Sunday, 06 February 2011 19:19
When I think of courage, I imagine climbing Mt. Everest or jumping in front of an oncoming car to rescue a child in its path. My mind turns to courageous feats of biblical proportions: Raheb risking her life to save the spies, Daniel and his night with the lions, the unforgettable stories of martyrs who stood up with abandon and died for their faith-filled statements. When I think of courage I imagine overwhelming and unbelievable feats little insignificant me would never achieve.
I also think of my mom.
The fall of my sophomore year of college, I moved 600 miles east. Two months later, it seemed I was on the other side of the world when I received a phone call from my mom. Doctors confirmed the lump she'd found to be cancer. She was scheduled to begin chemotherapy and have a mastectomy. "Please pray, thank you, and I love you," she told me.
My heart sank. I'd known about the lump and the testing, but hadn't grasped the reality of cancer. Suddenly the stability I'd clung to since childhood was crumbling. The rock I'd held on to felt unstable. Unsure.
Over the next year, I drove back and forth from Minnesota to South Dakota. I spent long nights on open highways to be home with my mom as she bravely battled her breast cancer. When her hair fell out, she donned hats and smiled more broadly. The joy she wore on her face distracted strangers from her sickness.
"Exemplary," I'd tell people, "the way my mom deals with cancer."
Some of my favorite photos of my mom are on the one-year anniversary of her cancer diagnosis, which was also my wedding day. Her hair is short, just beginning to grow back in, and she radiates strength.
Courage, that is my mom.
Growing up in Northern Kentucky, nestled between two rivers -- the mighty Ohio and the meek Kentucky -- I made my home in the safety of my mother's calm. Organized doesn't begin to explain her. She was meticulous with her scheduling, a perfectionist with her details. I don't remember a week night where dinner wasn't on the table at 5:30 p.m. and the dishes done shortly after. Every thing had a place and a person in the family to put it there. My mom ran a household of seven like it was easy.
In my childlike understanding, I had no idea this was a challenge. At nine, I thought all mothers were the same as mine -- strong and kind, stern yet approachable, with wide open arms and big breaths of understanding. Now, as I learn to parent my own sons -- to shepherd their hearts towards truth and grace and beauty --I begin to recognize the gravity of the time and effort my mother gave to her children. The everyday challenges of different personalities and imaginations are often overwhelming -- and she homeschooled five children through high school!
Courage, I tell you, defines my mom.
With courage, my mother faced an unwed daughter's unplanned pregnancy -- mine. With grace and unconditional love, she helped put together a wedding despite being unprepared. Watching dear friends' marriages struggle and fail, my mom has courageously believed that her 28 years of marriage and the bond she has with my dad exists to make her holy, not only happy, and to this end she courageously lives as a partner in a union many envy.
She has battled the feelings of failure when the children she raised and taught to make good choices have gone down paths she'd prefer they not wander. With courage, she has held on to the hope that God holds them in His hand. Many strong Christian women crumble under the reality of a homosexual child, but my mother has embraced her son, loved him, and held her head high as she admits she cannot change him but her love remains unchanged. It is not easy, sometimes, to do what is right, but it is rewarding to know that her love has the power to tear down walls and bridge gaps. She is there, standing in the gap, prayerfully acknowledging her inadequacy. In this way, she is more than adequate -- she is strong.
I journaled recently, as I struggled to balance the many "to-do's" on my list, "Sometimes it is most courageous to take the first step. Sometimes it is most courageous to cross the finish line. Sometimes it is most courageous to abandon the path all together, sit down in the woods, make a picnic lunch and just breathe deeply." My mom has done all of these well, at different times.
She told me recently she isn't sure what she's done to make her life count. She gave up a career to become a stay-at-home and homeschooling mom. She's moved many times, abandoning friends and opportunities to walk alongside my dad. Stretched financially, spiritually, emotionally, and physically over and over again, she sometimes starts to feel weak, small, and unimportant. For someone who gives often and much, she seldom receives spoken appreciation or accolades -- and she deserves both.
I'm not blind to her imperfections and, as I age, I realize more and more her humanity. And, oh, the wonder of discovering your parent is also human! I'm blessed by the depth our relationship has developed because we can talk truthfully and without censor. I have learned from her to choose well my words but to also speak boldy. I am her story and she is my voice.
My mom is peppered through my writing on almost every topic. She taught me to take my first steps and tie my shoes, to walk the straight and narrow, but not to be afraid of every stone and rock and obstacle in my path. When I write about love, every syllable springs forth from the unconditional well she's shared with me. When I write about faith, I am writing her legacy. When I write about forgiveness, my words are flowing from the flood of grace she has shown me and others. When I write about life, I am spelling it M-O-M. Proverbs 31:31 says, "Her children rise up and call her blessed" -- and we do. All five of us.
"I think I've always been resilient," she says as we drive together through the snowy South Dakota evening. A week out of gall bladder surgery and she's spent a full day –- breakfast with a new friend, Starbucks and wandering Target with an old friend, and Olive Garden and Christmas shopping with me. Her face lights with a smile as she glances across the car at me. She doesn't slow down and she seldom complains. She is resilient. She is strong. She is courageous.
And she is my mom.
(http://www.ungrind.org/2011/02/my-mom.html)
If you know me, you've undoubtedly heard me talk about my riotously funny friend Katie Sutherland. Katie's friend Megan Bekkedahl contacted me to be a part of this book project.
I first coined the term "reluctant mother" when, as a carefree and outgoing 18-year-old college student, my pregnancy test came back positive. Up until this life-changing discovery, I never felt meant for motherhood. I often declared, "If I need something to mother, I'll rescue a dog."
