How to Be the Mom They See

Lemon and cherry tulips stood in vases tall when I walked into the kitchen, gifts from my man and my look-alike man-child too. “We biked to the store since you had the car,” they breathed heavily, grinning, hair tousled by the gusty wind.

“Can we play a game of Speed Scrabble together?” my socialite son asked, dumping plastic tiles across the scuffed table top.

Four year old Daniel had carefully guarded a smushed cupcake and hand-print flower art-piece since nine am Sunday School. Pushing it into my hand now, he offered it to me.

“But Daniel, this is your special cupcake. Are you sure?”

“Mmhmm,” he nodded, “It hurts my feelings, and I don’t want it anymore.”

The red frosting licked off, a chocolate cupcake peeked through inside the zip-lock bag. He must have meant that he didn’t want any more of it. I grinned and thanked him. He smiled, and rocked back and forth proudly.

“Mom, can I serve you?” she asked, my willowy daughter, shiny hair bobbing at her chin and catching the light.

“Wow, thank you. That feels odd,” I admitted. “Thank you. What do you have in mind?”

Her handwritten card offered babysitting as we took a nap, and then a hand massage and manicure. Later that afternoon, I followed her out to the back yard where towels marked off a lounging area in the grass. Nail polish, moisturizing coconut oil, and manicure items were arrayed nearby. Shyly, I sank back into terrycloth, closed my eyes, sought out the bird calls amidst the sound of passing cars, and slipped into peace.

“I love you so much, Mom,” she stated quietly, grinning self-consciously.

“I love you too, Morgan. I am so thankful to be your mom. I’m so sorry for the times I don’t do a nice job at it.” We talked more.

Silence fell from a pure blue sky. The wind and robins blew, and passing cars hummed.

“God, make me worthy. Make me how they see me, help me to be the best mom I can be, reflecting you.” Prayers dripped from a humble heart, seeking Him. Gratitude counted gift after gift, increasing my eye to see, and learning to name them anew.

To be the mom they see –to be the mom they need– drives me to prayer, humility, joy, and to my Father’s heart. 

Linking with Emily at Imperfect Prose, and Ann at A Holy Experience.