A Song for Mother's Day

Mother's Day 1951

My honey took me to Martini's Bistro for Mother's Day, a pricey restaurant we'd never tried.  We barely were seated since we didn't have reservations, but all turned out well, and we were seated on a lovely flower-filled deck on a perfect morning.

Jesse gave me a wonderful card that said, 

"For My Wife on Mother's Day:  

You give life.

You give love.

And with each day, you give me more and more reasons to love you . . .

and to feel so glad I have you in my life."

Once open a chip in the card permits Louis Armstrong to blast out, "It's a Wonderful Life!"  Cards with music--who would have expected that, back in the day?   We prayed for blessings on all of our children and step-children we have, and their children and their children.

I celebrated Mother's Day with my daughters and step-daughters and their spouses this last week, going out to eat, greetings on the phone, gifts in the mail, virtual flowers.  At church this morning several people said to me--you look so happy.

I am happy. I feel fulfilled and acknowledged by my kids, my husband and my mother:  that is a recipe for happiness if I ever heard one!

I talked to Mama, who loved the pink and white flowers I sent her in a pink glass pitcher.  We'll see each other this summer.  Mother's Day reminds me of the time when my mother was my whole world.  Mother's Day reminds me of my two grandmothers, who we always visited on Mother's Day.  My mother is no longer certain where she lives, but she knows who I am when I call.   In some ways she is still the audience for my life.  She remembers my daughters.

I don't remember who said this, but I think it is true:  Mother is the name for God to little children.  

Mother's Day reminds me of when my own little ones were my whole world, before they became the beautiful, strong women they are today.  

Psalms are songs or hymns to be accompanied by harp music.  In the Jubilation of Psalms class I'm teaching we are writing our own praise psalms.  You will have to imagine the harps.  

A Psalm for Mother's Day

In the morning the babies root among the blankets,
groping blindly, near the edge of panic.  

The mothers hear the babies crying, and their milk lets down.

“Bring me my baby, let me put her to my breast.”

I count my baby’s toes and fingers, perfect, so perfect:

Her miniature nails, the tiny flailing feet, the newborn smell--

I have to kiss her feet again.

Gazing into her baby’s eyes, the mother's life is changed.

The child lives in the mother’s heart, 
even when the child no longer thinks of her.

May our Maker bless us, nurture us, guide us and protect us, 
and those we love.

Let us yearn for God, as the baby resting in her mother's arms.

By Michele Zuniga, 2013