My first memories of Mother’s Day are sitting in church as a child while the minister recognized all the mothers. I remember them standing in recognition of their day, each mother wearing a corsage. It was a tradition in that generation and somehow the men knew it was part of their jobs to provide the corsages for Mother’s Day Sunday. By the time I became a mother, corsages had vanished, but recognition in church on Sunday morning remained. In my early mom years, I felt funny standing in church … as if that role still belonged only to my mother and not to me. After God had given us three or four kids, I was firmly convinced of my new identity! It’s an interesting metamorphosis, the rapid changes that make a woman a mother. As my daughter Ashley said during her fourth pregnancy, “I don’t know what happened to the old Ashley. She got lost somewhere along the way.” I bet you can relate too. “Mother” was who I’d become and now who my daughter had become. The vestiges of the former were now to be found only in photo albums.
Looking Forward to the Real Mother's Day
Looking Forward to the Real Mother's Day
Looking Forward to the Real Mother's Day
My first memories of Mother’s Day are sitting in church as a child while the minister recognized all the mothers. I remember them standing in recognition of their day, each mother wearing a corsage. It was a tradition in that generation and somehow the men knew it was part of their jobs to provide the corsages for Mother’s Day Sunday. By the time I became a mother, corsages had vanished, but recognition in church on Sunday morning remained. In my early mom years, I felt funny standing in church … as if that role still belonged only to my mother and not to me. After God had given us three or four kids, I was firmly convinced of my new identity! It’s an interesting metamorphosis, the rapid changes that make a woman a mother. As my daughter Ashley said during her fourth pregnancy, “I don’t know what happened to the old Ashley. She got lost somewhere along the way.” I bet you can relate too. “Mother” was who I’d become and now who my daughter had become. The vestiges of the former were now to be found only in photo albums.