Growing up, it was a given that Dad’s personal time with me would be limited. After all, he had to go to work every day. If, during a rare day off, he turned his personal attention to us boys, it was received like a gift. He’d holler like a sportscaster, “Let’s play ball!” That announcement hit my spirit with explosive power! I’d scramble for my Rawlings “genuine leather” ball glove, and bust through the back screen like a kid ripping paper on Christmas morning.
I failed to think of Mom’s contributions with the same gratitude I afforded my father. Her gifts were domestic, ordinary—essential, but seldom exciting. She cared for us, civilizing our home, and she also worked 40 hours a week at a factory. Even as a working mom, she was ever present. She was there even when she wasn’t!
More than just motherly influence, she delivered the goods day in and day out. Like her ubiquitous notes buried in my lunch bag, reminding me to drink my milk—or the list posted on the kitchen counter beside the fridge that prompted me to do my chores and suggested improvement in my personal hygiene. (The first year she sent me to church camp, I discovered my neatly folded whitey-tighties had each been inscribed with a corresponding day of the week. I think I was four for six that year. Mom would be so proud to learn that I have recently improved that record.)
If Dad was the foundation of our home, Mom was the kitchen, the laundry room and the living room. Our home felt like home because of her. It looked like her and smelled like her. It breathed because she pumped the billows. As Dad’s son, I was keenly aware and appreciative whenever he extended himself personally. But I’ve come to realize, I took my mom’s efforts for granted.
She provided the necessities, like meals, clean jeans and clothes-line-fresh sheets. Her efforts were so organic, so intrinsic to my wellbeing that they became a part of who I was instead of being part of who she was. Dad’s “real job” provided the bulk of our income but mom’s work and selfless efforts provided a secure environment of comfort and provision. I breathed in the benefits with no thought of who was regulating the oxygen.
My mom passed away last summer. This Mother’s Day will be the first year I won’t be able to take her for granted. But I will take her some flowers.
I wish I could say I’ve learned my lesson, that I’ll never take others for granted. But that would be foolhardy. I do the same thing to my Savior, Jesus Christ—His limitless grace, forgiveness and mercy flow so freely over me that I take it for granted. I’m sure there were times my lack of appreciation disappointed my mother and I don’t want that to be the case with my Savior.
As a pastor, I often encounter two opposite groups who, in their own way, make the same mistake. There are those who don’t have a relationship with God because they wrongly take it for granted that He, for whatever reason, could never love or accept them. Then there are those who don’t have a relationship with God because they presume upon His love and forgiveness, never changing their ways or pausing to say thanks. The Bible says,
“Make sure you don’t take things for granted and go slack in working for the common good; share what you have with others. God takes particular pleasure in acts of worship—a different kind of ‘sacrifice’—that take place in kitchen and workplace and on the streets.” Hebrews 13:16 – The Message
I hope you’ll take a moment and thank God for His Son Jesus Christ. And, oh yeah… don’t forget your mom.
Read Ron’s column, Simple Faith, each Saturday on the Faith Page (page 3) of the Lancaster Eagle Gazette, or visit www.lancastereaglegazette.com.