None of my children live in the same town I live in.
Therefore, it’s always interesting to see who makes contact first on Mother’s
Day. We are a family of “text-ers” so I couldn’t wait to see whose text would
come in first. Would it be my son, my firstborn? Or perhaps my oldest daughter
who is now a mother for the first time? Or maybe my youngest, the daughter who
is more responsible than I’ll ever be?
As I wondered, I tiptoed downstairs, opened the front door
gently and plucked the Daily Times from the front porch. Carefully, I placed it
on the table where my own mother would find it. Then I placed her Mother’s Day
card on top, just so she wouldn’t miss it. She hasn’t felt well lately, not
good enough to join me for church, but I knew that sometime during the morning
she would enjoy reading the morning news along with her breakfast.
I busied myself getting ready, picking out just the right
outfit and putting on the “war paint.” The wonders of age-defying make up never
fail to amaze me. Just then, I heard it. The soft chime of a text message
coming in.
I picked up the phone and smiled. My first Happy Mother’s
Day text. From my first born and his lovely wife. Sweet. Later, the new mother
chimed in; she would come by later today with a gift, and her hubby and baby
girl. I could hardly wait! I finished getting ready and headed downstairs.
Mom was up and we exchanged a few pleasantries. The card had
warmed her heart. I reminded her that, as soon as she felt better, I would
follow through on her promised Mother’s Day gift: a manicure.
I slipped into church, a third row seat. I breathed a prayer
of thankfulness, thankful for my mom, for my children, for my new
granddaughter. So many blessings. Then a little green blinking light on the phone
in the seat next to me caught my attention. Another text? But no, it was a
missed call. And now I had a voice-mail. From my youngest. Again, I smiled.
Since I was in church, (I mean, the time of fellowship was
over and the sermon was about to be delivered) I wouldn’t just pick it up and
listen to the voicemail. But I did (and this is just between me and you) text
my daughter to make sure she didn’t need anything. (You never stop being the
mom.) All she sent back was: Listen to the voice-mail.
As soon as I got into my car after the service, I did just
that. A sweet Mother’s Day message from my baby girl and her boyfriend.
They remembered. I love that.
So, even though none of my children live here, in this town,
they do live here.
Everyday.
In my heart.
Wishing you a Happy Mother’s Day filled with opportunities
to make memories or sweet remembrances of times past,
