Raw Mother’s Day Thoughts

May 13, 2018Splsh4Ripls

It’s Mother’s Day. And the emotions across the nations, wherever this is celebrated, range from peaceful, to defeated, to devastated, to lonely and confused, to hate and grif and everything beyond and in between. These emotions belong to the mothers. To the daughters and sons. And to the husbands. And we could add many more emotions… many unnamed emotions, both positive and negative.

Today is one of the best days. It is one of the most painful. It is forgotten. It is monopolized and commercialized, each market pretending to cater to the love of mothers, and helping those closest to her express that love well. When in reality it is about competing for sales and pressuring the husband, son or daughter to look the best they can, all so the particular industry – whether flowers, chocolate or binoculars (this was my delightful gift today, for bird watching) – can get their ‘cut’ on this emotional experience. And the mothers, most of us (I think… I hope…) really care little about that commercial expression. Or maybe it’s just a few of us, but mostly I doubt that. (Though, I dare say, Tim impressed me beyond words with the binoculars. I love birds! They bring me so much joy!) Even so, life is far to beautiful, too ‘real’, and too raw – both good and painful – for such a thing to begin to touch on the reality of motherhood.

The forgotten mother spends this day in absolute grief and defeat, having failed to win the hearts of her children. She compares with other mothers. The ones whose children all come home, offering hugs and love and affection – accompanied by gifts of flowers and breakfast in bed. She compares with the mother of the pastor who preaches a sermon honouring her, and his wife, because she’s just amazing and has it together – she observes her at church and see her children all behave ‘just so’; each playing some significant role in the function of the church. And she wonders how she went so wrong.

She recalls her failures. She remembers raising her own children, and the love she felt. She remembers the fear she wouldn’t do it right. She remembers yelling at her children and falling on her knees, begging God to fix her, to help her be a good mom. To “please, please, please help” her be the mom her children need to do well in life. And failing. Again. And again. And again. She remembers feeling forgotten by God… If He loves her so much, and wants the best for her, why won’t He fix whatever is broken inside and heal her, for their sake. Forgotten, abandoned by God.

She remembers her own mother, distant and disconnected. And wonders again, how the lot fell on her to never know the love of a mother, and fail at showing love to her children in a way they needed it, or winning the love of her children. She compares, and grows continually more defeated. The mother who was a drunk and on drugs… she knows that mom. Her children are home. The mother who left for years and came back. her children surround her.

On this Mother’s Day, she chooses to stay home. Alone. Her husband left her long ago. If not in body, then in soul and heart. The pain of facing all those ‘together’ people at church is just too much.

But she doesn’t know that the pews are filled with other mothers who feel just like her. The pastor’s wife listens to him preach and forces herself to stay composed. Last week he berated her, told her he wished he’d never met her, that she’s an unfit mother. Any godly pastor’s wife would support her husband, and be understanding of his porn addiction. Ministry is hard.

She doesn’t know that the woman whose children all come home with gifts and breakfast in bed, and hugs and kisses, do so out of tradition and obligation. They fear being cut out of The Will if they don’t cater to her. They’ve had this threat before. And on Monday they have their appointments with counsellors to work through the aftermath of a day filled with the same dysfunction.

She doesn’t know that even the mother who did it well, whose children are genuinely close to her, even she questions herself at times and compares. Because no mother is anything more than human and flawed. There is no perfect mother. There is no perfect child. There is no perfect husband. There is no perfect relationship. Each one carries scars – acknowledged or not acknowledged.

I usually write a Mother’s Day blog, but truth is, I don’t like writing them. I think of all of these things every mother’s day. Year after year. Every Mother’s Day I feel a range of emotions. I think of my ‘childless mother’ friends; those whose hearts are so motherly and the desire to be a mother so strong, yet never being blessed with children. I think of their grief. I think of the mothers whose babies died, either in miscarriage or through stillbirth or later in life, and who are left with empty arms. I think of their grief. I think of mothers who have abandoned their children, or been abandoned by them. I think of their grief. I think of my own mother. I think of my closest friends. I am keenly aware of my own story. And I think of the many reasons why Mother’s Day is one of the hardest days of the year for a large percentage of our population, while some live in the thrill of the day. And I don’t know what to write, what to say, that both honours mothers and acknowledges this reality.

As I contemplated all of this earlier this morning, I thought of Mary the mother of Jesus. And I wondered, Mary, did you ever feel like a complete failure? Did you ever wonder why God allowed you to be the mother of Jesus? And I wished I could pour her a cup of coffee and talk with her. Maybe if God’s mother told me she felt defeated, maybe I’d have something to write about that might speak to us all. Maybe if she said she felt like a failure the day her 12-year-old disappeared and they had to scramble to find him. Like, seriously! What mother loses her child in a crowd like that? Never mind… Jesus’ mother. And it happened to us too, at a store. Twice. Where one of our kids took off and scared the life out of us. And what mother speaks with pride of her homeless son who doesn’t even have a pillow to call his own? Right… that was Jesus’ mother again. He had no place to call His own, no place to lay His head. Jesus was a wanderer. He was despised by many. Rejected by the masses. He was eccentric. He disrupted the world, the religious community and broke the rules.

No pastor, if that was his son and he felt the mother was the influence, would stand up and preach how proud he is of how his wife encouraged her son in this path. No mother would feel deserving of honour, if image and church standards were the measuring stick. And without an awareness of His higher purpose, not one of us would compare ourselves with her and her Son and say, “I wish my son had turned out like that! I wish I had been His mother.”

A mother recently recounted her experience of praying for her child who seemed to be struggling deeply but not open to communicating. Over the years she had told God, probably a thousand time and more, how sorry she was for letting her daughter down, for failing to understand her, for being so messed up and broken that she was oblivious to what was happening to her daughter, right in front of her. And she had begged Him to pursue her daughter’s heart. Whatever it takes for her to heal, do it. Anything at all. And then the most excruciatingly painful thing happened. (The details of which I will not share). And this mother went to God, angry and feeling deeply betrayed by Him. “How could You do this! How could you let this happen?” Over and over she prayed, screaming at Him in her heart, wishing she could get up on His chest and beat God up…. literally, physically beat Him up. He deserved it, as far as she was concerned. After months and months and months of praying for her daughter and begging for some restoration, it seemed all hell had broken loose, and rather than get better, things got much worse. For several days she ‘beat up’ on God, offering the same broken prayer of anger and blame, until one day when she ended that prayer with “I asked you to heal her and pursue her heart… not THIS!” And in a moment of grief, she paused in stillness, and listened through tears as He spoke, “What do you think I am doing? I am pursing her heart. … And I am pursuing your heart too.” The I Am had spoken.

So, mothers, today don’t compare yourself with others. Trust the I Am to heal… to pursue and to restore. That mother’s story hasn’t changed, and the circumstances remain as they were. But God is pursuing her heart, and her daughter’s heart. Healing may not come in this life in the way a mother longs for and prays for, or in the way a child wishes. But God will pursue hearts. It’s Who He is and what He does. And remember that the ‘evidence’ you see – the smiles, the flowers, the many symbols of celebration – don’t tell the story of the tears, the fights, the prayers, the anger, the lostness. Nor do they tell the story of the I Am who is the Restorer. Cling most tightly to the latter. You are worthy. You are imperfect, yet Perfectly Loved. You fail, but are not a failure. You are forgotten today, but not abandoned.

Today you are honoured by your Heavenly Father who blesses motherhood, who forgives failure, who redeems broken stories and restores losses. He delights in you, and rejoices over you with singing (Zeph. 3:17). He called you for a purpose before time began, and that purpose cannot be silenced by your failures or any other thing; the I Am has spoken (Jer. 1:5). And His word, from the beginning of time, have never been empty and always bring Life. Invite Him into your joy today, and invite Him into your tears and grief. He loves you. He receives you. He blesses you.

To be blessed is to by filled with joy. This Mother’s Day, be blessed, no matter what your story.

Happy Mother’s Day!

mother's day

As always…

Love,
~ T ~

© Trudy Metzger 2018

Setting Back Time (literally), Cake Batter Disasters, and Other Mother’s Day Musings

May 14, 2017May 14, 2017Splsh4Ripls

How soon it was, after we moved to Canada, that my parents bought that old daisy clock for our kitchen, I don’t recall, but I was enthralled by it. In my little mind it was the prettiest thing on earth, just like the real daisies outside. I would have one just like it when I was all grown up. Mom liked it too. So much so that when it stopped working, sometime around my late preteens, she set out to fix it. There was also the little issue of not having money for frivolous things so what Red Green’a duct tape couldn’t fix, my parents found a way to redeem. Whether it was lack of finances or love for the clock, now useless, mom took it upon herself to fix it. She pulled it apart, every little piece, and put it back together again. And, sure enough, it ran again. Backwards. We kids laughed and joked about that for a long time.

Now, at 47, I look at the picture of that daisy clock and think to myself, if but for a moment, how I’d like to take the ‘clock of my life’ apart and put it back together differently. Maybe go back and do some things differently with a second shot at it. Especially as a mom. That’s me and almost every other mom, with presumably a few exceptions.

Not because of Mother’s Day, but just because of mothering and humanity, this topic has toyed with my mind more than enough lately. My failures stare me in the eye, time and time again, and more so with age. I see who my children have become and are becoming and I am amazed by God’s goodness in spite of my failures, but the awareness of generational sins, cycles and dysfunction are pretty glaring at this stage. So, yes, if I could pull down the old daisy clock, reset it, and go back with all that I’ve learned and…

Truth told, Adam and Eve would eat the apple again, and I would fail as a parent again. And we mothers would look back with regrets, losses, and wonder how God will ever redeem the impact of our generation, and the generation before us. Somehow he just would. Because God is amazing that way.

So that old daisy clock, which looks much less appealing today than it did then, can keep moving forward and I will choose to trust God to be enough for this generation and the next, even as He continues to redeem our generation and the ones before us.

And I’ll take a step back and look at the messy parts with new hope. More like that cake mom made when I was around 8 years old. The old yellow bowl was filled with batter and mom stirred enthusiastically, trying to beat out every lump. (So help us God if cake should ever have a lump in it…) And just like that, having been a bit too enthusiastic, she sent the bowl flying and chocolate batter spread everywhere on the counter, running down the counter and onto the floor. The bulk of it stayed on the counter, fortunately. We were not wealthy by any means, and wasting a cake would never do! So, after much fussing and gasping and exclaiming – while her children watched in humour – mom scraped the batter from the counter back into the bowl, cleaned up the rest of the mess, and baked a lovely cake for us. We kids who witnessed it, and those who heard the story, laughed many times over that moment.

Life is hard. Really hard, sometimes. And we moms have a habit of beating ourselves up pretty good. We look at our failures and see only the batter running down the cupboard and the mess on the floor. We forget that the bowl with batter running down it’s sides still has much in it to give, and what is spilled on the counter, God will redeem and make something beautiful out of it. The spills, He will wipe up.

Mother’s Day is the hardest for me to blog about, or write about, and I pretty much never speak publicly about my mom. There are so many unanswered questions, so many pains left in limbo, so much loss that I must give to God constantly, that it would be easier to look the other way. That is true in my relationship with my mom, and it is true in my own journey as a mom. And I’m not alone. I hear story, after story after story. I’ve chosen to forgive even where the story has never been acknowledged. When I see mom I hug her and tell her I love her, but my arms feel empty even as they are wrapped around her, knowing some things have never been and will likely never be. Mom is old now, and because she is still living, I carry the story quietly within me out of respect. It’s something I did for dad, and it’s something I will do for mom. And when she is gone, I will speak, but I will speak respectfully as I have about dad. I bless her as she lives out her remaining days, months, years, and possibly decades (in fact probably decades… she’s pretty stubborn, or determined, depending on point of view). And I trust she has made peace with her God. I hear it in her, and bless her. But there are scars that cannot be addressed. So I trust God to wipe up the spills, scrape up the batter that remains, and make something beautiful.

This Mother’s Day, if you grieve for whatever reason, I pray for you. If you are the mom who failed and feels beyond redemption… If you are the mom who never had babies, or lost them all, or lost any… If you are the mom who is unappreciated, abandoned, or used and abused… If you are the mom who is in the thick of the mess of those early years, or struggling through difficult teen years (not all are, but some are)… If you are daughter or son who is estranged, rejected, or manipulated and repeatedly wounded… This day you are worth being celebrated.

And, this Mother’s Day, if you are the mom whose life is idyllic, beautiful and ‘perfect’…. You are worth being celebrated.

Motherhood is a beautiful thing, made up of more joy and more pain than any human can possibly imagine exists in this world. Nothing has made the miracle of God and the wonder of spiritual life more real than motherhood. Nothing has broken my heart in deeper places. And nothing has caused me to reach out to Someone greater and say, “I need You. We need You!” And I trust that Someone with my life, my children, my mother and our intertwined stories, to bring something beautiful out of all things.

Happy Mother’s Day!

With Love,
Trudy

Have a Real Mother’s Day!

May 8, 2016Splsh4Ripls2 Comments

Holidays and special days are a funny thing. We run around saying the ‘right’ words for the occasion without much thought for the other person, unless we know them well. Cheerfully we greet women with a ‘Happy Mother’s Day’, if they have children, at church, at the grocery store, or just about anywhere we see them.

I think about this every Mother’s Day and Father’s Day. But, with today being Mother’s Day, I will focus on Mothers. Some of us are blessed with good relationships with our mothers or children, some of us struggle through broken or dysfunctional ones, some have been completely abandoned and rejected, and some are a blend. How does a chipper ‘Happy Mother’s Day’ greeting even begin to honour every mother?

In this stage of life I feel blessed to have a communicating relationship with my mother. For years it was virtually non-existent. And the scars and aftermath of the first fifteen years of my life–the years before I left home–remain, but have healed over and now remind me of God’s grace. What was lost then has not been fully restored, but God has redeemed it in my life. And I am blessed with five children who will be home for brunch today, and a mother-in-law whom I’ve grown to love deeply over the years, who will also be here later. These years are blessed and Happy Mother’s Day fits. It is, just that. Not perfect, but happy. And ‘blessed’, by the way, means happy or filled with joy.

It isn’t that because I have been a perfect mom. Not one of us is. Though it can seem like some are, and it’s easy to look around and start comparing with a friend who is ‘the perfect mom’, or judge ourselves or our mothers harshly for failures. But not of us are perfect, and we never will be. We vow to be better than the generation before us, and in our zeal we ‘perfect’ one area, while missing another, and we still fall short of becoming that perfect mother we want to become. Still, we are blessed if we have children, and have a relationship at all.

Today is Mother’s Day. And there are women–many who are my friends or family–who woke up this morning with deep dread and pain, because today is not their day. They have prayed and wept, like Hannah of the Bible, for an infant to be conceived in their womb, but the prayers seem to have a rubber coating, as they bounce off ceilings and echo from wall to wall. Disregarded. Ignored. Forgotten. That is how it feels to the ‘mother at heart’ who sits in the rocking chair of her early dreams, with empty arms. No child to hold. No grandchildren to dream of. This pain is real and it runs deep.

So this Mother’s Day I challenge myself and others to be mindful of those in places of grief. Don’t stop celebrating what is right and good and beautiful; wish mom’s a Happy Mother’s Day or some other blessing. But take a moment to say a word of encouragement to the mom whose child has passed away, or whose children won’t acknowledge her today, or the one whose children are but a dream in her heart. Bless the one who fosters or ‘adopts’–legally or emotionally–the abandoned children and gives them a place in her heart.

Today is a beautiful day. It is a sunny, warm Mother’s Day here in Ontario, and it couldn’t be more gorgeous! I pray that the One who made this day, and who gave us the honour of birthing children and raising them, will meet you, every one in your personal inner struggle or celebration, and lift you up, encourage and bless you. For those trying to conceive, I pray that God will grant you the desires of your heart, and fill your arms with a child. It is a good and beautiful thing, and a God-given desire. To those who are lonely and abandoned–whether mothers, or children longing for their mothers–I pray that God will fill your hearts with His love and grace. To those who have lost their mothers, and to those mothers who have laid their children to rest, I pray God will comfort you in your tears and sorrow.

Today is a beautiful day. It is sunny and warm, and couldn’t be more gorgeous. But even beautiful days welcome tears, grief and sorrow, in the midst of laughter all around you, when that is where your heart is. Whether it is a day of laughter or tears, or a blend of the two, I wish you God’s blessing! You are valued, you are loved!

Love,
~ T ~