Because She is My Mother
Posted by Tyler on May 16th, 2006
Though this is a couple of days late, I hope you (especially you mothers) will enjoy it. Please forgive the explanatory tone at the beginning of the post. I gave this as a talk in Sacrament Meeting on Sunday and there were a number of invesitgators present, so I fashioned it for their ears.
Some twenty one hundred years ago, a Prophet named Helaman was also an army commander. He led a small force of just two thousand warriors—all of them young, all of them inexperienced, and all of them volunteers. Early in Helaman’s campaign against the Lamanites, he and his two thousand sons, as he called them, were faced with a difficult choice. The Lamanites had been pursuing Helaman and his sons for two and one half days. The pursuit was so vigorous that Helaman and his army had to rise before dawn and march into the night to keep ahead of their pursuers. Strangely, though, on the third day, the Lamanite army stopped dead in their tracks. Due to a breakdown in communication, Helaman and his two thousand warriors did not know why the Lamanites had stopped. Was it because Helaman’s co-commander, Antipus, had engaged them from the rear? If so, Antipus would be in desperate need of help. Or, was it a ruse—were the Lamanites trying to draw Helaman and his two thousand sons into a battle where their a mere two thousand would be no match for the tens of thousands numbered among the Lamanites? Helaman did not know. And so, he asked the young warriors: should we preserve our own safety and stay out of the battle, or should we risk our lives, hoping that by doing so we may save our brothers from a bloody death.
I can only imagine that scene that day on the battlefield. I imagine the two thousand warriors were drenched in sweat and I imagine their calves, backs, and hamstrings already ached from a wearying three day march. I imagine they eyed their weapons with trepidation—none of them, after all, had ever wielded a sword before. And, finally, I imagine they faced death with some amount of fear—on the one hand, they must have trembled at the thought of losing their own lives. Even more to the point, though, I imagine that these boys who had never before shed blood, and many of whose parents had died as pacifist martyrs, quivered at the thought of taking others’ lives. Nevertheless, something happened on the battlefield that day—some faith sprung up within those boys. They knew they were not the agressors, they knew they would gladly have laid down their weapons if the Lamanites would have let them alone, and they knew their brothers were in danger, and so, with a courage that challenges belief, they told their captain: we will go into battle.
I suppose it is likely some of you have already guessed why I am recounting this story; others of you, if you have not heard the story before, must find it exceedingly odd that I would spend a good portion of my mother’s day talk speaking about war, armies, captains, and stratagems. As we read of the Stripling Warriors, though, we are forced to wonder whence their courage sprang. What impulse propelled them to such faith and resolution despite their naivete on the battlefield? What power emboldened them to stare death in the eyes and stand firm and resolute nonetheless? Where did they learn that their brothers’, mothers’, fathers’, and friends’ lives were more important than their own? Like us, Helaman was astonished at such steely resolve in boys so young. Accordingly, he asked them whence sprang their inner-strength and they replied, apparently of one accord that “they had been taught by their mothers, that if they did not doubt, God would deliver them.” Indeed, Helaman tells us, “they rehearsed unto me the words of their mothers [about God’s support of those who trust in him], saying: We do not doubt our mothers knew it.”
As it turns out, then, the strength these boys demonstrated that day sprang not from themselves, but from their mothers. The courage those boys wielded on the battlefield was apparently given to them while they still sat on their mothers’ knees. I do not wish today to praise these righteous warriors—though their courage gives me pause. I wish instead to pay tribute to those who stood quietly behind the scenes—nurturing these boys and instilling in them a faith that would withstand the hottest flame—I want to praise their mothers.
Why would the words their mothers spoke have been so deeply imprinted onto these boys’ souls? Why, in the heat of a terrible battle, would these boys remember those things their mothers had taught them? Why is that, when I find life most difficult, I turn my thoughts to my mother? Why is that, no matter how far the distance, no matter how long we have been apart, I can always feel my mother’s love?
It is, I believe, because mothers are endowed by God with a special capacity to love. As a baby develops within the womb, everything he needs comes from his mother: oxygen, nutrients, vitamins, energy, and heat all travel from the mother, through the placenta, and into the developing child. After birth, the connection evolves—becoming everyday less physical but becoming simultaneously more deeply spiritual. At first, the infant still receives nutrition from his mother’s breast. Even when that stops, however, the baby finds comfort, safety, and peace within his mother’s arms.
I know, at least, that it is to my mother I run when I am most in need of comfort. When I was little, the boy up the street was a bully and, when he would beat me up on my way home from school, I would run to my mother. As the years passed, I outgrew bullies and grade school and entered the world of girls—sometimes, incidentally, I don’t which is worse. The first time a girl broke my heart—her name, by the way was Erin Enslin and she was blond, flighty, and, to a seventh grade bundle of hormones, enchanting—but when Erin broke my heart I cried on my mother’s shoulder. Later, when the time came to go to college, I cried again with my mother because we had never been apart for very long. And, once again, when the time came for my mission, my mother hugged me last at the airport as I boarded the plane for Mexico. She gave me a note the day before I left which I kept with me every day in my mission and, on particularly difficult nights, I would open the note and read the words and strain to hear my mother’s voice. Even when I could not be with her physically, something about the memory of her love brought me comfort when I was stranded and alone.
I have wondered why my mother’s love is so strong. I have wondered why her care for me stretches across thousands of miles and through twenty-five years. I do not believe I fully understand the depth or the meaning of my mother’s love, but I do believe I gained a small insight into its origin a couple of weeks ago when I was home in Utah for my friend’s graduation. The last several months have been very difficult for my mother. Her father passed away suddenly in September and her mother is slowly disappearing into the frightening reaches of Alzheimer’s disease. Amidst all of this, I have moved to faraway Philadelphia, my brother has moved from the house and gotten married, and one of my sisters has moved away to college. As if all of that were not enough, my father serves as Bishop which means my mom serves in the weighty, neglected, seldom-recognized, and never-officially-confirmed calling of Bishop’s wife.
And so it was that, one day two weeks ago, I stood in the kitchen talking idly with my mother. As we spoke, she sliced tomatoes on the granite-colored cutting board—her hands moving with rhythm and ease through a motion she memorized long ago. Then, as I told her a story, I realized she was not really listening any more; instead, I saw her looking out the back window at a sparrow that hopped down from the gazebo which stands in back of our house. I stopped talking and watched as her lip quivered and as a tear slipped quietly from her left eye and trickled down her cheek.
Seeing her sadness, I stepped over to where she stood and took her in my arms. For a moment, there in the kitchen, I held her as she cried. As I held my mother there, I thought, for a moment, that, in my mind’s eye, I could see her twenty-seven years ago—just two years before I (her oldest) was born. I saw her at her wedding, her body trim and her smile sparkling. I saw her kiss my dad and I watched as sparks flew and chemistry flowed between them. I saw her at school, earning nearly straight As, a bachelor’s of science, and most of a master’s degree. I could see is her eyes, twenty-seven years before, the hopes and dreams that are a part of newly-wed life. And then, the intervening years flashed quickly before me. I saw my mom give up text books and theses for diapers and cleansers. I saw her trade Emerson for Dr. Seuss and Oprah for Sesame Street. I saw her give up parties and water-skiing to attend an endless series of soccer games, dance recitals, and play rehearsals. And then, with a start, my mind swerved back to the present, and I looked at the woman before me. Her hair, now, drooped a bit and did not quite hold its former luster. Her body was not as trim as it once was and the faintest hint of lines born of deep, drawn-out concern sometimes creased her face. Behind her face, of course, a brilliant light still shines. But even that is different now, it is gentler, deeper, and more luminous than the light I imagine from twenty-seven years ago. And as I looked at my mom and pondered on the woman she has become, as I held her in my arms and counted the terrible cost she has paid to stay home with me, stay up with me, and stay the course with me—I realized my mom loves me so deeply for the same reason the Savior loves me so deeply—because deep, willing, and sincere sacrifice begets even deeper, more lasting, and natural love; indeed, greater love hath no woman than this, that she lay down her life for her son.
Brothers and Sisters, please understand, I recognize mothers come in many forms. Some mothers have biological children while other mothers adopt. Some mothers have no children at all but simply nurture and love the young all around them. All of these women are mothers and all of them are vitally important in the Kingdom of God. My purpose, today, however, is not to talk about what a mother is but simply to express, with all the sincerity I can muster, how dearly grateful I am for my mom. I love her deeply and I recognize that the good things I am have come about because she loves me. By extension, I say thank you to the mothers here today—for the nights you have gone without sleep, for the moments you have spent worrying, for the clothes you have washed, the monotony you have endured, and the for the years you have gone without thanks or even recognition—I say thank you, from all of us. Thank you and we love you and please know that, as the hymn reminds us, “angels above us are silent notes taking, the good that you do is not there ignored; though on Earth you may toil without fanfare or tribute, your virtue and suffering are known to the Lord.”
Thank you, Tyler, for that beautiful and moving tribute to mothers. Your mother is indeed blessed to have you for a son.
As I finished reading your post, I reflected upon the sincere thanks I had received on Mother’s Day from my six grown children. Through phone calls, emails and cards, each one had let me know how much they loved and appreciated having me as their mother. Heartfelt expressions of gratitude from grown children are one of motherhood’s most precious rewards.
Comment # 1 left by RoAnn on May 16th, 2006
Outstanding.
Comment # 2 left by Eric on May 17th, 2006
Beautiful, and it was even more so in person. My favorite part is the last line of the second to last paragraph.
To add my testimony of the true divinity of mothers, I’ll post my talk given in the same Sacrament meeting, for those who are interested. This was particularly meaningful for me, as my parents and sister, who are not members, were in attendance.
One poignant definition of mother is, “A woman who creates, originates, or founds something.” Mothers serve as the foundation of righteousness in their children; the difference between discoverers and mothers, however, is that true mothers serve as the foundation of someone, rather than something, thereby making it their primary duty to pass this origin along to others. They create in their children a desire to serve, love, obey, and have faith. Through teaching by example of love and service, mothers are the very truest of teachers. They are the foundation righteousness in other individuals.
Of what specifically, though, is a mother a foundation? Of the habit of doing chores, certainly; of regular music practice, no doubt. Most importantly, however, true mothers are foundations of love, primarily through their own loving example. Recently, I was talking to my family the day before a final exam. I had already talked to my mom and was just finishing talking to my dad. Right as I was about to hang up, however, my dad told me that my mom wanted to talk to me again. As I was in the middle of something, I felt somewhat rushed and was inclined to ask if I could simply talk to her later. Imagine the melting of my heart, however, when my mom picked up the phone again and told me that she simply wanted to wish me luck on my test and tell me that she loves me. That was all. While it may seem inconsequential to some to get on the phone to simply utter those few words, that did more to encourage me than any assurance in my own study skills and preparation could ever do, for this served to remind me of my mother’s love, which I know to be eternal.
My mother’s love has done far more than simply evoke positive emotions in me, however. In essence, it has served as the foundation of my capacity for love. Over nearly 22 years of witnessing my mom show true care and concern for her family and others around her, I have learned to do the same. Even with biological children of her own, my remarkable mother continued to care for others. Some months ago, my mother’s older sister’s husband passed away. When my mom called me to inform me of the fact, she immediately began brainstorming ways to help her sister and how to best show her love.
Most remarkable, however, was not that she began trying to show her love and serve. Greater than this was the joy found in her tone. Because of her true charity, she found great satisfaction in serving others. It is this fact that brings my mother, and all true mothers closest in purpose to the Lord. For, like mothers our Father in Heaven finds His joy in our joy. He reminds us, “For this is my work and my glory; to bring to pass the immortality and eternal life of man.” In attaining exaltation, we receive our ultimate joy, and through this our joy, God Himself finds His joy. This characteristic is not only defining but integral to the nature of God, and to the nature of mothers. Their true love causes them to truly find joy in the joy of others. This systematic submission of selfish desires in favor of interests of another is illustrative of the fertile charity within. Perhaps most importantly, this maternal tenderness of heart plants the selfsame seed of love within the hearts of all those whom they nurture. In essence, they pour the concrete in the foundation of their children’s charity. They perpetually act out the question of the great Christian apologist Cotton Mather, “What is there that I may do for the service of the glorious Lord, and for the welfare of those for whom I ought to be concerned? […] The advantages of these preserved and revised memorials, no rhetoric will be sufficient to commend, no arithmetic to calculate.”
While cuddling and caressing certainly abounded, my mom’s love is not limited to physical and verbal displays of affection. Instead, her charity is most purely made manifest through her willing service. I vividly remember once returning home for a visit during my college years. It had been several months since I had seen my family, and each eagerly anticipated the reunion. Upon arriving, my mom greeted me enthusiastically, chipper and smiling. I, on the other, while very happy to see my family, after a sleep-deprived night and the car ride down, was ready to relax. My mom persisted, however, because she was excited to show me a perfectly constructed version of my favorite dessert. Later that evening, I discovered that my dear mother had awoken at 4am simply to check on it while it was cooling, to ensure that it would be ready for my arrival. This type of loving service is not a new development. I clearly remember at the tender age of four carrying a large stack of chubby board books to my mom’s bedside and having her read them repeatedly, the same ones every night, until I fell asleep. Though my mom rapidly learned Ernie’s Big Mess by heart, she always made it seem like it was exactly what she wanted to do each evening.
This is only one miniscule anecdote of the service that is so representative of the name “mother.” Perhaps the most supremely significant characteristic of motherhood, however, is in the fact that these attributes of love and service reach far beyond their personal realms. Instead, the defining maternal feature is in spreading these soothing balms of Gilead on neonates and adults, on children of whom they are mothers as well as children without mothers. A recording of Jewish oral law notes, “Therefore was a single human being created: to teach you that to destroy a single human soul is equivalent to destroying an entire world; and that to sustain a single human soul is equivalent to sustaining an entire world.” So do true mothers sustain individual human souls. While their methods may differ and may, at times, be imperfect, true mothers all teach – they teach to love, they teach to serve, and they teach righteousness and faith in the Lord. Alma reminds us of the two thousand young warriors who, “had been taught by their mothers, that if they did not doubt, God would deliver them.” Truly, they remembered and repeated the teachings of their mothers, emphatically declaring of the truths of the gospel, “We do not doubt our mothers knew it.”
It is through their teachings that mothers lay the foundation of righteousness and love in their children. It is by way of their loving example that they instill in their children a divine desire to serve and obey God and neighbor. It is by nurturing individuals entrusted to their care that true mothers nurture humanity.
It is important to remember that in this sense of teaching love and service, righteousness and faith, mothering is not unique to biological mothers. Rather, we each have the privilege and duty to mother those around us. Indeed, my father epitomizes the verb “to mother,” as he has taught me integrity, kindness, and faith. Never have I known two people who so strongly believe in the power of goodness and faithfulness, and who seek to love and serve so humbly as my parents. Each of us can learn much from these many examples of mothering around us. Martin Ginsberg relates an event that profoundly affected his life:
“It was Thanksgiving Day and I was ten years old. I was in a welfare ward of a city hospital and was scheduled to undergo major orthopedic surgery the next day. I knew that I could only look forward to months of confinement, convalescence and pain. My father was dead; my mother and I lived alone in a small apartment and we were on welfare. My mother was unable to visit me that day.
“As the day went on, I became overwhelmed with the feeling of loneliness, despair and fear. I knew my mother was home alone worrying about me, not having anyone to be with, not having anyone to eat with and not even having enough money to afford a Thanksgiving Day dinner.
“The tears welled up in my eyes, and I stuck my head under the pillow and pulled the covers over it. I cried silently, but oh so bitterly, so much that my body racked with pain.
“A young student nurse heard my sobbing and came over to me. She took the covers off my face and started wiping my tears. She told me how lonely she was, having to work that day and not being able to be with her family. She asked me whether I would have dinner with her. She brought two trays of food: sliced turkey, mashed potatoes, cranberry sauce and ice cream for dessert. She talked to me and tried to calm my fears. Even though she was scheduled to go off duty at 4pm, she stayed on her own time until almost 11pm. She played games with me, talked to me and stayed with me until I finally fell asleep.
“Many Thanksgivings have come and gone since I was ten, but one never passes without me remembering that particular one and my feelings of frustration, fear, loneliness and warmth and tenderness of the stranger that somehow made it all bearable.”
This is the true essence of mothering. It is loving and serving and keeping the commandments of God, and, perhaps primarily, instilling the same in others around. While their feats may, at times, appear to be minute, “How far that little candle throws his beams! So shines a good deed in a naughty world.” True mothering, while not easy, ensures that other lives are better lived. As Emerson reminds us,
It was never for the mean;
It requireth courage stout.
Souls above doubt,
Valor unbending,
It will reward,-
They shall return
More than they were,
And ever ascending.
So, too, will real mothers be “ever ascending.” In this foundational sense, in laying the latticework of faith and righteousness, the Savior is our ultimate example. It was He who loved most deeply, served most humbly, and taught most purely. It was He who mothered the lame and the lepers, the children and the childless. It was He who laid the foundation for individual righteousness alongside the plan for humanity’s salvation. I know that He lives, and that in our times of need and our times of greatness, He is there to empathize, console, and rejoice. I know that it is a loving Heavenly Father who placed mothers of all kinds on this earth to nurture and to bless. This morning, I exited Franklin Field after a college graduation ceremony. As I left the stadium, I was greeted by a small contingent of family members and friends. As I was enveloped by the arms of my own mother and father, the first words I heard were the last that grace my ears each and every time I speak with them on the phone, the ones without which a day at home does not pass: I love you. I am honored to have these wonderful parents here with me today, and I am grateful that their love for me is apparent in each word and action of their lives, and can only hope to convey the same. I add my testimony to that of the prophets who observe, “Motherhood is near to divinity. It is the highest, holiest service to be assumed by mankind. It places her who honors its calling and service next to the angels.” I pray we may each come to better love and to better mother in the name of Jesus Christ, amen.
Comment # 3 left by preethi on May 17th, 2006