A Mother Multiplied

My mother put in her time.

She raised me and did everything for me that a mother should.

She demanded much, especially when I didn't want her to. She wouldn't let me go in late to school after a late night, even when I thought missing study hall wasn't that big of a deal. Mediocrity in academics wasn't okay. Nor was it in church and Sunday school attendance.

She baked and she cooked, and she did both well. Some manner of bar or cookie was readily available, especially during my teenage years when I grabbed two or three at a time. Cupcakes were a plus. Or homemade donuts on Saturday mornings. Banana cream pie on special occasions.

She traveled many highways over central Iowa to watch all manner of athletic endeavors, even when I was bad. She cheered and supported and gave me space to lick my wounds in peace or exuberantly relive triumphs.

She worried like crazy. About school, about driving, about college, about my wallet, about who I was with and what I was doing - all of it, both during the times she mentioned it and the times she didn't. My guess is she offered many little prayers when I left the house and many sighs of relief when I came back.

She wrote notes. Notes of instruction on days when she left before I was out of bed, or notes of encouragement and love in lunches or snacks, or Bible verses in my mail at college. Even and especially when she could not be there, she made her voice known.

My mother put in her time and could easily just call it good. She took care of her kids. She continues to support her kids. Isn't that enough?

Not for mom. No, my mother has done this and continues to do this not only for me, but for the people important to me as well. She has multiplied the good she has to offer, multiplied the mothering, amassing a sea of goodwill and blessings connected to her efforts.

When I coached youth flag football while I was in college, she was there, driving 2 hours on a Saturday morning to cheer on the boys and give them post-game encouragement and treats. And she's there now, in the stands in many a CIML gym on Tuesday and Friday nights, supporting and feeding a group of boys who are not her blood but who she has claimed as her own.

My friends on the coaching staff get fed too - all manner of baked goods or bakery delicacies to feed our disappointment or celebration all the way home. They get encouraged. They get prayed for too.

A couple of my friends swear by her cupcakes and swear at me if I visit without them. Then there are the "kling-ons," the marshmallowey Corn Chex and Reese's Pieces conglomeration of good, that my roommate in college greedily devoured. No visit from Mom was an empty visit for friends.

For those important to me, they find an ally in Mom - whether it be from help or hugs, verbal or written support, food or folly. And she's got worry to offer them too.

Being a mother of three has never been enough. The good she has offered me has been extended unwaveringly to all those around me. And while they may be thinking about their own mother this weekend, my guess is they think about mine on quite a few other days and smile.