Momma Rocks

When I was about four or five years old, I was sitting with my parents and brother in a Baptist church which we attended regularly. It was Mother's Day, and the pastor of the church asked all of the mothers to stand up. I looked over the crowd curiously and observed the number of women on their feet, and felt suddenly as though I was being excluded from something very special.

So, my logical reflection culminated something like this--"I am a mommy to my stuffies" (translation: stuffed animals) "therefore I am a mother."

With poignant sentiment and nobility, I stood up beside my mom hoping no authority figures would particularly notice. Everything was going just splendidly when I felt my dad's hand on my shoulder and heard the gentle rebuke: "Emily, sit down."

I sank back down into the pew as appreciation, recognition and small gifts descended on the mothers around me, feeling, to my surprise, justly disciplined. I fended off a feeling of embarrassment with the sudden overwhelming assurance that what was taking place was good and acceptable.

The point? There are many imitators and some alternatives, but nothing can compare to the fierce love and friendship of a mom.

I love you, Mom!