Mother’s Day is a tough day for me. It’s hard for me to really celebrate; it’s impossible for me not to observe it though. Those that know me know that so much of who I am is defined by the fact that I lost my mom when I was nearly 12. I was the youngest of eight children and I was a momma’s boy. I adored my mom. I, unlike any of the other kids, got a whole year of school days alone with my mom after my brother, Jack, went off to school. Although no one knew what was happening, her heart disease was just beginning to manifest itself through her shortness of breath and fatigue. In retrospect, I can see the symptoms. She had shortness of breath even after minor exertions. Every day she’d needed to “rest her eyes” a bit in the afternoon. I was five and I couldn’t stand for her to go to sleep, but “resting her eyes” was okay. However, I would sit right next to her while she did so. I doted over her. I worried over her.

I did worry about her so, even then. I think intuitively I somehow knew she’d die. At least from that year on, I’d lie awake at night with great anxiety fearing her death. My dad had quite a temper and on occasion I’d awaken after having fallen asleep to hear him griping at her over finances or whatever—sometimes even yelling at her. I felt such resentment toward him in those moments. He was an old-school, country man—the son of an alcoholic himself—and life was tough for him and he made it tough on her (and us).

I feel sad now that my remembrances of her are all through the eyes of a child. I try to get an adult grip on it and I just can’t. When it comes to thoughts of my mom, I become this child again, because that’s all I’ve got. I sort of become this scared little kid who was probably way too perceptive and sensitive and even insightful and thought way too deeply about things little kids ought not to be thinking about. I have some pretty painful scars too regarding all that mix.

Hence, I don’t have much tolerance in my heart for those who take their mother’s for granted. It’s hard for me to deal with kids (and even adults) who really gripe about and even bash their moms. Not a good idea to do much of that around me. Yeah, I understand the frustrations with moms, and in retrospect, I have a few frustrations with my own (they are human after all), but I’m talking about lack of appreciation that you have a mom at all. Because I never had one to take my kids home to see. No one can appreciate grandkids the way a grandmother can. There’s an incomparable light in the eyes of a loving grandmother. They “get it”, this having-and-raising-babies-deal, like no one else. And, it’s a delight to see. And, I missed it. I miss it.

She’d be incredibly proud of my four kids. They would be so blessed to know her and be loved by her. They are so much a tribute today to who she was and the vision I gained about loving and believing in your children. She believed in me. She was proud of me. She enjoyed me. She liked me. And, I knew it. And, most of my feeling-like-anybody-felt that way about me died the day she did, and I still struggle in that part of my “heart-locked-into-childhood” to believe anybody ever could feel that way about me again. My wife battles to break through that with me. My family and friends all do. It’s not their fault. There’s just a place in my heart that seems cauterized, unable to accept and/or to really feel that. But, the child within me knows without a doubt, clings tenaciously to the reality in fact, that she did. She was my mother. There’s no one else that can begin to compare with that.

In my child-heart, motherhood represents everything I love about God. I can see God best when I look through the heart of my mom. Perhaps it’s because my own experience locks me into a childlike view of my mom, and thus I maintain a childlike view of God (which is a must anyway). God graciously gave me a wife who was the same kind of mom I had. Tana adores her kids and always has. She joyfully gave up a career and so many other things, daily, for the sake of her kids. I’ve been growled at more than once when she was in one of her “momma bear” moments (as to say “don’t mess with my kids and don’t mess with me when I’m messing with them!”:). I have for 30 years now received immeasurable joy getting to partner with a wonderful mother in raising the four kids we both love without measure.

So, celebrate having a mom if you still have yours around. Celebrate your wives who are moms and all the other moms around you that are so awesome. And, if you’re like me, go ahead and observe Mother’s Day as you must in your heart, simply remembering the awesome gift God gave you, even if just for a short time. For some of you, even mourn Mother’s Day, if need be, if you never got to know a mom at all, or had one who treated you badly, as God truly understands what you missed.

Whatever you do don’t miss it—don’t miss what God did when he created motherhood. And, be thankful. And, stand in awe.