We went out last night, the six of us, to celebrate Mother’s Day early. You, your three daughters, and two of your grand-daughters. Three generations of beautiful, powerful, strong and glorious women.
There you were surrounded by women who had learned from you to smile at the world, to love fiercely, to forgive readily. We have modeled your laughter, your grace, your joy. Every one of us has recognized you as that precious and rare woman of God and have risen up over and over and called you blessed.
And, O, you were glorious last night, totally in your element. How many 60 year old grandmothers can rock leather pants and three inch heels and simultaneously look classy? You are one of those lucky women who only gets more beautiful with age. We’ve heard it so many times on so many occasions, the incredulous, “You’re the grandma!?”
Yet, last night you were not totally there with us. You ordered water instead of a drink, you shook your head at the appetizers the rest of us sampled with such joy. You didn’t order your own entree but nibbled off of your granddaughter’s salad. You shook your head and sighed. You’d been trying to lose these last 3 pounds for months and they wouldn’t come off. Three little pounds that stole your joy. Three little pounds that robbed you of your celebration. Three little pounds that kept you from partaking in the feast in your honor.
Mom, screw the three pounds.
Mom, throw away that scale that’s been worse to you than any ex-husband; measuring your worth with a lie.
Mom, look around you and see the legacy of generations of women who want to emulate you; who want to find their joy, worth, and beauty in the Lord. Who look at you and see the woman we want to become.
I love you. You ARE beautiful. Happy Mother’s Day.