I awoke today with the intention to sleep in longer. The inevitability of work the next day was my first thought, and so I was hoping that the tighter I squeezed my eyes shut, the faster the thought would dissipate.
But knowing that it was Mother’s Day, and that Ben was going to leave in 10 minutes to accompany his mom to church, and that I’d feel lame and guilty for allowing laziness to trump my promise to tag along, and that my own mother would scold me over that decision, was the motivation I needed to spring into gear â€” and the distraction I needed to forget about work.
So, I went to church. And for the first time, I was able to understand fully what was being preached.
It wasn’t about God, or Jesus, or Mary, or the Apostles whose names I cannot remember. It was about being a mom, being a parent.
“Parents are written all over their children,” the pastor said.
He expounded on the statement: All parents have hopes that their children will be smarter than they are, stronger than they are, have better jobs than they do, and sustain healthy relationships. But, he said again, “Parents are written all over their children.” So unless parents themselves show strength and intelligence and perseverance and engage in healthy relationships, the children can neither reap nor reflect those traits.Â
It was at that point that I thought about my fortune â€” my independence, my humor, my wisdom and patience; my home, my fiancÃ©, and, yes, even my job â€” and saw my parents’ faces rooted in all of those things. They taught me how to be the best of themselves.Â
I was wiping tears from my face when I noticed that there were many others doing the same. They all understood just the same.
“Parents are written all over their children,” the pastor said, one more time.
“Amen,” I said.Â