THANKS, MOM!

I am constantly surrounded by moms. My wife is a mom. I have a mom. I have married into a family with a TON of moms. Moms are amazing. And, it does not have to be Mother's Day or spring time to talk about moms. They are heroes all the time, every day. There are a plethora of different moms out there. The new mom welcoming her first baby, the adoptive or step-mom who embraces the one she did not birth. There are the young moms rearing littles and the older moms preparing for their young adult college “kid” to come home for the holidays. Moms are incredible. It doesn't matter if you're a foster mom, adopted neighbor mom, a woman who has never had her own kids and is an “auntie” to others' children. It's not just that moms are amazing. Shoot. Women are amazing!

Growing up, I had a wonderful mom who loved Jesus and that hasn’t changed.

Here are a few nuggets that she modeled and instilled in me for which I’m so grateful:

My mom taught me to pray: I have constant memories of hearing the sound of my mom praying when I was a kid. There were times I would come into her room when I was a child and she would be praying in her bed. I knew she was praying because she was sitting up with pillows behind her back and her head completely covered with her comforter.

She was talking to God.

Sometimes she was crying. Sometimes she was silent. Sometimes it felt like she was fighting with someone.

Either way, I knew she was praying.

I recall interrupting her once.

Andrew: "Mom, I'm hungry."

Mom: “Andrew, you’re always hungry. I will be with you in a minute. I am praying."

Andrew: "If you're praying, why do you sound so funny?"

Mom: I am praying in tongues Andrew, I am talking to God.

Andrew: "Weird Mom."

Not only did my mom pray, but she taught me how to pray. At times we would pray in the living room all together as a family. At one point, my brothers and I wanted to learn how to pray in tongues. So, mom made all us start repeating her prayer language for practice.

It was odd.

Andrew: "Mom, you want me to copy your rumbling and mumbling? It sounded something like, “Should've bought a Honda, but I got a Hyundai (repeated super fast, over and over).

What is happening??

(If you’re from a Pentecostal background, you get the gist).

A bit awkward and weird at first exposure.

Hey, I know what some might be thinking....Don't knock it till you try it.

So there I was, 7 years old, trying to repeat my mom's prayer language. But, as a kid, I thought I was just talking to Jesus.

I am so grateful that my mom talked to Jesus about all kinds of things (both in tongues and not).

I learned that prayer is a conversation with God.

I learned how to pray.

I learned how to talk to Jesus like he's my friend.

My mom gave me a love for baking and cooking. That's right. I think she wanted her last child to be a girl and “oops a daisy”....HERE I AM. She fostered girlie things in my rearing years like watching Anne of Green Gables and baking in the kitchen.

Super weird stuff.

As a kid, I have memories of hundreds of candy molds at Christmas.

The hand-crafted reindeer candy canes that we sold to our neighbors for 50 cents.

The homemade cookies.

English muffin pizza frozen in the freezer to feed 3 hungry boys.

My mom loved to cook. She still loves it. She still bakes. I think her dream would be to trap me in a kitchen all day and cook, and COOK, and COOK.

This is what moms do, they feed their kids! While I get that time in the kitchen may not be every mom’s favorite, I believe that whatever mom’s cook, “nuke”, bake or serve is instinctively done with love.

With joy.

With grace.

With presentation and without.

On paper plates or china, it doesn't matter!

My mom was a comforter.

Growing up I got hurt.

Scrapes.

Bruises.

Broken arm.

Hurt jaw.

Bloody lips.

I was a crazy boy trying to keep up with my two older brothers.

But, my mom was there.

She wiped my tears and bought a lot of bandaids.

She took care of me.

Moms care deeply.

They love compassionately.

They are there to listen and always be present in the pain.

When our son Ellis was in the hospital fighting for his life, my mom was there with me.

She cried with me.

She held me.

She sat across a table from me at Chipotle.

As my tears salted my burrito, my mom dried them with a rough napkin.

This is what moms do.

This is what women do.

God designed them perfectly to love, care and nurture.

They pour out love and they teach.

They show compassion.

They extend grace.

Every mom.

Every woman.

Made for this.

Thanks, MOM.