A BOUQUET OF LOVE
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It is often said that there is nothing
more precious, strong and enduring as a mother's love. As a mother and having
the love of a wonderful mother, I must agree.
Today I have the honor of presenting to
you the inner thoughts of two women I’m proud to call ‘friend’. So sit back
have a cup or glass of your favorite beverage and enjoy ‘A Bouquet of Love’. And to all it applies -- Happy Mother's Day!
All-Star Cheerleader
While
I lay claim to the all-star cheerleading mother of all time, I know that what
she did wasn’t easy.
She
had four children of her own. Their personalities were so diverse that DNA
testing would be required to validate with any degree of certainty that we were
‘blood kin’. Then take into account the countless first and second cousins,
children of family friends that needed to live with us for a little while. Not
one went hungry, without clean clothes, medical care, a place to sleep or felt
different from her own children.
She
stood four-foot ten inches, had an eighth grade education and more sense than
many Ph.D. candidates. She remains an untiring cheerleader and encourager,
teacher, leader and strong tower. And I remain in awe at all this ninety-three
dynamo does.
So,
today for all those times I forgot, for my brothers who didn’t think you knew
how to raise a boy, to our cousins, friends and neighborhood children I want to
not only say ‘Happy Mother’s Day’ but also extend a truly heartfelt ‘Thank you’.
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Seedtime
and Harvest Time
As
a young child, I never even knew we were (by the country’s definition) “poor.”
I never knew I was supposed to be inferior to anyone else. I never knew there
were things I couldn’t or shouldn’t be able to do in life. I credit a lot of
this to my wonderful mother. What she taught me as a baby. What she told me as
I grew up. What she expected from me, knowing there was greater inside of me
than what was in the world that would, without a doubt, try to stop me from
being all God had called me to be.
My
mother made sure that we, her children, knew we could do anything in life if we
believed and worked hard enough for it. Growing up, I really thought we were rich. In all that ever mattered in
life I suppose you can say that my siblings and I were. We had the love of a
mother who worked diligently to ensure we had what we needed. Even greater than
that: We had a mother who introduced us to the Lord. She and my father didn’t send us to church; they took us to church—the ultimate concept
of showing, not telling as we continued our relationship with God the Father (who
gave His only begotten Son that we might be saved), Jesus (who shed His blood
for the remission of our sins that we might have eternal life in Heaven), and
the Holy Spirit (our Comforter and Guide).
I
have the privilege of being on both ends of motherhood. I am the daughter of
Josephine Davis and the mother of Jeffery, Jeremy, and Johnathan. Being a
mother, you quickly learn it’s no cakewalk by any means. There are things you
may have never imagined you find you’ll have to deal with. But once you’ve
given your heart away to that child, it’s worth whatever you may have to do or
go through. Love is truly a powerful thing. And the love of a mother will move
mountains if and when a mountain gets in the way.
Mothers
are like those who work a garden. The ground might be hard, but she’ll take
what is needed to break up the soil so she can plant those things she desires
to grow. She takes the time to plant the seeds or bulbs in the ground, knowing
that what she has planted will, out of necessity, be out of sight for a certain
time. Equally, she knows that even though no one can see what has been planted
or what is happening below the surface, something is happening. Roots are taking hold. A shell (if applicable) is
being broken open so that the tender plant can begin to break ground and move
upward. And as she waits patiently, she’ll see that budding plant spring forth.
But
a mother knows that when she sees the first sign something is indeed growing,
her work has only just begun. She must nourish it in order for it to grow and
grow strong. She must work to keep weeds at bay. There are times she might have
to pinch back or prune some offshoots, move those plants that are too crowded
some distances from each other. Not to hurt the thing that’s growing, but to
make it bear bigger and stronger fruit. She’s diligent in keeping the bugs
away, as certain parasites can eat…destroy what is promising to eventually produce.
Then comes the time when what was planted has matured and is producing. She
picks fruit from it and smiles, seeing that the produce has turned out even more
wonderfully that she may have ever imagined. And in those times when there are
problems with the fruit, she works to save what she can, knowing full well the
effort that went into this labor of love. If it can be saved, she will do
whatever she can to accomplish just that.
So
to the mothers who have given so much,
to mothers who may not know how much you’re
appreciated or loved, to the mothers who have wondered how you made it through:
Please allow me to say on behalf of all the lives you have touched in a
positive way, “Thank you.” Continue to be steadfast, unmovable, always
abounding, and know that (in the end) your labor will not be in vain. After
seedtime, there will be a time of harvest. Talk about a bouquet of love!
Vanessa Davis Griggs is the author of 15 novels (which includes The Blessed Trinity Series) with number 16, The Other Side of Divine, releasing July 30, 2013. She also contributed ten devotionals to the Sister in Faith Holy Bible released by Thomas Nelson.
When acclaimed Washington Post writer Wil Haygood had an early hunch that Obama would win the 2008 election, he thought he’d highlight the singular moment by exploring the life of someone who had come of age when segregation was so widespread, so embedded in the culture as to make the very thought of a black president inconceivable. He struck gold when he tracked down Eugene Allen, a butler who had served no fewer than eight presidents, from Harry Truman to Ronald Reagan. During his thirty-four years of service, Allen became what the Independent described as a “discreet stagehand who for three decades helped keep the show running in the most important political theatre of all.” 
