Once an aspiring newspaper reporter asked me what was the
most exciting thing I'd done in my life. To me the answer was a no
brainer--being a mother. I don't think
she believed me, but it's the truth. Flying on a refueling mission, scaling the
Snake River Canyon wall, donning fire gear and going inside a burning house,
rafting on the "River of No Return", hiking in Montana's wilderness
area, sinking in quicksand up to my shoulders, being part of a traveling
theater group, are just a few of the exciting adventures in my life but raising
five children of my own and three foster children has brought me more
excitement, tears, laughter, and personal satisfaction than anything else I've
done.
A few days ago I finished reading Covenant Motherhood by Stephanie Dibb Sorensen. More than any other book I've read about
motherhood this one touched me and expressed many of my own feelings and
discoveries about motherhood. She
compares the essential elements of mothering children to the key concepts Jesus
taught and lived while here in mortality:
creation, teacher, succorer, provider, cleaner, defender and protector,
one who loves, sacrifices, forgives, shares, and saves. With realistic short sketches from her own
life as a young mother she points out the challenges, discouraging moments, and
the triumphs that face mothers and relates them to mothers' eternal
relationship with God as they walk closely in the Savior's footprints.
When I was a young mother I really didn't like Mother's
Day. No way could I measure up to the
saintly examples extolled in the talks or poems given that day. The perfect mothers lauded that day made me
feel inferior and like a failure.
Fortunately Mother's Day talks have become more realistic through the
years and I've gained a better understanding of what being a mother means. I'm not perfect and I didn't raise perfect
children. What matters is how much I
love them and how grateful I am to be their mother. I'm thankful too for the memories we share
and that they've all grown up to be responsible adults. Along with the fine people they are, they've
given me five more responsible adult children to love, and a baker's dozen
nearly perfect grandchildren.
In the Art of
Motherhood, which I've talked about before, I had the opportunity to tell
of the miraculous arrivals of my two youngest grandchildren. (The two-year-old
has been very concerned about Grandma's big owie and became nearly hysterical
when she saw my leg in the CPM machine.
She's convinced it's an alligator because it opens and closes like the
actions for a familiar nursery song about an alligator that snaps monkeys out
of a tree.) I often call these two
little girls our miracle babies, but in truth I consider all of my children and
grandchildren "miracles."
Nothing could possibly bring me more happiness than being their mother
and grandmother.
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