Being Mother

While I was a student at Wheaton College, a friend and I were "adopted" by a couple from our church.   Once a month, or as was most often the case, once a week, we'd have a fine Sunday dinner with Angus and Betty.  If you can't guess by the names, they were British, very British.  He worked for Air Canada then, but had lived in many other places before Wheaton.    Those Sunday afternoons included some wonderful food, stories of WWII and post-war London, and of course a cup of tea.   Betty would bring in the tray laden with a pot of strong tea, a pot of hot water, milk and sugar and cups and saucers.  As she knelt by the table she'd proclaim, "I'll be Mother" and proceed to pour each of us a cup of tea according to our individual tastes.  I'd take mine strong with a spoon of sugar, but Angus liked his weak with milk of course, no sugar.  She'd proceed to pour and mix each cup to suit our tastes.  


Betty was simply serving tea, but that simple statement of "I'll be Mother" said so much more than that.  Being Mother entails so much more than just doing the needed chore.  And it's something I'm continuing to learn after 16 years of on the job training.    Being Mother is all about serving, serving out of love, serving each child uniquely and unconditionally.   I first began to learn about being Mother by watching my own mother, and by watching her mother.  When I came along, my mom already had 2 boys keeping her more than busy, and another followed soon after me.   Her mother, Elsie, still had a teenager at home, her baby, Billy. 

Her five children were always close to her, at least to her heart if not physically.  She was there to listen to their joys and laugh with them (the purple bathing suit story will have to come later!).  She was there to listen to their sorrows and cry with them, something she did for my mom many, many times.  She was on her knees for each of them in their hardest times - whether it was an alcoholic husband, the loss of an unborn child, a husband severely burned in an airplane accident, a wayward child, or her own son in the jungles of Vietnam.    The prayers never stopped.  


Grandma was there for each of us.  You could feel it in the hug as you walked in the door - the hug that said "I love you this much and I'll never stop!"   Us grandkids would be sent outdoors to explore, dig, swing, run, make mudpies, pick berries, and just be free of care.  While we were enjoying this freedom, she was sitting in the kitchen with our mother - listening over a cup of coffee, being Mother.  


When her daughter, Betsy, gave birth to her "fourth" child that turned out to be triplets, she wasted no time in getting on the plane and heading south to Colombia to lend a hand, and be Mother.


When a son-in-law died suddenly, she was there to cry, to love, to laugh - she was there to be Mother.


When the brothers and sisters didn't get along so well, she was Mother and quietly brought understanding and grace back to the conversation.  When there was separation, it was only physical, because each child was so close to her heart.  She was being Mother.   


Like her heart, her door was always open (though you had to be careful not to let the screen door bang so as not to wake up Papa!).   There were always Oreos in the cupboard, and popsicles in the freezer.   Flowers were always blooming, and there was always some craft in some stage of completion.  And by her chair in the den, was a well worn Bible.   


All this love and grace didn't come naturally - it came from her Father. "God is love. Whoever lives in love lives in God, and God in him." (I John 4:16)  Grandma had experienced God's love first hand, so it naturally flowed right back out to others.  


I'm writing this on Mother's Day, just a few days after her (would have been) 99th birthday.  Maybe that's why this is kind of sentimental, and I hope not too sappy.  I guess this is more of a reflection on motherhood than on Grandma's life.  But to me that's what her life was all about - being Mother.