Happy Birthday, Mom!

Not everyone appreciates their mother as much as they should.

When I was about five years old, I remember vividly the image of my mother in the kitchen, hovering over the counter, kneading bread dough. When she heard me coming, she would turn around ever so gracefully. The vision of a happy, beautiful woman with her yellow, flowered apron on appeared before me. With her dark brown hair pulled back into a bouncy pony-tail and a big, pink satin ribbon tied around it (not to mention her brightly colored, coordinating shoes) she was the epitome of all things beautiful to such a small child.

At 13 years old, any mother-daughter relationship turns into that of love and hate. I loved the times my mom and I would parade the halls of Annapolis Mall together. I would cooperate (sometimes) in her Bombay Company store, while she would reluctantly visit the Limited, Too! with me. I hated the times she told me to put newspaper down before I ever sat on a boys lap (not sure where she got that one!). Those were the years I didn't appreciate my mother as much as I should have... in public. Despite my outward displays of eye-rolls and ignorance, I still felt extremely close to my mother and somehow secretly, I desperately hoped that she knew I hadn't gone astray from her.

About two years ago, right after Bobby and I got engaged, I spent numerous hours with my mom - making wedding appointments, talking about details, driving to different venues. We spent a lot of time together and I realized our relationship had shifted somehow from what I remember. No longer was she dictating rules or "ruining my life!!!" but she was speaking with me as a friend and a sister in Christ.

The memories that I carry of my beautiful mother are those of happiness and joy, two qualities that are almost constantly surrounding her. On Saturday mornings, I remember coming down the stairs only to see my mom laying down in the living room with her bible open and her head laid low. A fellow blogger and AACS (my high school) alum, Val Nebbia explains it perfectly:

"I have always dreamed of the thoughts that she must have had in those quiet moments and over time I have determined that she must have been speaking with God. She must have been asking him what heaven was like. And I believe that her home is a painting, her scaled model of the things he told her. I believe that he gave her dreams so that she would not have to search any longer."

My mothers happiness and joy can be explained by this and although her home is beautiful and full of life and love, her glimpse of heaven must have been the abundant, real and tangible love of Christ that we'll get to experience once we get there.

Happy Birthday Mom!