My mother's gift (by Ben)

As I sit pondering this Mother's Day, it is hard not to reflect on what my Mother has done for me, and the many gifts she gave me. I know that she, far away, probably reflects on her own mother, though Grandma has been gone for over 40 years now. I suspect that most of us do this at least on Mother's Day, and I thought it would be nice, both to tell my Mom what I came up with, and also to share it with the world.

First and foremost, she gave me life. I realize that that is more of a challenge than I ever previously understood. The demanding months of hauling an extra weight aboard, followed by the mind-crippling pain of delivery. Followed by another 18 years of just about the same torment and pain, though brought on more by childish disobedience and teenage rebellion than contractions. I can never repay the gift of life. And for this gift, I am most grateful.

Similarly, she gave me her freedom. Not to me individually, since I already had two sisters. But she gave up any other hopes and aspirations that were quelled at the prospect of another drain on time, energy, and resources. There are a thousand things that my mother could have chosen, a hundred other paths. But she chose that one which would benefit only me. Selflessness incorporate. Godliness, literally.

I was nurtured on every front, through every age of my life. I was given ample food, appropriate clothing, fine education, meaningful work, and shelter. I had no blatant disadvantage saddling my life because of my upbringing. I have every opportunity, and no blame to pass. I reflect on other children I know personally: Some who were born in areas of political strife, who will never be able to escape; some who were born into loveless homes, who will cycle the same disrespect and brokenness onto their own lamentable progeny. I have known entire families of children who were all mentally retarded because their mother was malnourished during pregnancy. I have known children who have been raised with such excess that they have been equally handicapped. I have no such disabilities, either physical, mental, or socio-economical, because of my specific mother.

I was born, literally, into the covenant and the church. Like almost every other person in the world, I was raised into the religion of my parents. Quite luckily, my parents had already chosen the right one, and I was indoctrinated from my youth. By the time I was old enough to understand my ability to choose, I realize that I'd already spent my short lifetime on the right path, and the path to Truth was that much easier. I was not forced to sacrifice anything, or anyone, to follow the Lord and his teachings. I did not fear religious persecutions, or intolerant government. I was born right into the heartland of the true and living church, and raised to clearly understand the testimony and conviction that had brought me thus. I can still clearly remember quite often having my mother hold me by the shoulders, look me squarely in the eyes, and tell me that if I learned nothing else from her, that I should understand her testimony, which she bore to me again and again. I remember hearing scriptures emanate from her speaking, and being surrounded by good works, respectable habits and religious customs, and deep knowledge and understanding of the principles of the gospel. I was the seed that fell into the very very fertile ground, and grew because of the richness of the soil I was in.

Call it silly, but laboring as a child really does something to you. And my mother ensured that I was no stranger to work. I was given choice, and reward; but overall was led to learn to love to work. I was given opportunity to realize the blessing that comes with toil. Resentful as we siblings have been towards her methods, she knew how to make us work, to understand our duties, and to teach us the sunshine that comes to a life of labor, and the misery of a life having done no good, or nothing at all. We may have had no other option than to do work that she assigned and tracked in her crazy fashions, but we did learn to work.

Independence was rich and available from my mother. She was involved enough to show love, yet distant enough that I never became dependent or felt coddled. Much of the leadership I posses stems from my mothers hands-off-ness. I was sheltered, and I was ignored. I always felt that I had control and could choose my own path, and my own way of walking it.

I learned to love knowledge. I was surrounded by books and facts from birth. Anyone who lived at the feet of my mother's father, couldn't live life without outpouring information at every turn. I was taught how to be taught, and how to teach others. I was inspired to inquire. Developing ideas, expressing creativity, and thinking about anything were the only way of living; they were the status-quo. I was given books frequently, and read from them often. I was raised only feet from and encyclopedia, which got near daily wear. I was entrenched in a family that found its greatest laughter while flopping wildly through the dictionary (Webster's big brown 1700 page unabridged dictionary, complete with colorful illustrations.) I was the only child I knew who had a mother who continued to read to him into his teenage years, sharing the most exciting literature she too had read in her youth. I am the only person I know who enjoys playing Trivial Pursuit, another love she passed down to me. I value knowledge, solely, because of my mother.

What would a good well-rounded boy be if he were only a book-worm. And so the thinking went in our home that led me into the arts. My mother was the one to sing to me, and she did so often enough that I finally learned to harmonize with her. She showed me the notes in the hymnal and helped me to learn to read music. She beleaguered me with piano lessons which never stuck, but gave me a respect for music that has lasted me until now, as I continue to learn new instruments. My mother exposed me to Bach, Mozart, Bizet, Rachmoninov, Ravel, Holst, and Copeland. She filled our home with glorious classics that shaped our thinking and created a timeless framework on which all other activities hung. I grew to find not many joys exceed those felt through music.

She also bedazzled me with the fine arts. I learned to work wood and acrylic before my teen years. Took drawing classes and ceramics at her request, finding deep loves in the craft that would guide my life for decades. She trained my eyes to recognize great artists, and to seek out the stuffy confines of an exhibit hall or staunch museum. I knew clay, pastels and watercolor while my friends learned crayola. I learned to carve wax, mold plaster, and build anything while other children struggled with legos. She began to help me to see, and to believe that I could create.

My mother was frugal, and taught me my first lesson in savings. She encouraged me to tithe, and showed me how to pay bills on time. She warned me of debt, and lived by example. We would always rejoice when we got spoiled by dad, but I know that we are now glad for having learned to live the way mom did. She taught us how to live the pioneer way, or the way they lived during the depression, or the way you live when you have 10 siblings, or whatever it was that led her to that lifestyle. I can't escape the lessons of value and thrift learned.

My mother had integrity and morals and demanded that I must too. She showed me the weight of a promise. She explained the brightness that can be had without vulgarity in speech. She taught me the importance of trust, and was very decisive in teaching me about boundaries and sticking to them. She disciplined with love and understanding, but still disciplined nonetheless.

There are a thousand motherly lessons that I now reflect on as I think of what makes me me. There are even more things that I want to teach to my children that I know they can only learn from a parent. I do believe, that much of our personality comes down with us when we arrive here from heaven, and that much of us seeps through the veil. But I find it ridiculous to think that I haven't been molded, and corralled, and galvanized under the hand of my mother. I may have come from heaven as a wonderful jewel, but she was the one to grind, shape and polish me into what I am today.

I simply could not be who I am, even in the slightest bit, if it were not for my mother having created me in the environment that she created, and raising me to be who I am. For life, and for MY life, I am indebted to her a hundred-fold. As will be my children and grandchildren who will receive her many lessons at my hands. These gifts are far greater than any I could give her on this mother's day. Thank you my beamish Mom, and Happy Mother's Day... I love you!