As the celebration of Mother's Day approached and I saw many people on social media acknowledging and celebrating their mothers my thoughts turned to my own mother and my childhood and youth.
I don’t have very may pictures of my mom any more She died in an alcohol related car accident in 1982. One of the few pictures I do have is of her sitting at the kitchen table smoking a cigarette with curlers in her hair. Probably not the most flattering picture.
For some reason the picture and the whole celebration this year brings a lot of sadness. I know I grieved when my mom died like I grieved for no one else. I know I loved my mom and I know she loved me. But she was a slave to the disease of alcoholism. And she was the victim of an abusive marriage. When I remember her I can’t help remembering all of the chaos and dysfunction of growing up in a household where alcoholism, spousal abuse, and probably child abuse as well, were the norm.
I emerged scarred from the wounds of childhood. I have spent my entire adult life trying to overcome those wounds. Probably some of them are so deep I will never overcome them.
But at the same time I must acknowledge that all of those experiences shape who I am today. If I am compassionate, tolerant, sensitive to the pain of others, it is because of this. Jesus suffered all of the pains of being human so that he could rescue humans. I do believe it is possible that we, his followers, must also suffer much so that we can minister to those who suffer.
And even though these memories fill me with sadness, they do not make me love my mother less. I pray that she has finally found peace in the arms of our loving savior.
“Above all, keep loving one another earnestly, since love covers a multitude of sins.” (1 Peter 4:7-8, ESV)
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