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The Nesting Tree

Tucky 1_0002You would have loved my mom. She was diligent and dutiful, industrious and ingenious, fashionable and fastidious, a loyal friend and devoted spouse.

If there were room-moms back then, she would’ve been a great one. If there were sports-Mom awards given, she would have been well-decorated. She cooked a mean pot roast, prepared an awesome peach pie and baked chocolate chip cookies like nobody’s business.

Nowadays, there are only a few folks who remember Mom because she left us in 1982. That was eight years before I became a mom, which may help explain how completely delighted but totally unprepared I was to be a mom. Diapers? Never done ’em. Naptime? Oh, they take ’em? Cribs? Bibs? Baths? High chairs? Pacifiers or thumbs? Nursing or bottles? Baby talk or big kid words? So many questions! It was a brave new world out there for me.

Books, of course I read them, but Dr. Spock along with What to Expect When You’re Expecting can only do so much. Nothing really prepares you for the unexpected, and those bundles of joy are the complete un-package. They foil you at every turn, then delight you at every opportunity. They have you totally wracking your brain (after you realize this is NOWHERE in any of the books) and completely surprise you when they solve it their own way. Somehow, they survive babyhood and so do you. This is nothing short of miraculous, really, given a mom’s resources and the magnitude of the task.

So, as we come upon Mother’s Day and I give thanks for my mom, I am particularly aware of so many other “moms” in my life who have lent their wisdom and kindness and a heaping dose of patience. I am thankful…

  • For a step mom, ever at the ready, who was devoted to my dad and my kids
  • For an aunt who called, cared, listened and even read chapters of my novel
  • For a neighboring mom who invited me to the first church that got under my skin
  • For my mom’s dearest friend, to whom my mom is still an ever-present companion
  • For my friends who beautifully model what motherhood looks like and should be

This last makes me think of Mary Anne, a special friend, the wife of a pastor and mother to three boys, who now has a gaggle of grandchildren. Recently she was diagnosed with advanced lung cancer. When she messaged me the news I was struck with complete disbelief. This vital woman, so engaged with her family, so alive in the church and so full of life…how could she have received this devastating news?

From a thousand miles away, there was nothing I could do or say, so I did what I do: I rode my bike as fast and as far as I could. All along the way I asked, Why, God? Why this woman? Why now? When she has given her whole life to her family, her friends, her husband, her church? Why this Mom?

IMG_0601That’s when God drew my attention to the tree in the distance. It stood all alone, branches bare of leaves, with limbs reaching proudly upward and outward. Without foliage, it reminded me of the future I saw for my friend, when she would lose her hair thanks to chemo and much of her body weight under the stress of illness.

I  climbed off my bike, stood and stared. Looking at this tree, I God-imagined a nest in every branch. Each one securing its babies, some peeking out and cheeping to be fed, others wobbling to the edge to risk taking flight. How many young had this woman fledged? Not only her sons with their wives and young children, but dear friends she had walked beside: Bible study companions, congregation members, nearby neighbors and all of their children. I was certain that this woman had been mom to a vast array of children, including me, and including my children. She was the nesting tree. No illness would ever take that away.

This Mother’s Day, while I give thanks to God for my mom, I am especially grateful for the moms I know who labor in the nests of their lives with vigor, fortitude and creative aplomb. I smile to think of the moms my girls may someday be, praising God for the gift of Mary Anne and the many others who have taken me under-wing.

It’s what a mother does. It’s what we’re meant to do.

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Burqa Baby

The woman sitting near me is a mother. I know because she is carrying a child with beautiful dark eyes. The eyes are all I can see.

Burqa baby

 

Tiny hands wrap around mother’s waist. Tiny toes spread as far as they can, brushing against each other in their suspension.

This gaze somehow haunts me. Burqa baby’s eyes don’t return my smile and her hands do not return my wave. I am the other. This mother is engrossed in her doings: screen, journal, computer. She doesn’t see me staring – or even snapping a photo. I hesitate and then, secretly, I reach over to touch these tiny pink toes. Just to offer a moment of touch.

Are we so engaged in our media, entranced by it’s siren song, that we carry our children like packages on our backs? Do we know we are denying them interaction with their world while we enjoy artificial interaction in our own?

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Standing Behind her As She Takes the Field

This morning my daughter took the field with a new soccer team. We have made many such changes over the years. New teams. New schools. New friends. Change is our norm. In fact, change seems the only reliable thing. And that can be exhausting.

But each time she launches I hope. Today, I await the first very early pre-season tournament game from the shelter and quiet of my SUV. To that let me add that it has started to sprinkle. Ah, in the movies, rain always means change. From my back seat position I close my eyes to pray, but I am not sure what to say to the Lord about this. What is the “right” prayer?

I can’t make the team right for her.

I can’t give her the right attitude or the right skills.

I can’t give her friendships with teammates or relationships with coaches.

All these I would like to give her, but they are not mine to give. And, at the moment, they don’t even seem the right things to ask for in prayer. I am not a player in that game. At nearly 16 my daughter must take charge of this asking. God’ll speak to her about this, not to me.

So I sit, full of incomplete prayer sentences. A fill in the blank sort of prayer experience. “Lord, provide the opportunity for me to …” To what?

I shorten this to, “Lord…opportunity.” And it seems a very much better way to pray. I thank the Holy Spirit who is my Holy Translator.

May I enter this day with newly opened eyes and a wider vision. I’m expecting. Perhaps that’s what pregnancy is meant to teach us mothers. Nine months of learning what it means to wait for the miracle to come. And to keep coming.

“Faith is being sure of what we hope for and certain of what we do not see.” ~ Hebrew 11:1

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