It's interesting how perspectives change. When I was little, my mom could do no wrong. She was perfect and beautiful and had the most gorgeous singing voice. She played with me, read to me, took me where I wanted to go, and loved me. But then there were always those confusing times where I did something bad and she spanked me. Though I knew she loved me, I didn't understand why love suddenly stung so bad. I didn't know why love suddenly tasted like foamy soap in my mouth. I didn't know why love was Waldorf salad on my plate for hours on end...
As I got older, I appreciated my mom, but too often I saw her as someone or something to fight. An added boundary or rule I didn't want. Another limit, another "no." Another "pick up your room" or "go to bed." Sometimes I was sure she just didn't understand me. That no matter how much I tried to explain as tears streamed down my face, she was just being mean.
But Love is tough. Love loves enough to correct. Enough to point out the flaws. Enough to protect.
Love is a "no" when everyone else says "yes."
Love is two hour phone conversations of "principles" and laughter.
Love is a package of my favorite granola bars on finals week.
Love is a gentle touch, a kind word, a close hug.
Love is my mother on her knees before my Maker crying out to Him for me.
Love is 17 years of verses and prayers scrawled in a Bible
My mother has shown me what Love really is. I am so blessed to have such a beautiful, godly woman as the one who raised me.
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