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An Early Mother’s Day

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Mother's Day is coming up. The official date in the U.S. is Sunday, May 9, so we've still got plenty of time to make plans for the moms in our lives. But to get us thinking about it, I proposed that our HighCallingBlogs community write mom-themed vignettes of about 500 words or poetry. The resulting entries included poetry and personal stories; laughter and grief. Enjoy this sampling, and be sure to visit the full list below.
A Mother's Day
I
Bones-pained, she cushions herself in a fifties-old high-backed chintz chair rescued from some other parlor earlier emptied of over visitations. Before her a sleek slash of gleaming black stainless steel, its adjustable catafalque hip-high, enwraps in white satin the third of nine she bore as the good wife she augured to be. He made it to 59 (barely), she long past that depression generation so used to tall-telling days when bread and stamps cost pennies and she walked a mile, maybe two, to school. From where she receives hands and tears up on her seat of caned memories — some hers, some not — this is Mother's Day...
Read Maureen's poem "A Mother's Day" in its entirety at Writing Without Paper. From Megan at Sabbath Says:
One recent Friday morning, I told my 11-year-old daughter to hurry up with her earrings so I could take her to school. She said her ear hurt. I looked closely and discovered that she had developed an infection from the piercing. Immediately, I knew I had to do two things: 1) Call the doctor, to prescribe 2) Call Mom, to pray Only, I couldn’t call Mom. She had just died. She would not be able to pray for my daughter.
Read all of Megan's post. Elizabeth of Just Following Jesus focused on her mother's hands and the work that those hands represent. An excerpt:
I wanted flowery words of love and affection. I wanted lots of hugs and kisses. I wanted her to be gentle as she combed the tangles out of my long, fine hair, wet from my Saturday night bath. There were seven of us kids, and I the one who was labeled "tender hearted"...too much so, too easily hurt and brought to tears... too easily afraid and insecure. Her way to love was to work...
Read the rest of Elizabeth's post "Her hands..." On the lighter side, A Simple Country Girl wrote an ode:
An Ode for Moms Stars rush by, carried on waves And the creek twinkles and glimmers Up in the night’s dark sky Sheets laugh and giggle And children are tucked Over the bed’s middle Ears wrinkle at the giant stink And noses hear something entirely gross Underneath the kitchen sink...
The rest of A Simple Country Girl's ode appears alongside a charming family story. Visit Aspire To Lead A Quiet Life to read it all. Stephie composed a poem. Here's a taste:
Mother's Embrace Written April 22, 2010 Where is my mother when I am losing my grip on reality when I begin feeling a little disconnected from myself, my body, this world Where is my mother whom I said goodbye to in a hurry without an embrace leaving her alone to worry...
Read all of "Mother's Embrace" at Stephie Goldfish. Stephie wasn't the only person yearning for a mother's embrace. Laura, too, expressed her longing for her mother; her longing to be held:
The other night, as I tucked my littlest in, I couldn’t help noticing how completely he filled up my arms. I felt a stabbing awareness of the dwindling nature of time. I held him tighter. He nestled in close, and I felt his contentment in the evenness of his breath. My arms to him are a sanctuary, an ever-present shelter of love. As I cradled him to me in the dark, I tried desperately to remember how it felt to be held in such a manner. Try as I might, I could not muster a single memory. Too many years have gone by since I have sought such a sanctuary. Nevertheless, I found myself longing for my mother. I felt an ache inside of me for tender arms to hold me tight. Does it seem odd for a grown woman to yearn to be held like a child?
Visit The Wellspring to read "Holy Hugs." If you didn't participate, think about writing something anyway. It'll make a nice gift to stick in the mail or set by someone's plate on Mother's Day ... right next to the macaroni necklace wrapped in newsprint and masking tape.

All Mother's Day Writing Project participants:

Tulips photo by Ann Voskamp. Used with permission. Posts shared by Ann Kroeker.
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