Coffee brewing in a dimly lit house is one of my favorite things. See, much to the distaste of my family, I am an early riser. As a matter of fact, as I write this the sun has yet to peek over the trees on the other side of the field across from my house. Which by the way is hands down the most beautiful place to witness a sunrise.
I live in what we call “farm country,” on the highest point in the whole county, surrounded by what was once the family farm. Because I also live in what can be and has been the path of several hurricanes over the years, one of which destroyed a cotton crop, this land is now farmed by someone else.
The sunrise here looks very different in each season. The colors are sometimes bright and cheerful while other times they are full of calming pastels that just hint at what is coming later in the day. But nothing beats a low fog hanging over the cotton with beams of light glowing through making a beautiful quilt of color over the field.
I have always loved the quiet of the house before the rest of my crew begin stirring about. I feel like I can get more done by 8 a.m. than some people do all day. Unfortunately, I haven’t always gotten to actually DO those things because apparently it would disturb everyone else’s sleep. Hmmmm….
This past Mother’s Day was no different. I woke early and decided “ya know I believe I will just lay here for a bit.” From my bed I have a beautiful view of an old oak tree with a swing attached. While I was taking in the view of the morning, my husband whispered, “Happy Mother’s Day.” Trying to hide my eyes and cover the quiver in my voice, I choked out a thank you. You see, this particular morning the quiet time that I crave everyday was almost deafening.
My children have been living outside of my home for almost six years, and I miss them! I miss the chaos of getting everyone ready to start their day. The frantic yell from the bedroom “Mom where is my, fill in the blank?” The lunch boxes opened on the counter while each one put in their order for the day, ham folded evenly over the bread, pickle in a bag, Cheez-its please, oh and grab an extra water bottle and snack for after school. I miss breakfast, devotion and prayer in the car on the way because we ran out of time at home. Phew, I just wore myself out remembering how some mornings looked at our house.
After telling my husband how much I miss those days we readied ourselves for church where I would sit on a Mother/Daughter panel as the “mother of adult children” (still not sure how that happened so fast). I mean come on, how did I become an over-50 mom? Was it not just a minute ago that I was bringing that little 4-pound baby boy home? Oh, and pulling my daughter’s hair into a bun for her ballet recital? How is it now just the two of us headed to church with no bickering or giggling in the backseat?
I learned so much about my daughter while on this panel. First, she is an incredible public speaker. I sat there listening to this woman pouring out such wisdom. No longer my little baby girl. She made jokes, at my expense of course, and I loved it. She cried at memories while I tried to coach her to breathe through her tears (as if she needed my help). And she shared her heart about what kind of mother she wants to be one day.
I was especially struck by her last statement when asked what one quality her mom possessed that she hoped to emulate as a mother. She surprised herself with a change in her answer. We were given these questions a couple of days prior to Sunday so that we could get an idea of what the day would hold. She told me later that her original answer was that I was a nurturer. Which is hilarious to some of my friends because they say I am not nurturing at all. I disagree with them! My stance is that I am nurturing, but I don’t “baby.”
My husband and I said early on that we were not just raising children, we were raising adults. As such, we tried to teach our children to make wise choices and to live with the consequences of the bad ones. We protected them but did not overly shelter them. It was very important to us that they function as informed, intelligent, productive and spirit-led members of society. It was not always easy I will confess. There were times I wanted to take care of all of their issues, but I knew that in the long run that would not serve them well.
As surprised as I was to learn that her answer would have been nurturing, I was even more blown away when she said “selfless.” I do not see myself as such. But y’all, my children do. She began to share specific memories that even I had forgotten. Through her tears and my “breathe in your nose and out your mouth” coaching, she shared how her mom always put everyone in the family’s needs ahead of her own. Making sure everyone had what they needed before she did. Even outside of our immediate family as her grandparents became ill and needed a caregiver. Her mom was the first one to offer a room and quit her job to take care of them. How as a teenager her brother had a friend that was suddenly homeless and without question her mom said “he can stay here.”
Please understand I am not sharing this to pat myself on the back at all. I deserve no special applause or admiration. I tell you because I want you to focus on her last words to the congregation… “I want to take this quality into motherhood because isn’t being selfless the best way to show and share Jesus?”
SHE GOT IT!!!! Mamas, listen … our daughters and sons hear what we tell them, but they SEE our lives. They watch as little ones, they rebel a little as teenagers, then they absorb and remember as adults.
The best I can ever do is show Christ to my family and to the world. The most special compliment I can be given is that my children saw Jesus in me. In the quiet of the morning with a cup of coffee, my Bible opened and the sunrise teasing me over the trees, my children saw Jesus. In the chaos of getting bags packed for days that went far later than 3 p.m., my children saw Jesus. In the tragedies and victories of our lives, my children saw Jesus. Now, as my daughter lives a life of purpose and calling, I see Jesus.
Written by: Betty Ann NeSmith. Betty Ann lives in Boston, GA with her husband, Payton.
