Why Every Mom Needs a Bouquet of Dead Flowers This Mother’s Day
ALICIA BRUXVOORT
“We know what true love looks like /because of Jesus. He gave His
life for us, and He calls us to give our lives for our brothers
and
sisters.” 1 John 3:16 (VOICE)
I’ll never forget the Mother’s Day () my firstborn gave me a bouquet of dead daisies.
The evening before, I’d watched from the kitchen window /as my son
roamed the overgrown field /in our backyard and proudly picked a handful
of golden blooms. He’d sniffed the silky petals /with an appreciative
nod, then he’d marched inside and asked me for a shoebox, some tape and a
roll of aluminum foil.
While I’d tucked his little sisters into bed, Lukas had tucked
himself behind his bedroom door and warned me to stay out/because he was
working on a big surprise.
But when Mother’s Day arrived /with dawn’s pink streaks and my boy’s giddy shrieks, the surprise was all his.
He raced to my bedside with that foil-wrapped box /tucked under one
arm, and he jumped /up and down /on the edge of my bed /until I flashed him
a sleepy smile. As he sang an original rendition of “Happy Mommy’s Day
to You,” I propped myself up on a pillow and let him plop his gift onto
my lap.
* giddy; having a sensation of whirling and a tendency to fall or stagger; dizzy.
My 6-year-old watched with wiggly excitement /as I oohed and ahhed
/over the shiny globs of wrapping paper. Little by little,
I peeled back
those lumpy layers of foil and plucked at the wads of tape until,
finally, I lifted a bouquet of brown blooms from that shoebox tomb.
My son’s wide blue eyes landed on his gift, and a bewildered grimace
replaced his proud grin.
But before his disappointment could morph into
tears, I pulled Lukas close and thanked him for his thoughtfulness.
* bewilder; cause (someone) to become perplexed and confused.
* morph; change smoothly from one image to another by small gradual steps using computer animation techniques.
Then I hopped out of bed and stuffed those dung-colored daisies /into
my fanciest crystal vase. And with a wink, I placed that Mother’s Day
surprise /right in the middle of the kitchen table /as if it were the
perfect centerpiece for our day of celebration.
In hindsight, I realize () it was.
I may not have understood it then, but five kids and a dozen years
later, I’ve learned something about motherhood //that greeting cards don’t
acknowledge and brightly colored daisies can’t capture.
While motherhood is a beautiful and priceless gift, it is also a surprising summons to die.
And maybe that’s why on some days this high and holy calling feels
laborious and lusterless; monotonous and prosaic.
Because motherhood
(even spiritual motherhood) is more than a mandate /to raise the next
generation.
It is an unending invitation /to lay down our lives.
Motherhood is saying no /to the clanking cadence of selfishness and
yes to the quiet rhythms of love.
It’s relinquishing pride and
persisting in prayer, surrendering greed and growing in grace.
* cadence; rhythmic flow of a sequence of sounds or words:
* relinguish; voluntarily cease to keep or claim; give up.
Motherhood is pacing the floor with a crying baby in the dark of
night and holding a tearful teen in the depths of disappointment.
It’s wiping bottoms and noses and floors /countless times a day and listening to the same knock-knock joke over and over again.
Motherhood is chasing toddlers /when we’d rather be chasing our own
dreams. And folding superhero underwear /when we’d rather be rescued from
the monotony of the daily grind.
Quite simply, motherhood is a daily decision /to paint the ordinary
moments of our days /with the extraordinary love of Christ.
And this kind
of love may not resemble a bouquet of golden giggles or blossoms of
bright pink hugs.
It may look more like a batch of brown blooms /tucked
in a shoebox. Or like our Savior /hanging from a rugged cross.
First John 3:16 reminds us that the beauty of true love is always painted with tenacious tints of sacrifice and humble hues of surrender.
Let’s be honest: Whether we’re moms or wives, daughters or friends,
this kind of love doesn’t feel easy or natural. But I’m learning that
something surprising happens /when we fix our eyes on Jesus and follow
His example. Little by little, our lives begin to bloom with a beauty
that doesn’t wilt or wane, falter or fade.
And somehow, as we pour our lives out in love, our faithful Savior
uses the gift of daily death /to grow us into women /radiant with His
glory and fully alive in His grace (Psalm 34:5).
Dear Jesus, help me to imitate Your love today. In Jesus’ Name, Amen.