A Little Mother's Day Consolation Post

Some of you have already been accosted with my previous thoughts on motherhood. The one about the seeds and the dirt? Well, anyway, here's a second consolatory thought for all of us who suspect that we just might stink at motherhood.




A couple of years ago I was asked to speak in church on Mother's Day. I called my dad, asking what to say. He always knows what to say. And this time was no different. Here's his story.


"One Mother's Day in Grandma and Grandpa's ward, your uncle's teenage friend was asked to offer the closing prayer after the Mother's Day Sunday meeting. Lots and lots of laudatory things had been said about the speakers' 'Angel Mothers' and so forth. Your uncle's friend approached the microphone, bowed his head, and said,  'We're thankful for our mothers. Please bless all those mothers here who aren't as good as the ones we've heard about today that they won't feel bad.'"


Amen, brother.


I don't know about you all, but as much as I love Mother's Day for the opportunity to think about and praise my own mother, going the other direction generationally is a bit more anxiety-inducing. It's all about misgivings and worries and wishing-I-could've dones. And yet, ...


There's a scripture I turn to in those times. Isaiah 40:11.


11 He shall feed his flock like a shepherd: he shall gather the lambs with his arm, and carry them in his bosom, and shall gently lead those that are with young.


He shall gently lead mothers. I have to hang my hopes on that gentle leading. And I know it's true. Who among us insecure mothers hasn't felt it many times?


Like that impression you get to go look at the 2 year-old's feet. At 3:00 a.m. And there's a scorpion there that you kill (get your husband to kill) before it strikes.


Or the time when the 3 year-old and her friend pick all the fruit off the experimental trees in the greenhouse and cut holes in your brand new duvet cover (that you waited six years to get) and eat the centers out of all the chocolate pies for Thanksgiving and it's your birthday...and all you can do is laugh and decide to not let that friend come and play again. Ever. And you know the only reason you didn't turn into a shrieking banshee is the Spirit showed you the humor in the situation.


Or when the 7 year-old runs away at an outdoor festival in the desert and you can't find her for 20 minutes and you're about to freak out and need a straight jacket and something (the Spirit, obviously) just tells you to get it together. It's going to be fine, and then after another 20 minutes, it is.


And the six thousand other things that motherhood is about that you couldn't of your own power have dealt with. Because on our own, we're just not good enough. And we feel bad about it. Because we know it so deeply. Which is what makes Mother's Day hard. We know intuitively that very little if any of the good we affect comes of our own goodness.


So, to all of us imperfect mothers, Happy Mother's Day. And thank Heaven for the gentle leading as we go.