She soaks in the sentiments penned by beloved senders.
And then she keeps every treasured one ... in wicker baskets, pretty boxes, little plastic bins, rubber-banded and tucked away in drawers, stacked on shelves, or simply left within arm's reach.
Mom is 89 now. She may or may not read this post.
For decades and decades, she has reached out to hundreds of the broken and hurting with her own card / poem / letter ministry. She's a godly legend in the hearts of all who have benefited from her gentle kindness, her generosity of spirit, her quiet faithfulness in remembering what might have passed others by.
Needless to say, I spent quite a bit of time combing the Mother's Day section at the local Hallmark store this afternoon. My choice had to be beautiful, the words needed to be meaningful, for past experience tells me that my enveloped gift to her will be cradled in her soft, beautiful hands, to read and re-read when sleep eludes, when pain overwhelms, when hours are lonely, when her room is far too quiet, when the shadows dim.
If you're reading this, I love you, Mom. And if you're not reading this, you already knew it anyway.
For those who've loved and lost, Mother's Day can bring immense sorrow. For those who haven't been loved and have lost anyway, the same is true ... maybe even more so.
For those who wanted to be mothers and could not, the sadness is unspeakable. For those who wanted to be mothers and then had their children leave them in one way, shape, or form, the sadness always lingers somewhere not too far away, never to completely depart.
Beloved by many, writer and advocate Rachel Held Evans tragically went home to be with the Lord this week, leaving her babies to grow up without their mother. She was 37, younger than my own daughters. I hardly knew her, yet her death hit me hard, kept me awake in the night, left me sad the next morning when I awoke.
A friend of my mom's recently lost both her mother and daughter within one week. Both. In one week. Sorrow upon sorrow.
Many women {and yes, men} are losing a little bit more of their mothers with each passing day. And I'm thinking of those I know whose dear moms have departed in this past year. Oh, the searing loss.
I remember how many of my sisters {and brothers} have mothers who are not safe for them in a myriad of ways, so they have to hold them at arm's length in order to protect their hearts from being shattered yet again.
And oh the church. How many young women will absolutely avoid heading there on Sunday so they won't be forced to watch as the fortunate ones accept carnations in honor of their mama-status.
Wherever you find yourself this week, whether this is a time of sweet celebration or one heavily laden with grief and sorrow, I pray that you'll know how deeply God desires to gather you to Himself as a hen gathers her chicks ... tucking them safe and secure under the warm covering of her feathers {Matthew 23:37}.
For those who have loved, are losing, or have lost, you'll find the shelter and solace you're yearning for in His comforting embrace.
Linda
P.S.
Because Mother's Day Isn't Always What It's Cracked Up to Be
In Memory of Tyler Avram Willhite
For those who have loved, are losing, or have lost, you'll find the shelter and solace you're yearning for in His comforting embrace.
Linda
P.S.
Because Mother's Day Isn't Always What It's Cracked Up to Be
In Memory of Tyler Avram Willhite
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Chicks Photo by Michael Anfang on Unsplash
Nesting Photo by Phoenix Han on Unsplash
