When you realize your youngest (and only child of three still at home) will turn 21 in weeks and move out in a couple months, you reflect on your mother role. Well, at moments, it's sheer panic or wonder concerning what I have taught them about life.
Endless times through these years of growing my own children, moments of my childhood replayed in my head, revealing the secrets of my mom's wisdom as she experienced life with us. There's a lot of life I learned from doing life with my mom that I didn't think I had learned until it began to rattle around in my own mind, mouth, and behaviors as I lived life with my own children.
These are merely five of many lessons I've learned from living life with my mom.
1. LISTEN INTENTIONALLY:
My mom would make us listen to HER music on vacation trips: Harry Chapin, Elvis, Roberta Flack, Diana Ross. I listened to every style of music, but the worst were classical and country. Hours of highway droned by to the melancholy lyrics of "Cats in the Cradle" and to silly vocal drama creations of "30,000 Thousand Pounds of Bananas." Torture always ensued, and I never wanted to be able to sleep in a car more than when my mom put on classical music and told us to be quiet to detect all the instruments used in the song.
Important messages and details
are told through the story of our
lives, but we have to listen
intentionally to recognize them.
2. KEEP PUSHING BACK THE DARK:
My parents are the proprietors of "Bellerive Gardens" their home and haven of floral art whose majesty many have come to view when it's on display. My parents consistently did the backbreaking work of potting, digging, or moving the dark soil to create new flower beds, plant seedlings, or enrich the soil with nutrients. All of the faithful dirty work became the eventual tapestry. I always wondered how they envisioned such an awesome array of color when staring at the initial black soil beds, ,
There are difficult seasons that you must work through in order to create the beauty you imagine.
3. SOMEONE NEEDS THE LIGHT
YOU HAVE:
We went to Hilton Head, South Carolina, many times as I grew up. The late night walk on the beach with only the moon shimmering off the water definitely subconsciously introduced me to romanticism: these moments were awe filled aesthetic experiences. Yet, a young child that dark created more imaginary horror. Each kid wanted his own flashlight in hand to light the way and avoid stepping on all the jellyfish splayed across the beach. However, only one random person was given charge of one flashlight. At any given time, someone was always asking to have the light shined to see something or step safely.
Live life in community with others. Sharing what you have is as necessary for you as it is for them.
4. HAVE YOUR OWN NAME:
My dad fondly named himself Mr. Wonderful and proceeded to embroider this title on nearly 20 shirts of various colors, just in case someone were to forget his name or he needed something to talk to new people about (which he never does). Let's not get started on why he named himself this. He is more than happy to list those off for you. Through the years, many people have mistakenly thus dubbed my mom Mrs. Wonderful. However, she ever so politely amends the error by explaining that her name is certainly not Mrs. Wonderful, a mere addendum to my dad, but rather Saint Rose. She proudly and clearly explains that she should have her very own identity (and probably cape with a huge "S" on it).
You are not someone's shadow.
Stitch your own name on the earth and make it a healing grace.
5. YOUR ART IS ART:
I am not an artist. I am not an artist. I am not an artist. For years, this reel ran in my head and actually quite often out loud, and for years when my mom heard me she would assert that I was an artist. Most often, I just chalked her words up to motherly encouragement. You know...I create those items only a mother could gawk at and love. But for years, I shallowly defined art as pictures, paintings, sculptures, and drawings instead that which creates a passion in another. One day, my mom asked me to write the note inside a card we were sending to someone "because you do such a nice job" she said. It was then that I realized that words were my art, and when she tells me that what I have written has drawn her to tears, I believe her again that I am an artist.
Creating is essential because art is creating that which expresses the important ideas and imaginings of the soul, and in so doing creates a million ways for us to see something anew.
So the childhood saying goes, monkey see, monkey do. Mother's live out loud; we only pray the life we live is translated into life lessons our kids can pass on. I've already heard a few lessons my kids have learned from me, but that's another blog entry..
Endless times through these years of growing my own children, moments of my childhood replayed in my head, revealing the secrets of my mom's wisdom as she experienced life with us. There's a lot of life I learned from doing life with my mom that I didn't think I had learned until it began to rattle around in my own mind, mouth, and behaviors as I lived life with my own children.
These are merely five of many lessons I've learned from living life with my mom.
1. LISTEN INTENTIONALLY:
My mom would make us listen to HER music on vacation trips: Harry Chapin, Elvis, Roberta Flack, Diana Ross. I listened to every style of music, but the worst were classical and country. Hours of highway droned by to the melancholy lyrics of "Cats in the Cradle" and to silly vocal drama creations of "30,000 Thousand Pounds of Bananas." Torture always ensued, and I never wanted to be able to sleep in a car more than when my mom put on classical music and told us to be quiet to detect all the instruments used in the song.
Important messages and detailsare told through the story of our
lives, but we have to listen
intentionally to recognize them.
2. KEEP PUSHING BACK THE DARK:
My parents are the proprietors of "Bellerive Gardens" their home and haven of floral art whose majesty many have come to view when it's on display. My parents consistently did the backbreaking work of potting, digging, or moving the dark soil to create new flower beds, plant seedlings, or enrich the soil with nutrients. All of the faithful dirty work became the eventual tapestry. I always wondered how they envisioned such an awesome array of color when staring at the initial black soil beds, ,
There are difficult seasons that you must work through in order to create the beauty you imagine. 3. SOMEONE NEEDS THE LIGHT
YOU HAVE:
We went to Hilton Head, South Carolina, many times as I grew up. The late night walk on the beach with only the moon shimmering off the water definitely subconsciously introduced me to romanticism: these moments were awe filled aesthetic experiences. Yet, a young child that dark created more imaginary horror. Each kid wanted his own flashlight in hand to light the way and avoid stepping on all the jellyfish splayed across the beach. However, only one random person was given charge of one flashlight. At any given time, someone was always asking to have the light shined to see something or step safely.
Live life in community with others. Sharing what you have is as necessary for you as it is for them.
My dad fondly named himself Mr. Wonderful and proceeded to embroider this title on nearly 20 shirts of various colors, just in case someone were to forget his name or he needed something to talk to new people about (which he never does). Let's not get started on why he named himself this. He is more than happy to list those off for you. Through the years, many people have mistakenly thus dubbed my mom Mrs. Wonderful. However, she ever so politely amends the error by explaining that her name is certainly not Mrs. Wonderful, a mere addendum to my dad, but rather Saint Rose. She proudly and clearly explains that she should have her very own identity (and probably cape with a huge "S" on it).
You are not someone's shadow.
Stitch your own name on the earth and make it a healing grace.
5. YOUR ART IS ART:
I am not an artist. I am not an artist. I am not an artist. For years, this reel ran in my head and actually quite often out loud, and for years when my mom heard me she would assert that I was an artist. Most often, I just chalked her words up to motherly encouragement. You know...I create those items only a mother could gawk at and love. But for years, I shallowly defined art as pictures, paintings, sculptures, and drawings instead that which creates a passion in another. One day, my mom asked me to write the note inside a card we were sending to someone "because you do such a nice job" she said. It was then that I realized that words were my art, and when she tells me that what I have written has drawn her to tears, I believe her again that I am an artist.
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