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Dear Momma, I Remember…

May 14, 2017

When I don’t know what to say or I blow it for the millionth time, may my children see Jesus like I did time after time as a child. Dear momma, I remember.

Dear Momma,

It’s Mother’s Day. Today is your 38th if I did the math right. As your firstborn, I can brag that I made you a mother. I can’t, however, take credit for the amazing mom you have always been.

The past few months I’ve been thinking about my childhood. Want to know what I remember?

I Remember the Sweet Parts

I remember falling and skinning my knees when I was little. I recall the hot sticky tears streaming down my face. I can still see you kneeling down in front of me. Your compassion on that day was palpable. You wanted to heal my pain. You searched for the words to say to comfort me but they wouldn’t come. So you said, “I wish I knew what to say to you to make you feel better.” And I responded with Mary Poppins’ ever so clever words: “supercalifragilisticexpialidocious.” We laughed and the pain was gone.

We laughed and the pain was gone. #motherhood

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I remember most Saturdays being filled with orange juice and donuts. You and dad would sip your coffee and talk. Marshall and I do this now…the early morning coffee part. It wasn’t until recently that I realized that it was probably your example that inspired us to do the same. Silly me…thinking it was an original idea.

I remember that morning at breakfast at that one place (was it called Walt’s?) when I asked you if I could wear make-up. And you said, “yes!” A decade later you helped me say “yes” to my wedding dress. When I don’t know what to say or I blow it for the millionth time, may my children see Jesus like I did time after time as a child. Dear momma, I remember.

I remember your care

I recall your cross stitch pieces and all the patience behind them. You’ve always taken so much time and care into making beautiful, memorable pieces of art for others. Your needlepoint is a beautiful reflection of how you live your life in all areas.

I remember all the years you taught the little ones at church. How many kids had their first introduction to Jesus because of Mrs. Judi’s Rainbow class? I don’t even know how to quantify that but I do know that many precious little lives were pointed to Jesus in a small classroom filled with goldfish, construction paper and glue sticks because you cared.

I remember how hard it was when Dad was sick but you worked so diligently to love him and your children well. When I look up selfless, your picture is there. Like seriously.

I remember the funny parts

I remember my brother and I getting you a bumper sticker for your car that said, “Honk if you love Jesus” so you wouldn’t stress out so much when people honked at you.

I remember you always took the scenic route.

I remember how you were always rearranging the furniture. If you were cleaning, something was going to be rearranged. This habit is clearly genetic because I, too, rearrange furniture… much to my husband’s dismay.

When I don’t know what to say or I blow it for the millionth time, may my children see Jesus like I did time after time as a child. Dear momma, I remember.

I remember the important parts

I remember that you instilled in me a love for reading that I now have the honor of passing on to my children. I recall those summer trips to the library and my first books about an animal named Tiggy.

I remember how brave you’ve always been. I remember a rather dark season when dad was not doing well. I remember praying together, crying together, believing for greater things together. I remember your steadfast faith.

I remember the care packages I received in college. Do you remember the cookie monster party in a box you sent? That was legit.

I remember you have always helped me pursue my dreams. You continue to be my biggest cheerleader.

When I don’t know what to say or I blow it for the millionth time, may my children see Jesus like I did time after time as a child. Dear momma, I remember.

I remember the day I became a momma

I remember the day I became a momma. You were there to cheer me on, hold my hands through the contractions, rub my back, pray for me and finally…FINALLY help me welcome our first born into the world.

I guess I remember a lot.

As I sit here surrounded by my three beautiful blessings from the Lord, I’m tempted to brood over all the ways I’ve blown it and all the crazy things my kids will remember about me. Then I think of you. You weren’t a perfect mom….not that I really remember the moments where you blew it…but I know you weren’t because, you know, only Jesus is perfect. But I don’t remember that. I don’t remember those moments that are less than stellar; I only remember your love and prayers.

You weren’t a perfect mom but I don’t remember your imperfections. I only remember your love.

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I remember the strong, determined, kind and PRAYING mother that you have always been and continue to be. Your prayers, your devotion to Jesus, your determination to keep us close to God no matter the circumstances we faced; all of these are what has shaped me. It has made me determined to love my children and point them to Jesus.

So when I don’t know what to say or I blow it for the millionth time in one day, may they see Jesus like I did time after time as a child. Because of you.

Happy Mother’s Day Momma. I remember.

Patty

When I don’t know what to say or I blow it for the millionth time, may my children see Jesus like I did time after time as a child. Dear momma, I remember.

When I don’t know what to say or I blow it for the millionth time, may my children see Jesus like I did time after time as a child. Dear momma, I remember.

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5 Comments

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Comments

  1. Linda Robinson says

    May 14, 2017

    Patty, your mom is truly a woman of God and I am proud to call her my friend. And I remember, also.
    You are also a woman of God in your own right, and a wonderful mother to your three blessings. I love you both.

    Reply
  2. Cindy says

    May 24, 2017

    What an awesome tribute to your Mom. You are an amazing writer.

    Reply
  3. Elizabeth Keaton says

    May 25, 2017

    Thank you for sharing this truly amazing

    Reply
  4. Theresa Boedeker says

    June 13, 2017

    Patty this a beautiful tribute wo a wonderful loving mother. I love the memories you remember. The good and not bad. The little things that influence the big things.

    Reply

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Kindness is not weakness. Kindness is strength in Kindness is not weakness. Kindness is strength in action. 
Today we’ll walk for a friend we’ve never met but today he would have been 26. 
His life was snuffed out not because of anything he did. Rather, because his skin color was *wrong*. So today we walk because our skin color is *right*. And we just can’t take these lies any more. 
Because kindness can be shown  with words but it flexes its strength when it moves. When it stands up for others who are created equal but not treated equal. 
Today we walk with our brothers and sisters of color—beautiful color—who need to be heard. Need to be seen. 
Who need to walk/run/jog/laugh/smile/enter a room without fear that their life may be in danger. 
My children will learn that kindness is strength in action. And it starts today— with a walk.  #ahmaudarbery 
#runforahmaud #runforahmaudarbery
“Dom. Charlee. Come meet your baby brother, Devi “Dom. Charlee. Come meet your baby brother, Devin.” My 4 year old son and 18 month old daughter peered at the little red ball yawning and stretching in my arms. “Can I hold him mommy?” Dom held out his arms to hold his new little brother. 
Throughout the day, he came over to stare at his sleeping sibling; offering  hugs before rushing off to play. 
Charlee was equally smitten. With her own baby in her arms, she followed me wherever I went. When I changed the baby’s diaper, she changed her baby doll’s diaper. When I rocked Devin, she rocked her own bundle of joy. 
A family of five felt wonderful. Until—“Mommy, I don’t feel well.” Marshall took Dom to the Doctor. I put my fretting to good use while rocking the baby with Charlee by my side. “It’s pneumonia,” read the text. 
A few days later, Charlee began tugging at her ears. “Looks like an ear infection,” said the dr. “I’ll prescribe an antibiotic.” Worried about the baby, we began Operation Sibling Quarantine. Too late. 
Devin tested positive for RSV at two weeks old. 
Little did I know this was just a taste of what was ahead for our family. Dom would get sick. Two days later, Charlee would come down with a fever. Two days later, I wouldn’t feel so hot. The cycle continued—each family member generously taking his turn with a bout of sickness. “What are you doing?” Marshall asked. 
I stood facing our wall calendar. “I’m tracking who gets sick. Maybe it’s not as bad as it feels.” A month in, I stopped. It was as bad as it felt. 
The struggles extended into nap schedules, car seat arrangements, laundry, bathing, and clothing our family. “It’s our third baby! Shouldn’t we know what we are doing by now?!” At a MOPS meeting, seated across from a mom of three grown boys, I got my answer.
“It takes at least a year to find a new normal after having a baby. Every time.” She continued, “Every time a child is added into the picture, the entire family will need to get a handle on the changes that come with the new addition.” Oh.
**************
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