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Who was the first person in this world I ever laid eyes on? Okay, yes, the very first one may have been the doctor who delivered me, but I didn’t know him, so he doesn’t count. He was not the one with whom I had spent every moment of the last nine months. Although Mom and I had visited him a few times during those months, he was not the one I wanted to see that day.

I may have been wondering about several things. I may have been wondering where I was and who had turned on the lights and turned up the sound. I may have been wondering why I was the only one crying and everyone was laughing and happy. Most of all, I probably was wondering where my mama was. Once Doc had helped me make my safe landing, I don’t think he held me very long before he handed me off like a football.

Who was the first person to feed me and the only person to feed me for the next several months? Even when I had grown enough to feed myself, who was the person who cooked for me and did so most of the time until I was grown and gone?

Who was the first person to tell me they loved me? I’m sure my father loved me too, but I can’t remember him ever telling me so. My mother told me every day. On some days she told me more times than my school teachers told me to sit down and be quiet.

Who was the person who washed my clothes, hung them outside on a clothes line to dry, and then took them inside and ironed them. I might could have done with a little less starch on my shirts, but they didn’t wrinkle. All that starch is probably what kept me from having any broken bones during my tree climbing, ditch jumping, bike crashing, cousin wrestling, dog riding years. Who was the one who cleaned up and bandaged all those injuries?

Who was the person who had the patience of Job but a limit that knew when enough was enough…especially when I didn’t know? Who was that person who loved me enough to tell me “No,” sometimes and taught me to make wise and appropriate choices at other times?

Who was that person who didn’t simply send me to church, but she went with me? She didn’t go with me to my Sunday-School class, and if she did have to come in there, I wasn’t going to be happy about it when we got home. Sometimes, we didn’t even make it home before I was not happy about it!

Who was that person who first told me about God and how much He loves me? She told me about heaven, as well as that other place, and which one I needed to go to and how that was made possible.

God blessed me beyond what I deserved with his choice of a mother for me! She was not perfect, but then neither am I. She gave me a great start with lots of love. She was there when I needed her.

This week, on Sunday, we celebrate Mother’s Day…we celebrate moms. I do realize that not everyone has happy memories of their mother, and I’m sorry. Many of us don’t have our mother with us anymore, so the holiday brings a touch of sadness to us, but may we cherish the good memories. May we make new memories with the moms we still have.  Happy Mother’s Day!