I drove my mom to the airport the other day, and my heart still aches at the thought of her absence. Though not much of a sentimental person generally, I'm always deeply saddened when visits with family, and Mom in particular, come to an end. Besides the fact that I learned nearly everything I know about motherhood from her venerable example, or the beautiful memories of young life as her daughter, my mother was and is an extraordinary woman living a virtuous life in a very hidden way.
The week before last I woke at my grandfather's house to the familiar sound of my mother preparing for his morning routine, which is quite elaborate I must say. In the kitchen I approached the same working hands and loving service I'd remembered from my youth. The scene was so common and familiar, so seemingly ordinary. Later that day my father phoned to check on her and I answered. "How is your mother.....has the pain subsided?" he asked.
I'd had no idea my mother had been experiencing tremendous pain all morning. She never said anything. She went about her work and her faithful submission to God's will, as always, without a word of complaint. She didn't gasp or sigh, or move any slower than normal, but I know she clenched her hands when no one was looking. She did confide in my father by email that morning, but had I not answered the telephone I never would have known she'd been suffering. Such was the case throughout my childhood - whatever crosses my mother endured were held close to her heart in silence and with great love.
Good mothers are some of the most extraordinary people of all. What merits their greatness is, I think, the very fact that they seem so ordinary. From the outside a good mother tends to her children. She folds laundry and mops floors, makes beds and prepares meals. From the outside her world appears simple, and much of society places little value on her accomplishments.
But real magnanimity and true accomplishment are often unseen from the outside. Behind the upbringing of a child, for a good mother is constant sacrifice of personal desire, countless tears shed and nights held vigil, all for love. Underlying the tending of her children is patience, kindness, generosity of spirit, listening,
teaching....always teaching, forming. Hidden behind a mother's daily household chores is diligence in small things,
perseverance in finishing tasks, love for the son whose shirt she folds, prayer for the daughter whose bed she makes. Beneath a simple family meal on the dinner table is the time it takes to plan for groceries, consideration of balanced nutrition and the specific dietary needs of each household member. I've been asked more than I can count
what I do all day, and I realize how little people know about the life of a mother. Her sacrifices and her love are far more deep and penetrating than the modern world knows. But this hidden life is one a mother should treasure deeply. It resembles the humble and hidden life of our own Mother, the
Queen of heaven and earth, whose crown of glory was overshadowed by seemingly simple and ordinary tasks. Cleaning, cooking, laundry.
When the phone conversation with my father ended I approached my mom, feeling terribly that I hadn't risen earlier to prepare my grandfather's morning routine for her. As always she smiled and downplayed her suffering, not in dishonesty but in love and desire to serve without complaint. Though I considered pressing her to "open up", as they say - to reveal every detail of her morning's pain and difficulty, as a mother myself I knew better. Such intimacy with the will of God through love and obedience is sometimes meant to be hidden, better to be hidden, "pondered in one's heart". As it is so often in the life of a mother.
Happy Birthday, Mom. You know how grateful I am. I love you, so much.
