Mother

This is my mother. Isn't she gorgeous? I wouldn't have minded getting a few more of those exotic genes.

Every year I enjoy the chance this holiday provides to ponder the way that her influence has shaped my life. To think about the things I love best about her.

I have become accustomed to hearing talks at church on this day of the year that highlight someone's supermom. They talk about women who made canning, sewing, raising 11 children, and serving the community look effortless.

But as I think about my mother, it is not any supposed idea of perfection that makes me love her so fiercely. It all she has accomplished in spite of human frailty and life's difficulties that make her a hero in my mind.

When her body would fail her as she dealt with chronic illness, she fell to her knees. It didn't look like weakness. It taught me there was power in prayer.

When her past hurts would surface, she'd look to a higher source for healing, and keep loving her family the best way she knew how.

When she came upon questions she didn't know the answers to, she sought them out.

She was always trying, always growing, always evolving. She wasn't perfect, but observing her process of transformation, taught me how to grow myself: how to fill in my own gaps.

When a mother births her first child, she doesn't suddenly become that sainted figure we often hear paid tribute to.

 And thank goodness. It has been watching my mother fight the good fight: watching her try and fail, learn and grow, love and then love better, that has taught me the most crucial lessons of all.

Happy Mothers Day, to a truly beautiful woman.