Honoring Our Other Mothers
“I thank my God every time I remember you.” Philippians 1:3 (NIV)
Syrupy, sentimental greeting cards carefully chosen the night before.
A hand-made art project fashioned to be a practical, pretty potholder.
Soft, pastel tissue-paper flowers twisted into a creative corsage, sure to be the envy of all the church ladies.
A simple bottle of over-powering perfume purchased from the local dollar store. All delights designed to impress one very special lady.
Yep, Mother’s Day is almost upon us again.
While many use this time to thank the mothers and grandmothers in their lives, each May I like to also remember my “other mothers.” Women who touched my life, imparted their wisdom and shaped my character.
My Aunt Patty holds a treasured place in my childhood memories. Though our states sat side-by-side in the Mid-west, we had to travel an entire day down and around Lake Michigan in order to reach her home. As a result, we only saw each other about once a year. When we did, she never seemed to be in a hurry but always had plenty of time to talk or read to me.
Aunt Patty would gently brush the rat’s nest out of my waist-length blond hair when I’d been oh-so-lax in fending the snarly tangles off. She’d ask me to sing for her or perform the cheer I’d created for team tryouts. Though we still see each other no more than once a year, if I close my eyes, I can smell her sweet perfume; White Shoulders. Her very presence made this rough and tumble tomboy long to be just like her when I grew up; pretty, sweet and gentle.
I thank my God every time I remember my Aunt Patty.
Dee was my youth pastor’s wife. Her cheerful smile made this awkward teenager feel completely confidant and right at home. Her house smelled of apple-cinnamon tea and her door, like her heart, was always open. Miss Dee’s fridge never seemed to lack the needed ingredients for an impromptu teenage bash.
In no time flat, she’d whip up a huge batch of taco salad, pull some cookies hot out of the oven and pour our favorite flavors of soda in glasses. Her family room transformed into a haven where we could ask questions, discover answers and just be ourselves. Being around Dee made me want to be a woman whose very life, like hers, says, “Welcome.”
I thank my God every time I remember sweet Miss Dee.
Mrs. Esch lived across the street. Some in our neighborhood wrote me off, seeing only a chatty teen from a home fractured by divorce and steeped in fear and even occasionally violence who was desperate for attention.
Not Mrs. Esch. She looked deeper.
She purposefully discovered my interests, and learned all she could about them, even going so far as to join a softball team with me. She talked to me about what I wanted to do with my life some day. Most of all, she sensed in me an innate need to be introduced to the God who promises to be a Father to the fatherless.
It was through this young mother of two that I became a follower of Christ. Soon after, she began to talk to me about “my calling,” excitedly insisting she just knew God was going to use me in ministry one day. Thirty-three years later, she is now on my prayer team; the team that prays for me as I write and travel to speak.
I thank my God every time I remember my mentor Mrs. Esch.
Women connecting with each other to encourage and dream and is a sweet aroma to Jesus. Who is an “other mother” you can thank today?
Dollar-store perfume optional.
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