It was one of those moments that define who mom and dad are. On a lazy Sunday afternoon, one of my boys snuggled up to my wife, stared into her face all doe-eyed and said, “Mommy, you smell like flowers.” This inspired me to ask, “What does Dad smell like?” “Daddy, you smell like… meat.” I walked away… to take a bath. My interpretation? “Dad, you are like a strong tree that guards the forest and Mommy is the flower that graces it.” A stretch? OK perhaps.

Like flowers, there is something delicate about moms. Some call it the “female touch” referring to that gentle nuance that a mom adds to a family. She has certainly  blunted the rough edges in my life. She’s smoothed  me out more than a little. But there is also something strong about moms too. Like roses with thorns, moms will protect their brood to the end. There is an internal maternal strength that dads can’t begin to understand. Remember guys, it’s your wife that gave birth, not you.

So what am I trying to say? To my wife, my mom, the “motherly figures” in my life, and just moms everywhere, you belong to the line of Jacobed, the tribe of Mary and Elizabeth. May God strengthen you this day. How could Jacobed have known she was changing the diaper of Moses, God’s chosen deliverer of Israel. Because of mothers everywhere, generations will live for Glory. Because of you, kids will have one more picture of God imprinted on their hearts. A mother’s love isn’t everything but it is an important piece of the puzzle. When a mother lives out her calling (or any of us for that matter), the mundane canvas of life comes alive with the brush strokes of heaven. A picture of Jesus is painted and life often clouded with sin and pain begins to make sense.

A little note here. When I say mothers, I am not merely referring to biological mothers. I’ve been impacted by many “moms” in my life. They did not have children of their own physically, but they were all mothers. Some of them mothered me to speak, read, and write English when I immigrated to the States. Some of them simply lent an ear to me when I needed to sort out my teenage angst. And one of them in particular taught me how to pray, fast and do ministry. You are all mothers in my book.

I’m going to leave you with a Mother’s Day poem my nine year old girl wrote for my wife about how she loves to spend time with her mom. She enjoys her mom. She loves her. I pray this love my girl feels from her mom and for her mom will help her to experience love from God and to express her love for God. Because at the end of the day, that’s the ultimate prayer my wife and I carry deep within our hearts: Lord, help us to do this parent thing faithfully so that through sinful beings like us our kids can somehow see You a little bit better.

Should I Compare You?

Should I compare you
To a hot summer day?
No, for you are better.

Even though I could be playing
Outside on a hot summer day,
I’d rather be
Playing with you,
Laughing along the way.

I could be playing at the park too,
But I’d rather be playing with you.

I could be eating an ice cream cone,
But I would hate
To be alone.

Should I compare you
To a hot summer day?
No, for you are better.

mommy smells like flowers

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