I believe in the love of a mother.
Specifically, I believe in the love my mother has for me.
Just today I came out onto our porch to read, and Mom came out to go outside. I asked her about a plant she brought home today that hasn’t been planted yet and she told me “Don’t put it in the green pot because I put some lemon seeds in there a couple days ago to see if I can grow a lemon tree.” I told her that about a week ago, I had stuck a peach seed down in the very same pot to see if I could grow a peach tree. She laughed, saying, “Now we won’t know what it is when it comes up!”
When I was a little kid, boys at church would always make me cry. They’d follow me around and tease me over anything they could imagine. Once, my mom found me crying at the top of the slide out on the shabby church playground. I explained to her, through intervals of sobbing, how one of the boys wouldn’t stop making fun of the way I talked. At the time I had a speech impediment and I was over-the-top self conscious about it. But my mom brushed my hair away from my face and told me that the reason people were mean to me was because they saw something in me that they didn’t see in themselves, and they were just angry with me for having something they didn’t. She told me that they didn’t know any better than to be mean to me when they felt like that, and that I couldn’t let it upset me.
Time and time again, I have thought back to that moment when I’m on the brink of letting something someone said ruin my day. And it helps. It helps to think that maybe someone isn’t mean to you because of you, but rather because of something they are struggling with internally.
My mom is incredible. I could go on and on with cliches about how self-sacrificing, kind and caring she is. But suffice it to say that she is the reason I believe in the immeasurable love of a mother. The cradling of the baby, the hip-toting of the toddler, the chasing after of the little monsters, and the stern rebuking of the pre-teens, all the way through the rocky moments of teenagers and into adulthood: the love of a mother proudly marches through it all, never wavering.