Three Kinds of Mothers

 

 

For some having a great mother comes with family, for me having so many great women who served as mothers was quite remarkable. So not only did I have a great mother, I had several mothers who were great. And while my own mother, and so many of these other outstanding women have gone on to Glory, I yet have several memories of these amazing women who demonstrated courage, stamina, a desire for a better world, and pure goodness. These women, strong in their own identity, not only demonstrated the value of lives well lived, but also the importance of being spiritually centered, dynamically focused, and unequivocally feminine. These women taught me not only how to love but when to love. They demonstrated, through simple lives, that one need not compromise principles to exist, that one did not have to sacrifice self to be humble, and that one did not have to walk over others to gain respect. No – they walked out their faith though paths laden with both frustration and disappointment. Needless to say –in spite of it all they were everything that I every came to know as being a mother. Some people have only one mother, I had several. Here are just three.

These mothers–my Aunts Betty, Edith, and Zinnie - were liberated long before it was in fashion. They, therefore, did not feel challenged by working in a kitchen or in a field, wearing a dress or pants, standing in the gap or standing in the picket line. These ladies understood that their strength was not found in challenging their husbands but in lifting them up –like those Proverbs 31 women – in everything that they did, said, and wanted. These ladies needed neither pampering or primping, pandering or patronizing. No –Aunt Betty, Edith, and Zinnie –were proud and buoyant, devoted and loyal, endearing and remarkable.

Early in my life, I learned that such women not only helped me define womanhood but also helped me to define my role as a man. Aunt Betty, who I never saw loose her temper or her poise, was always there, non-judgmental, non-threatening, and non-abrasive. I know, because I had to have been the most difficult, obnoxious, and thick-headed kid that ever dropped in on relatives. But never was I - regardless of how out of line, out of order, or out of my mind –ever made to feel anything less than loved and regarded by Aunt Betty. Aunt Edith –strong as nails, disciplined as a top sergeant, and focused as a telescope – was nevertheless patient, encouraging, and empathetic. Aunt Edith, refusing to allow me to forget just who I was, continually challenged me to be better than even I thought I could be. And Aunt Zinnie –always impeccably dressed, always precisely poised, and always keenly aware –never lost an opportunity to praise, legitimate, and point me toward higher achievement. These women –all mothers in their own rights – were more than mothers to me even when I was as wrong as wrong could be.

These mothers demonstrated that they could support their man without being on their knees. They demonstrated that submission was not only mutually acquired but also mutually beneficial. They taught me that in some things they submitted to their husbands and in others that their husbands submitted to them. They helped me to understand that we all submit to someone, and someone submits to us. They helped me to understand that submission means to support, means to get up under, and it means to work with someone else. Submission, they taught me, did not mean being another’s slave, abdicating one’s reasoning, or agreeing just to agree. No, they taught me that true submission means to challenge the other, to check the other, and to correct their mates. Submission, I learned, was the reality that if two are to be joined, that they must become as one –one flesh, one mind, one journey. I learned that the paradox of one flesh, one mind, and one journey is that both walk their separate paths, live out their separate dreams, and experience their own separate realities. The act of mutual submission allows the other to experience these separate paths, dreams, and realities while yet living out their own. This paradox –this thing called love – I learned from these insightful women.

Three kinds of mothers –three kinds of visions, three ways of knowing, and three ways of loving – blessed my life with triple the joys of being, triple the pleasures of family, and triple the ways of seeing. These ladies –my alternative mothers – walked out their dreams while birthing, nurturing, supporting, encouraging, and loving their kids and this strange kid that seemed to always be there –me. My life, and any degree of success I might achieve, owes a debt of gratitude to these ladies who took the time to love somebody like me. To a great extent –whatever is good that is within me, whatever drive that I might have and whatever discipline that I have developed –it is due in no small part to these –Three Kinds of Mothers that have graced my life. Thanks!