Strange isn't it, the things you think about on Mother's Day. I remember this mostly because I wrote it down. It was on a Saturday morning a couple of years following my mother's eternal homegoing. I hurriedly rummaged through some files in my filing cabinet. I was looking for an important document. In the process, I ran across an envelope of things that my mother had opted to save.
I discovered a large manila envelope that I don't remember having noticed before. Inside the envelope was a folded certificate from Mary Hardin-Baylor College awarding my mother a "one-half literary tuition" scholarship. The scholarship had been provided because my mother had been salutatorian in her high school graduation class. Gordon G. Singleton, President of Mary Hardin-Baylor College, signed the certificate.
The thing I found most interesting is that although my mother opted for marriage shortly after high school graduation and subsequently assumed the role of a homemaker, she chose to keep that folded, timeworn-yellowed piece of paper for the remainder of her life. Who's to say how her life might have been different had she opted for school rather than motherhood.
It was almost with a sense of reverence that I folded the certificate and placed it back in the envelope where it has been stored. I found myself teary eyed with the thought that Mother's life could have been very different had she opted to delay marriage and motherhood. Of course, her choosing to do so would have made a world of difference in my life. It was a humbling thought to consider that I wouldn't have been, had Mother chosen a different path.
In his book entitled Soul Keeping, John Ortberg highlights a reality we seldom think about: "The day on which your existence is celebrated is your birthday. But you deserve no credit for your role in that event at all. You were never less competent and more helpless on any day of your life than the day you were born. You were weaker, slower, dumber, slimier, less coordinated or of a higher nuisance factor that day than any other day of your existence. A birthday is grace."
If my mother lived with a sense of regret, she kept it carefully camouflaged. She enjoyed the role of motherhood. My brothers and I had the good fortune to be her children. She accepted the responsibilities associated with motherhood as though it was up to her to ensure we were successful and equipped to fly once we left the nest.
For those of us who were children during the 50s and 60's, the badge of successful parenting related to the ability of one's children to do nothing that would bring embarrassment on the family. For the most part, I managed that pretty well through most of my growing up years.
That's not to say I was a perfect kid. I wasn't. Actually, for that matter, I'm still not, but I also never made headlines in the paper. I almost got honorable mention once when I was one of three students injured in a dynamite explosion in a 6th grade classroom.
Whether it made the news, I don't remember, but I'm fairly certain that none of us were identified by name. We also were not attempting to blow up the school. None of us could have been more surprised to learn that we were playing with dynamite.
Although I didn't find the important document I was looking for early on a Saturday morning, it served as a trigger to reflect on all I had been given through the gift of a gracious mother.
I regularly think of Mother with a sense of gratitude for the time we shared. Had it not been for her presence, I would have probably become a very different person. Trust me, I don't think you would have liked me as well. You have my mother to thank for the parts of my life that you like.
Consequently, Mother's Day always tugs at my heartstrings in a very positive kind of way.
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