Tribute to My Mother

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I know that Mother’s Day passed a few weeks ago, but I try to do something nice for my mother that isn’t monetary, and I decided to write a few words of tribute to my mother. The more mothers I meet, the more I appreciate my own despite her shortcomings. Everyone has weaknesses, but my mom's strengths were a good match for the things I needed, and her manner was a complimentary match for the way I operate and what I value. At every stage of my life, she got behind and supported things that were important to me, even if she didn't understand or enjoy them. Like the stereotype implies, my mother protected me, not from information or consequences, but from things for which I was actually unprepared, for unrealistic expectations, and from the nincompoopery of the world until I finally matured enough to see things as they really are. My mother was the primary arbiter of my religious exposure, education, and beliefs. If she had not put the Savior first within her life, I'm fairsure I would have ended up as debauched and misguided as the rest of my fellows. I didn't like being different back then, but the help my mom gave me, while it made me odd compared to my peers, gave me opportunities that they didn't get. Sure, I'm not as "successful" or attractive or whatever as they are, but I am a fully functional adult, and so many people close to my age are not that way. Part of that's me, but more of the credit goes to my mother than one might think.

A few weeks before Mother’s Day, I helped my parents move. As we drove away, we talked, and my mother at one point seemed to express some regret that they had not supported me financially in college. I pointed out to her that she kept an eye out for and paid attention to deadlines on scholarships so that I could pay my way on the auspices of academics and activities so that they would not have to contribute money directly. My mom will refer to it as "nagging", but her diligence in this regard helped me meet deadlines and apply for enough scholarships that I came through my undergraduate degree with zero debt. To get me there and to get me to and from for breaks, my parents paid the way, and I qualified for continuation of scholarship funds by virtue of my performance, but I earned enough that I paid for everything and actually gave money back that I didn't use (I couldn't use it because I graduated in under four years). Since then, I've met a fair few number of young people whose parents don't contribute, who in essence make their children earn it, work for it, and appreciate it. Sure, I didn't go to a job to earn the money, but I earned the money in other ways, sometimes by virtue of scholastics, and sometimes via other means, so that people were willing to pay for it. The counselors at school were no help. The scholarship sites only helped you search databases. I filled out the applications. However, without my mother, I would have either incurred debt or been forced to work more than 15 hours/week during school or had to rely on my parents, and I don't think they could actually afford to help me at that time. My siblings receive direct financial assistance; I had my mother's support, encouragement, and dedication to obtain money she and my father might not have been able to provide. She kept me out of debt.

My mother went to bat for me with adults. During middle school, over Christmas break, my report card came in, showing that I had earned a “C” for the semester in English. She went in to confront Mr. Gainey who claimed I had not taken the final. Knowing that wasn’t like me, mom appealed to administration, and when I was able to recollect questions from the final I “did not take” as well as the answer choices in order, the principal ordered Mr. Gainey to give me an A. Whenever other hiccups occured, whether in interpersonal interactions or scholastic efforts, my mom made time to come and meet with school officials. When the neighbors in Mt. Home ID got pissed at us for all the balls we inadvertently kicked over the fence, my mom faced down those grumps. When my baseball coach took me out with a 3-2 count to put in his son who struck out, my mom was at least as annoyed as I was, and when I stated a disinterest in further baseball, she supported that decision. Although she no longer intercedes because I'm an adult myself, she still provides counsel and comfort, and I know she's still on my side and has my back.

When it came to my relationship with, faith in and understanding of God, mom took the driver’s seat. From my earliest years, she was the one who insisted on reading scriptures together as a family, and I can remember as early as age 8 reading a few verses at night and then as I grew before school. As I grew, she was the biggest supporter of and belief in the notion that I could be led and inspired by God, and she never disparaged my claims to receive revelation or feel God’s guidance and love. I remember driving towards Craters of the Moon in Idaho and telling her I felt funny about the storm ahead, and she turned back because she had the same feeling. When I told her at about age 28 about meeting her dead maternal grandmother after our accident in England when I was six and she realized I had actually died in the accident, instead of dismissing it, she wanted to know more. As a missionary, she wrote in a letter that I should dry clean my suit periodically, which led to meeting Ursula Huber of Neumarkt, the only person I found and taught who repented and came to Christ. Sundays, mom and I discuss the gospel; dad does too, but I discuss it with mom more because dad and I are usually working on something or because he’s at church doing whatever leaders do. Apparently, I asked a lot of poignant and pressing questions, even as a small boy, and when my mom didn't know what to say, she taught me to find my own answers. Mostly, this meant going to the library and coming through the card catalogue, but since I started doing my own research at the age of eight, I soon learned the difference between valuable resources and editorial speculation, so when my interests migrated more intot he realm of religion, I knew how to tell the wheat from the chaff, from those who profess religion to those who could actually help me find answers to prayer. I know it was hard for my mother when I left to serve as a missionary, but she had trained me, she continued to support me, and she was there for me as I went off for the first time completely alone on another continent, and when I returned home, she met me at the terminal to welcome me home.

I know that my mother loves me. I know a lot of women who are actually pretty lousy mothers relatively speaking. My mother isn't perfect, but I know that she cares about me and truly wishes for my success and happiness. I am certain it bothers her to see me alone, to watch my heart break, to see me crestfallen, defeated, dejected, inspected, neglected, and rejected. She doesn't pretend to have all the answers; she did for a time, but she learned that I'm my own man and that, because I'm a man, I'm going to be pigheaded and not do what she thinks. She also learned that I'll do something virtuous and praiseworthy that is intended to bring honour to the family and the family name. She might not approve of what I do, but she understands why I think it's important. After all, she trained me, protected me, provided for me, and prepared me to be an adult. I know that she's probably sad that I'm as cynical and bitter as I am, but she knows that this comes from the fact that I have matured and as a consequence of the particular trials and troubles to which life subjects me. Some people get better cards, and some people get worse ones. One of the best cards dealt to me was my family. Richer than I you never can be for I had a mother who read to me. All that I am is in some way accredited to my angel mother. She's not perfect, but she pointed me in the direction of success, help me up as I took my first steps, and provided the truly necessary materials in order to end up where I wanted to be. My mother isn't flawless, but she was the best mother for me, and I think God for letting me choose her.