There is so much to be thankful for. I could write for days. This week, I shared an article over on The Equals Record about my mom. They have a regular column called You Remind Me of Someone which is written by the lovely, Alison Schramm (I highly recommend reading this moving series). My mom is someone I’m certainly thankful for and I thought today was certainly a great day for sharing some of that story. A story that shares the truth that, a mother’s unconditional love is never wasted, it is only reproduced.
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Quiet Can Be Loud
My mom kills me with kindness and loves the way we all want to be loved: unconditionally. She was the mom that every other kid wanted to have and I was lucky enough that she was all mine.
We were the treat house. Growing up, ours was the house that everyone wanted to play at; for the fun, undoubtedly, but also for the snacks (it was not unusual to catch a neighbor kid knocking on our front kitchen window asking my mom for sweets). We had a home that people just wanted to be at. I attribute this to my dad providing a wonderful place and my mom making it a home. Besides giving us a home, the greatest thing they gave me and my siblings was the gift of being kids. We spent our days living out whatever it was we could imagine and playing our days away. There was not a worry or care and if one tried to find its way in, there was no doubt that they would scare it away and make any wrongs right.
I’ve always held both my parents in high regard – put them on a pedestal, in fact, and looked up to them the way I thought all kids did. It’s hard not to look at my mom with a sense of adoration. I don’t know anyone as kind, loving, giving and beautiful as she is. To me she was – and still is – the perfect embodiment of beautiful elegance living in the casual comfort of the everyday. I’ve always known my mom was beautiful, more beautiful than I would ever be. To this day, when someone says I look like my mom, it’s a compliment I hold onto. But, when someone tells me that I am like my mom, it’s the best compliment of all, because beyond her beauty is a beautiful soul. Hers is a soul that houses a quiet inner strength, the kind that often goes unnoticed. And worse than going unnoticed, is often mistaken for weakness. But there is no weakness there. My mom’s is the kind of strength that needs not be spoken, needs not be displayed, needs not show its heavy lifting to every person it encounters. It is the kind of strength that is content to continue on, day after day, on good days and bad days alike. It is the kind of strength that is enviable; that is, if people knew about it . . .
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you can read the rest of the article here.