On Sunday in the United States is Mother’s Day. It is, perhaps, the most complicated day ever.
The very name creates mixed emotions. We all had one, but the memories are not like Hallmark cards. And the present is often bittersweet. And though we all had one, not everyone who wants to be is one. And many who were one, are not now.
Which may be why, when God created feasts for the Jewish people, none of them was Mother’s Day. The feasts told his story of life with his people. And the one new meal that Jesus invited us to wasn’t to celebrate and isolate a gender or a role, but to bring us to a common table.
But when God gave directions, honoring mothers and fathers is one of the top ones.
My sisters are making this offering of respect these days. Our mother carries the marks of Alzheimer’s. My sisters carry my mother. Though she only occasionally knows them, like a tiny clear tile in a mosaic of made-up reality, they always know her.
This Sunday, they will visit her at her health care facility. I will visit other women, some mothers, some not, in the health care facility where I work. I will offer prayer and comfort and hope and compassion in all kinds of situations and relationships.
And I thank God for these three women, two sisters and a mom, who are living out love in real life.