Beautiful Mother's Day Cards from Dayspring.com
Today is a weird day… a lot of up. A lot of down.
It’s Caleb’s third birthday. My last baby… a bit of an end to all things baby. Bittersweet.
And of course, it’s Mother’s Day. And I now live 2500 miles away from my mom. Bittersweet.
But beyond that, I’m a mom and I have little ones that celebrate and love on me and rejoice in this day beside me. But I’m also a housemom, and there are nine kids alongside me today, some of whom can’t bear to say the words “Happy Mother’s Day”… some that whisper it behind the pain of what ‘mom’ means. There are hearts in this house today that are broken, hearts that are angry. Hearts that miss mom and hearts that rage and hearts that grieve over death and would really rather I not be standing here in the mom spot of their daily life. But there are hugs and there are construction paper cards and Sunday School handicrafts and hard-swallowed mom greetings that I accept with a hug and hopefully a humble remembrance that it took a lot of heart-pain for me to be in their lives at all.
I’ve been praying for a broken heart – to break over the hearts of these boys that I may sew stronger stitches to them, that I may understand where they’re coming from. And this morning as the church honored moms with flowers and the pastor thanked God for moms who love us and support us and put their needs last and it was all very happy and beautiful, He gave me the eyes to see through child-colored glasses… to notice the duality in the smiles of the boys whose mothers were not the kind of mothers they were supposed to be, and those whose mothers did the best thing they could have by letting them go. And I was broken, indeed.
Bittersweet. And beautiful. And I’m grateful, today, for a Perfect Parent that’s hand slowly heals earthly parent wounds, where mommies and daddies fail, who covers our mess with a blanket of love-salve, and settles into hurt places even when we don’t see Him there. So I continue to pray for brokenness, to see behind the eyes of the broken ones, and to connect the dots between my cracks and theirs, to remember that we aren’t so different and I ought not celebrate too triumphantly the rocky road they’ve had to walk, even while blessing whatever it took that I can pour love over them, love that flows through Father’s words and mother’s arms and gives me any time with these boys at all.
But I will savor these construction paper cards with fervor, for the difficulty it took to present them, for the names scribbled upon them, for what they represent. And I will thank Him for the title… Mom… that makes up a one-word description that motivates everything I do, in work and in life and in prayer, and remind myself to do whatever I can to make it a happy mother’s day, whatever that may mean, for them, too.