Saturday, May 11, 2013

Mother's Day and a Bouquet of Buttercup Flowers

In less than a day, America will celebrate a national holiday instituted over 100 years ago. Cards will be purchased in a last minute frenzy. Others will be crafted by tiny hands that end up covered in glue stick stains.

I support Mother's Day. Moms deserve a heap of praise and gratitude. I have certainly fallen short in expressing such to my Mom over the years. I'm the first to buy in to the commercialization of the day with no regrets and a wish that I could lavish so much more than I do.

But this week, the impending holiday has weighed heavy on my heart. For every joyful mother-child relationship to be celebrated, I have seen equally, if not more, ones full of havoc. As I've reflected on the latter instances, I've felt an urge to put a temporary bandaid over those relational wounds. I envisioned brightening their day with a stunning bouquet of lily's and hydrangeas. Because surely that would make it all better. But in reality, when I really considered the dynamics, I saw instead a buttercup  flower bouquet. A puny fist full of mere weeds whose weak stems droop in m
y hand as I imaginatively gathered them together in my attempt to solace.

This Mother's Day my heart goes towards those whose folded hands hold a fictitious bouquet of vibrant yellow weeds denoting a strained, broken or perhaps just a less than beautiful mother-child relationship. In the midst of upcoming social media that highlights the joy of the weekend, my heart looks at the ones who will likely remain quiet.

Maybe it's you.

Via text, a new friend shares with me words that have not audibly left her lips since she's been in Beijing. Her young sister passed away a few months ago. Her sister's birthday is the day before Mother's Day. She doesn't know what to say to her Mom, a Mom who has faced what no Mother should have to face. Broken buttercup.

Another friend stands up in church while tears wash silently down her cheeks. In a whisper, she barely manages to share that she just had her fourth miscarriage. There's a newborn near us that lets out a soft whimper as she shares and my insides tumble. A blatant reminder of the injustice for a woman who would give anything to be a Mom. Heavy-laden buttercup.

To the one wounded so deeply in the mother-child relationship that communication has been nonexistent for years. Toxic habits and devastating words have left too many wounds. She's still healing. Trampled buttercup.

To the Mom whose child wanders along on their own destructive path, a path opposed to the ways of God. For years, that Mom has bowed knees to the earth over that child and the life he or she will live. But now, the piece of her heart that walks outside her body in that youngin' is headed in a direction opposite goodness and mercy. The decisions break her heart. Shattered buttercup.

To the Mom whose child has been wayward or self-absorbed for so long that the holiday is one of anticipation. Fearful to hope for a gift because what if one isn't given. Preoccupied with whether a phone call from said child will come. She wonders if it is her fault, re-playing scripts from times past, punishing herself for what is not. But it's not her fault. Spiritless buttercup.

To the daughter and mother who are spending their Mother's Day apart. Maybe plane tickets were just too expensive. Or a job commitment prevailed. Or sickness has claimed the freedom and ease of being together. Single buttercup.

For those whose mother-child relationship will resemble a more elegant bouquet this weekend, let there be sincere rejoicing. Laugh, honor, and delight in one another. Bless one another. Have fun and soak it all in. You absolutely should.

But perhaps, in the midst of lunch dates and coffee chats, you can keep an eye open for the less lovely bouquet that may be planted down the road from you.

To you dear buttercup, my heart is so tender this weekend. To you, the Son has come to bind up your wounds. Your hope is in Him and it shall not prove vain. Your wait is in Him and you shall not be ashamed (Psalm 25:3). Rise up mother. Rise up daughter. For you belong to the Kingdom of God.

"Though my mother and my father have forsaken me, the Lord will receive me." Psalm 27:10

"Now to Him who is able to do immeasurably more than all we ask or imagine, according to His power that is at work within us..." Ephesians 3:20

"Record my lament; list my tears on your scroll -- are they not in your record?" Psalm 56:8

"If any of you lacks wisdom, he should ask God, who gives generously to all without finding fault, and it will be given to him." James 1:5

"Find rest, O my soul, in God alone; my hope comes from Him." Psalm 62:5


Stephanie said...

This was so tender and beautiful! Thank you!

Stephanie said...

This was so tender and beautiful! Thank you!