Having only been blessed with daughters, I have been accused a time or two of raising my girls like stereotypical boys. One only needs to look at my pet names for them--Bert, Klod, Buddy, Billy and Doogie--to see there may be some merit to these allegations.
My daughters have broken no less than three windows from the inside of our house. They once destroyed the trim on our balcony banister by rappelling over it with a rope and broke off a porch light fixture throwing a football. We have photos of my two oldest girls playing basketball in our driveway in their prom dresses while they were waiting for their dates to pick them up! I could go on, but I think you get the picture.
I proudly recall another such instance of my “girls being boys.” We were driving down the highway on a family trip when my wife, Amy, fell asleep. Keep in mind that I think Amy looks cute no matter what, but on this particular day she was in rare if not unprecedented form. She seemed to be totally knocked out and her mouth was completely agape. Well, the girls thought this was hilarious and proceeded to fashion a huge stogie out of paper towels, gently placing it in their poor mother’s mouth so as to not awaken her. Of course, they took snapshots and even flagged down passengers in passing cars to share in the moment. Our sweet little girls were literally “lol” at the expense of their dear mother. Upon finally being roused by the cacophony, a confused and (very briefly) angry Amy spat out the faux cigar and barked, “You’re all going to miss me when I’m gone!”
All I can say is no truer words were ever spoken.
The following could be said about Amy and many mothers: She is the glue that holds our family together. She is the sun around which all of our worlds orbit. She is the one who, when we are feeling lazy, tells us to get out of bed to go to church. She is the one about whom we sometimes say, “We’d better tell Mom!”, and then other times say, “We’d better NOT tell Mom!” She is the maker and keeper of all our family traditions, from the matching pajamas that all the girls look forward to receiving every Christmas, to the endless posing for pictures every Easter. She is staunchly and equally proud of all her children, but still quick to give them those infamous “daggers” when they disappoint. I pity the bear that gets between her and one of her cubs.
If you are not fortunate to have had a mother or wife in the mold of Proverbs 31:10-31, I am so sorry. I am blessed beyond words to have had both.
Dear God, as we pause to honor mothers everywhere on this Mother’s Day 2016, thank you so much for godly mothers.
"I am reminded of your sincere faith, which first lived in your grandmother Lois and in your mother Eunice and, I am persuaded, now lives in you also" (2 Timothy 1:5).