To all of you precious Moms out there who would love to strangle this virtuous paragon you hear about every Mother’s Day (and half the funerals you attend), she didn’t do it all with toddlers in the house. It was a life time achievement - and she had servants to help! So, husbands, if you want the full Proverbs 31 Wife, be prepared to hire staff!
This year, I fell back on an old family tradition, and made my Mother’s Day gift with my own hands. Really brought back memories of my grubby little hands putting dandelions in jelly jars or fingerpainting “beautiful” drawings for Mom to put on the fridge. When you’re little, anything you have enough money to buy is pretty junky, and anything nice enough to give, she would end up paying for anyway, so plaster hand prints and macaroni covered cigar boxes figured prominently among my gift options. And as a parent myself - what goes around really does come around, doesn’t it? - I’ve been on the receiving end of such delightful treasures. There is something incredibly precious about a hand made gift, especially when the hands are very small and the love is very, very big.
So I baked a pecan pie.
For those of you who (quite rightly) fear for her safety, I was not alone in the kitchen. My own little Master Pie Baker was right there, talking me through every step. Did you know that when it says “a cup of flour”, you fill the measuring cup and rake off the top so it’s EXACTLY a cup? News to me!
But I followed instructions and used all the ingredients (and nothing extra - not even a LITTLE bit of jalapeno).
And Mom? I remembered something else you taught me, and washed my hands first. With soap!
It was actually kind of fun, and it gave me a chance to relive those golden days of yore - with a little less mess in the kitchen. A little. The love was about the same, though. Which brings me to the important part.
Nothing I could give God would ever come close to what He gave - and continues to give. The very best I could afford is meaningless, and the very best I could make with my own hands? Well, the Louvre won’t be calling any time soon. But when the love that fills my soul overflows toward the One to Whom I owe everything, I like to think that’s what He keeps for his Heavenly refrigerator door - smudges and all.
I love the LORD, because he has heard my voice and my pleas for mercy. Because he inclined his ear to me, therefore I will call on him as long as I live. Psalm 116:1-2
