Jessie delivered this sermon on Mother's Day, and it came to me by way of my friend Cathy. Cathy and I had been talking about the impact the Ugandan girls who had been staying in our homes left on our hearts, and Cathy sent this to me later that day. If you are not someone usually described by the word "mother," please stick with this, because the message is not only for women who biologically produced their own offspring. It's for everyone.
From Jessie:
Motherhood is a hot topic these days, especially for this generation of moms. We aren’t just moms anymore, we are hockey moms, helicopter moms, soccer mom, room moms, working moms, stay at home moms, birth moms, adopted moms, surrogate moms, mommy bloggers.. We all want to put ourselves into some kind of category. I’m not THAT kind of mother, I’m THIS kind. My husband is convinced that that Harry Chapin song Cats in the cradle is responsible for an entire generation of overparenting…”I mean, just Listen to these lyrics:
A child arrived just the other day,
He came to the world in the usual way.
But there were planes to catch, and bills to pay.
He learned to walk while I was away.
And he was talking 'fore I knew it, and as he grew,
He'd say, "I'm gonna be like you, dad.
You know I'm gonna be like you."
He came to the world in the usual way.
But there were planes to catch, and bills to pay.
He learned to walk while I was away.
And he was talking 'fore I knew it, and as he grew,
He'd say, "I'm gonna be like you, dad.
You know I'm gonna be like you."
The guilt from that song is tremendous – am I doing enough? Are we signed up for enough stuff? Did I miss a soccer game? Will my child grow up and write Cats in the Cradle II?
Personally, I didn’t care what category I landed in, I just wanted to BE a mother. I lost my first at 5 months pregnant. And then I lost another. And another. By the time my Maggie arrived on this planet, I was pretty much on my knees and probably the most appreciative, uncomplaining first-time mother in history. The agony over NOT having motherhood made having motherhood all the more amazing and poignant for me. Looking at my gaggle of St. Lucy’s teenagers and Imagine Syracuse children today, some might say I became an addict.
Looking back, though, I realize that motherhood for me began years before I actually did give birth. Too many people in my life were motherless. My husband’s mom died when he was just 19 of breast cancer. My best friend’s mother collided with a drunk driver and went through the windshield. My own mother’s mother was emotionally cruel and distant.
So how did I get so lucky to be born into such a loving family? I got a dad whose eyes shine at each one of us. I got a mom on the sidelines of every softball game, music lesson and broken heart. She gave all of us the proverbial roots and wings. And as we grew up and flew, she stayed steady as rain calling on Sundays, keeping our rooms ready, reminding us about the house key in the coffee mug inside the garage. When visiting friends asked what they were in for, we’d just say “you’re really going to like it there.”
So here’s how we all turned out. My sister teaches seriously emotionally disturbed children, cooks for new moms, puts herself last behind her three children. My brother became a writer, editor, publisher and father of two babies. My father, in retirement, volunteers for hospice and helps people die. I am a youth minister and run a nonprofit teaching the arts to underprivileged children. And there my mother remains, steady as rain, marking our triumphs and tragedies with spaghetti and meatballs, brining turkeys at Thanksgiving, racing to hold our newborn babies while we nap.
And then one day this year, in a moment of doubt, she called me and said, “I’m surrounded by all of you magnanimous people! All you do-gooders. What am I doing?”
I rushed to dismiss this nonsense but her words slashed me. A few days passed, and I called her back.
I told her she held the secret to it all. Without ever claiming or naming the magnanimous do-gooder work she was doing as our mother, she was doing it. I said, You are in every hug I give Shelby, Zach, Anna, Jenna, Anissa, Janaya, Josh, Ashley, Angel and Ella. Your spirit is threaded all through Imagine Syracuse. You are in every early morning full family snuggle on mommy and daddy’s bed, dogs included. I still, at 40, need you. I still, at 40, turn to you when my day goes awry, when I need someone on my side whether I’m right or wrong, when I need someone to badmouth the haters and cry when I cry. Again, how did I get so lucky?
Turns out my OB, Lenny Marotta – most amazing OB in the universe- knew the secret too but I wasn’t ready to believe him that early on in Motherhood.
I stared at him as he signed me out of that sterile, safe hospital and asked, “What the hell do I do now?”
And Lenny said, “Can you love her? Can you give her a million kisses every day?” “Yeah,” I said. “ I can do that.”
“O K,” he said. “You’re ready to go.”
I guess it doesn’t have to be so complicated, categorized, and studied, this motherhood thing. Read all the books you want but it’s still a crapshoot. You just have to love people, and maybe give them a million kisses every day.
One last story - when my best friend grew up, she became an African missionary. While preparing for her first trip to Zimbabwe she called me in tears having been blindsided by a solid dose of Harry Chapin guilt for leaving her OWN babies behind for a month. She kept asking God for a sign that she was supposed to do this. Her PEACE came suddenly. And with it the words, “Cathy, you are a mother to all my children.”
We are ALL mothers to ALL God’s children. Charlotte Gray said of first time mothers: “From now on each wounded, abandoned, frightened child is yours. You live in the suffering mothers of every race and creed and weep with them. You long to comfort all who are desolate.”
Sound like someone else we might know? Jesus lives in our suffering, weeps and comforts all who are desolate, every race, every creed, every child. Every one of us. Maybe this is radical but we are at St. Lucy’s. Jesus is the Ultimate Mother. Jesus is a MOTHER. And whether we’ve had the greatest of moms or the worst of them, our true MOTHER and Father, OUR TRUE FAMILY, AWAITS US AT OUR HEAVENLY TABLE ANYWAY. Singer Songwriter Gillian Welch writes, “Blessed savior, make me willing, walk beside me, til I’m with them. Be my mother, my father, my sister, my brother, I am an orphan girl.”
Whether we’ve given birth to a child or not, we’ve all loved one, and we are all made in His image, therefore we all, men and women alike, have the potential to be the Ultimate Mother too.
Jesus has prepared our Thanksgiving table in Heaven, our rooms are warm and our beds are pulled down, the house key is in the coffee mug in the garage. We can bring our friends home to Him by saying, with the confidence every well loved child has, simply, “You’re really going to like it there.”
In the immortal words of last year’s homilist Carole Horan, Happy MOTHERING Day.
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