The Making of M.O.M.

Whew! With all the heavy emotion around here associated with those last two posts I feel the need to write something light and airy.

Not to discount the importance or the reality of the last two posts (and if you haven't seen my update on "L" please click here) but I'm one of those people who begins laughing at funerals because too much sadness makes me so uncomfortable that I can't control myself.

I'm serious. At my step-mom's funeral back in June I almost burst out laughing during the service. Not because I think death is funny but because I think God made my brain too small to process the emotions involved with death and eternity and so I go to what I'm comfortable with...stupidity.

Sad, but true.

Anyway, I had to tell you guys about my day yesterday because it is too hysterical not to share and besides if anyone who lives in my Mom's neighborhood actually reads this blog, it might explain my behavior yesterday around 2:00pm.

You see, a couple months ago our fabulous babysitter Amanda (that's a different Amanda than my BFF. Not that babysitter Amanda couldn't be my BFF it's just that she's not the same person and I didn't want to confuse you.) got in a tiny accident (that was totally not her fault) in our Big Red Beast. Basically, it broke the passenger side mirror and we've been waiting and waiting and stalling to get it fixed.

So yesterday Big Red was in the shop. Since I had a check up OB appointment yesterday as well (where I BARELY passed my 1 hour glucose test...thankyouJesus) I borrowed my parents' truck for the day while awesome babysitter Amanda kept the kids at the house. I'd been driving my parents' truck all over town without one hint of a problem (and apparently without making many left turns).

In fact, it wasn't until I started thinking about how well their truck was driving for having over 213,000 miles on it did the hilarity begin.

I turn off the interstate to head toward their neighborhood when suddenly someone pulls up very closely behind me and begins LAYING on the horn. REALLY honking I'm telling you, without letting up. I check the mirrors only to find that there is NO ONE around me.

I turn down the radio and realize that it is the sound of my own horn I'm hearing pulsing in my ears. Confused, I press on the center of the steering wheel. No dice. HORN STILL A BLAZIN' I tell ya.

I drive another mile or so with the horn never ceasing. Then, I make a right hand turn into my parents' neighborhood. The horn stops.

At this point, I start to chuckle. "Wow. That was funny." I think to myself.

I turn left onto another street.

On goes the horn. Honking without even a hint of a pause.

I smack the horn with my hand and it jolts off for about .0001 second then begins again.

I turn left onto my parents' street.

It continues as I drive all the way down my parents' street and as I turn into their driveway. Horn is STILL honking a single LONG honk. Uncontrollably.

Unable to contain my laughter I burst and my bladder threatens to do the same. I slam on the steering wheel and the horn stops.

I open the truck door to climb out and the horn starts.

I hit the wheel again and the horn stops.

I continue climbing out of the car and the horn starts again. At this point I'm certain that I'm going to pee my pants to I whack the wheel one last time and the horn shuts off. I do the pee-pee dance into my parents' house certain that I will hear the horn the entire time I'm inside.

I go back outside to wait on my Mom who is meeting me there in the next few minutes. I crank up the truck again and the horn begins to wail once more.

I smack the steering wheels and off it goes. Only to blare again a moment or two later.

This continues for the next 5 minutes.

As my Mom climbs into the truck and we drive to retrieve the Big Red Beast I recant to her the last 20 minutes of my life. We both laugh hysterically and the truck remains silent.

Apparently, my step-dad dropped a quarter down into the steering column a while back. When it bumps the wires, the horn honks uncontrollably.

For me, it happened every. single. time I made a left hand turn.

Imagine me, driving into my parents' neighborhood with the horn honking full blast and me inside, laughing uncontrollably and beating the steering wheel like nobody's business.

Yeah, I'm laughing now too. Or at least I hope you are 'cause I don't care who you are, that's funny.

A big and super tearful thank you goes out to my hubby for the super-de-duper tender Mother's Day gift. Just my style, I must say. Plus, it will never wilt like flowers, won't make my hips big(ger) like chocolate and cost next to nothing. I'm one extremely blessed help meet, if I do say so myself.

But, I wanted to take some time and recognize my own Momma, because, well, she's pretty stinkin' amazing. Everyone who knows her agrees with that too.

My Mom is a natural encourager. All my life I've noticed how much she lifts up the people around her, making them feel special and loved and she does it all with a genuine and authentic heart. I stand in awe of how much she truly cares about others. Sure, there are lots of people who say the right things and ask the right questions, but my Mom, she doesn't do it for show or pride or recognition, she does it because of love.

In fact, if my Mom knew that I was about to post an entire page on my blog just for her, I'm sure she'd humble herself right into a corner. But you know what, that's what makes her so amazing. You see, my Mom never mothered me with the thought of one day getting web-recognition. She never taught me to love because she thought that one day she'd get some kickback. She never showed me how to authentically serve others because she thought that I would stand in front of crowds and tell them how amazing her heart truly is.

No, my Mom isn't a show off. She doesn't really even like getting accolades or recognized for her humble successes. She'd rather work behind the scenes, allowing others to shine. Well, Momma, you've worked hard, and you raised me right, and I'd just like to tell the world why I know that God blessed me beyond measure when He knit me together in your womb.

If you didn't know already, maybe it's time you realized, I love kids. Not just my own too. I love all kids, especially ones that poop and pee in a toilet (but sometimes I'll even let that slide if they are real special). I remember being in Montessori school with another little girl with Down's Syndrome. I was drawn to her, loved helping her and knew that she needed a friend who would slow down and allow her to just be herself. Do you know why I knew this? Because my Mom told me so. She encouraged me to befriend her. She told me how special this young girl was to God. She made me realize that although we were different, we were more alike than anything and that everyone is created, and loved, because of the purpose they serve. I remember those conversations with my Mom, and I remember them now as I love all these kids that I am blessed enough to call my own. Yes, they require patience, extra time and special care. Good thing that my Mom encouraged me to acquire those attributes from the time I was barely going in the toilet myself.

I remember, with vivid detail, the day that my parents told me they were getting divorced. I remember the blue chair I was sitting in, and that the paint was chipping off of it, showing some yellow underneath. I can still see the red checkered tablecloth that was on the table in the kitchen. I can still feel the grains from the tiny pile of salt that I rolled beneath my fingers as my 8 year old brain tried to understand what my Mom and Dad were saying. I remember feeling loved. I remember never thinking it was my fault. I remember the question,

"Jessica, who do you want to live with?"

What a hard choice. I love them both.

"Daddy." I said.

And my Mom? She let me go, if only for the night.

You see, my Mom knows unconditional love. She knows that sometimes, to fully love someone, you have to let them go. Sometimes, they have to feel their own pain, they have to see beyond your wisdom. Sometimes, they have to journey out beyond your shelter. She loved me enough to let me chose my Dad again, 5 years later. This time, as we backed down the driveway, she allowed me to stay for longer than the night. She, once again, displayed a love that was so unconditional that it didn't matter that her own heart was breaking. She knew my heart needed my Dad so she let me go.

Over the course of the next 5 years, our relationship was strained. She was in North Carolina and I was in Arkansas. Parting after summer visits, spring breaks and the occasional trips "home" must have ripped her apart. But she never made me feel guilty. She never manipulated me or begged me to come back. She simply loved, without condition.

Then, one night while home from college for the summer, I confessed to her sins. Sins of intentionally wanting to hurt her. Sins of lifestyle choices. Sins with my body. She wrapped her arms around me and we wept together. She did not make me feel guilty nor manipulate me. She simply loved.

As I type these words through tear-blurred vision, I can only pray that my children will see the unconditional love that my Mom has shown me. You see, although I didn't meet my Savior until I was 22, I've felt His love all of my life.

Loving me through hurt. Allowing me to ridicule, break and mock. Loving me through sin. Welcoming me home time and time again. Never manipulating, never forcing. Always loving, without condition.

I can't imagine not knowing this kind of love. It's something I've taken for granted my whole life. I've never questioned whether she would be there, I've never doubted her love. She's always loved, always given, always offered. Even now, as I am grown and ever busy with my own little ones, she gives, loves and offers. She takes on burdens on my behalf. She takes the barks and bites that I sometimes give her and freely offers forgiveness, often before I ever ask. She shows me, daily, what love looks like. It's never forceful or proud. It's always free, always tender, always welcoming.

My Momma isn't perfect. She's not sin free. She's not a woman who loves being recognized for all of her successes. She's not always strong. She's not one to take compliments to heart. But, above all, Momma, you should see that the only reason I love my Lord with my whole heart, the only reason that I claim to be the daughter of The King, the only reason my Savior won me with His love is because of the way you showed it to me first.

Thank you Momma for loving me forever, even before you knew my name. Thank you for showing me how to be a Mother myself. Thank you for introducing me to my Redeemer. Thank you Momma, for all that you are, all that you are growing to be and all that you pray over me.

I love you Momma.