Give her of the fruit of her hands, and let her own works praise her in the gates.

—Proverbs 31:31

For many of us, Mother’s Day is complicated.

I had two mothers in my life. My biological mother gave birth to me when she was sixteen years old, and she relinquished custody of me when I was three years old. From that moment on, my mother was my grandmother’s half-sister who, along with her husband, was granted legal custody of me. (My grandmother and guardian had different fathers. And yes, pretty much every relationship in my family is a confusing half- or step-something.)

Both of my mothers had a lot of issues, many of which had a detrimental impact on me and others in their lives. Even so, I have much empathy for them. I think they both endured trauma and were never encouraged to seek the healing that might have led them to a different place in life.

Of course, having empathy and forgiving them didn’t absolve them of responsibility for their actions and the outcomes. And the reality is that at any point, they could have made different choices.

Not having been properly mothered myself, I was terrified at the thought of having children. I thought I didn’t know how to be a mom, and I felt anxious about the possibility of screwing up my kids.

By the grace of God alone, I was able to overcome my fear of becoming a mother and trust that He had equipped me to be the parent my kids needed. It took several years for me to come around to the idea, yet now I can’t imagine life without my two precious children.

Although my not-so-great memories of my two mothers are significant, with Mother’s Day on the horizon, I’m choosing to honor the roles they played in my life by recalling some of their better qualities. Not as a way to smooth over their shortcomings, but as a way to acknowledge their imperfect humanity, “for all have sinned and fall short of the glory of God” (Romans 3:23).

My biological mother chose to give me life when she was a mere sixteen years old, against tremendous pressure to abort me. When I myself was sixteen years old, she opened her home to me when I was at one of my lowest points. She helped me get my first job, and working alongside her gave me an opportunity to spend more time with her. She loved music from the 70s, and while she couldn’t sing in tune to save her life, that didn’t stop her from belting out her favorite songs when we’d go joyriding in her dilapidated pickup truck. We shared a love of all kinds of puzzles, especially jigsaw puzzles. She had an insatiable curiosity that led her to read endless books about all sorts of topics. My mother never met a stranger and would talk up anyone she met.

My unofficial adopted mother, whom I called “Ma,” willingly chose to take a three-year-old girl into her home and raise me as her own. She was extremely loyal, as her lifelong relationships with friends attested. She loved to laugh, and when she’d watch her favorite sitcoms, like The Golden Girls, the sound of her smoky cackle would fill our living room. Ma was a talented crocheter and made countless afghans and other items to gift others. She also loved to volunteer and serve communities that meant a lot to her.

This Mother’s Day, I pray that all of us who feel mixed emotions on the holiday are able to experience a measure of peace when we ponder this truth: Even if all our mothers did was give us life, that life is a gift from our Heavenly Father. And we can thank and praise Him for that.

With love in Christ,

Amanda

xoxo

Scripture taken from the New King James Version^®. Copyright © 1982 by Thomas Nelson. Used by permission. All rights reserved.