We called her Mother. Not mom. I don’t know why, nor do I know if it matters. It wasn’t about the title.
Mother was amazing. She wasn’t perfect, she was a mom. I’ll bet $100 she never read a parenting book. When would she have time? A Parenting magazine, would have been too expensive. It wasn’t about the technique.
She loving stayed by her husbands side until they were parted by death. Her death. She graciously brought up 10 children. I wonder how many times she thought, “Never in my wildest dreams” or “did I leave anyone behind?” I don’t remember what we ate. Isn’t that odd?. I love food. I remember a few basic meals, like tamale pie, tacos on Saturday nights and waffles or pancakes on Sunday morning. Seems like we had a lot of hot cereal in the mornings. It wasn’t about the food, or the amount of food!
My clearest memory of my mother from my childhood was me walking down what seemed like a really long hallway (which of course it’s not!) and seeing mother in those early hours of the morning sitting in a rocking chair by the front window reading from her Bible and her Daily Bread. You see, what it was about was the relationship. Her relationship with Jesus is what made her mother. Not the bazillion kids, or the countless meals or all the laundry that could dwarf a mountain range. It was WHO she was, not what she did or who she did it for. She was a real person. A human, numbered among the billions during her too-short a lifetime. But she was God’s child, she was fully aware of who Jesus was and what He did for her. And she trained up her children to know Him and take Him seriously. And so we do. That’s what it’s all about.