SOUL & SELF-CARE SUNDAY
At the Reflection Pool: Remembering the Woman Who Mothered Me
A Heavenly Birthday Reflection

Today is August 31st
And it sits quietly between two dates that mean so much to me.
My birthday has just passed, and August 31st would have been my mother’s 90th birthday.
Ninety years.
There is something about milestones like that that makes you stop.
Not necessarily because you are sad.
Not necessarily because you are happy.
Sometimes you are simply… reflective.
And this weekend, I find myself standing at what I can only describe as the reflection pool of my life.
Looking back.
Remembering.
Smiling.
Missing.
Thanking God.
And yes, sometimes allowing a tear to fall.
Because grief is interesting.
You can be grateful and still miss somebody.
You can have peace and still wish you could hear their voice.
You can know exactly where they are and still wish they were sitting right beside you.
My mother transitioned in 2022, and as I approach what would have been her 90th birthday, I find myself thinking less about what I lost and more about what I was blessed to have.
I had a mother.
I had her voice.
I had her presence.
I had her lessons.
I had her prayers.
I had her personality.
I had her correction.
I had her love.

And one of the sweetest parts of our story is that shortly after I entered this world, I became one of her birthday gifts.
Imagine that.
She had a birthday, and she got to bring home a baby girl.
Me!
Now, I don’t know if she always considered me the gift that kept on giving, or occasionally the gift she might have liked to exchange!, but nevertheless, I was part of her birthday celebration.
And now, all these years later, her birthday has become part of my celebration too.
Because I celebrate the woman whose life helped shape mine.

A MOTHER’S IMPRESSION

When we are children, we don’t always understand what our mothers are depositing into us.
We don’t understand every correction.
We don’t appreciate every sacrifice.
We don’t recognize every prayer.
We don’t know about the nights they stayed awake worrying.
The things they went without.
The fears they hid.
The tears they wiped away before walking into the room.
As children, we simply know:
“That’s Mama.”
But age will give you perspective.
Life will give you perspective.
Loss will certainly give you perspective.
And now when I look back, there are things I understand about my mother that I could not possibly have understood when I was younger.
I recognize her humanity.
I recognize her strength.
I recognize that she had dreams too.
She had disappointments too.
She had moments when she probably didn’t know what in the world she was doing either.
Because motherhood does not come with a perfect instruction manual.
Mothers are human beings raising human beings while still becoming who they themselves were created to be.
And that realization has taught me grace.

FOR THE PERSON WHOSE STORY IS DIFFERENT

And I want to stop here because Mother’s Day, birthdays, anniversaries and conversations about mothers can touch people differently.
Everybody listening to me did not have a wonderful relationship with their biological mother.
Some people hear the word “mother” and smile.
Some hear it and ache.
Some feel gratitude.
Some feel abandonment.
Some remember affection.
Some remember conflict.
Some never knew their mother at all.
And I never want my celebration of my mother to invalidate somebody else’s experience.
Your story matters too.
But here is something I’ve learned about God:
God is not limited to biology.
Psalm 68:5 describes Him as:
“A father to the fatherless…”
And while Scripture specifically uses the language of fatherhood there, the character of God revealed throughout Scripture shows us a God who cares for the abandoned, the lonely, the displaced and those who feel forgotten.
Psalm 27:10 says:
“When my father and my mother forsake me, then the Lord will take me up.”
What a promise.
God says, in essence:
If there is a place in your life where human love was missing, I know how to meet you there.
And sometimes He meets us directly through His presence.
Sometimes He sends somebody.
A grandmother.
An aunt.
A teacher.
A neighbor.
A church mother.
A mentor.
A friend’s mother who somehow started treating you like one of her own.
A woman who may never have given birth to you but helped give birth to something in you.
Confidence.
Faith.
Purpose.
Wisdom.
Safety.
Identity.
Hope.
That is mothering too.

MOTHERING IS BIGGER THAN A TITLE

Sometimes the person who mothers you is not the person whose name appears on your birth certificate.
Mothering is nurturing.
Mothering is covering.
Mothering is correcting.
Mothering is praying.
Mothering is saying:
“Baby, you can do this.”
Mothering is telling you the truth when you don’t want to hear it.
Mothering is feeding more than your stomach.
It’s feeding your spirit.
Your confidence.
Your imagination.
Your future.
So today, I want somebody to think again.
You may initially say:
“I never had that.”
But ask God:
“Lord, show me where You loved me through somebody.”
You might be surprised.
There may have been somebody standing in the gap all along.
And if you truly cannot identify that person yet, don’t lose heart.
God is still writing your story.
The connection you needed yesterday may be the connection He introduces tomorrow.
And perhaps there is another possibility:
Maybe you are becoming the person you once needed.
Maybe because you know what it feels like not to have that nurturing presence, God has placed something inside of you that allows you to become that presence for somebody else.
Isn’t that just like God?
He can turn an empty space into ministry.
He can turn pain into purpose.
He can turn absence into assignment.

THE BITTERSWEET BEAUTY OF REMEMBERING

For me, this weekend is bittersweet.
There is sweetness because I remember.
There is bitterness because I miss her.
But even the bitterness has softened with time.
Because my faith reminds me that death does not get the final word.
Second Corinthians 5:8 reminds us that to be absent from the body is to be present with the Lord.
And that gives me peace.
My mother is no longer confined to a body that ages.
No longer carrying earthly burdens.
No longer navigating life’s disappointments.
She is in the presence of the One who created her.
And if I say I believe what I preach, then there comes a point when my grief has to make room for my faith.
I can miss Mama and still rejoice for Mama.
I can cry and still praise.
I can remember and still move forward.
I can celebrate her life without allowing her death to steal mine.
That is part of self-care too.

GRIEF DOES NOT MEAN YOU’RE GOING BACKWARDS

Someone needs this today:
Having a difficult day does not mean you are losing your healing.
Crying does not mean you’ve gone backwards.
Missing somebody does not mean your faith is weak.
Sometimes tears are simply love with nowhere physical to go.
So let them fall.
Sit with the memory.
Look at the photographs.
Cook the recipe.
Play the song.
Laugh about the crazy thing Mama used to say.
Tell the story again.
Call somebody who remembers her too.
Healing doesn’t require forgetting.
Healthy grief learns how to remember without becoming imprisoned by the memory.
And when I stand at the reflection pool of my life this weekend, I see so much more than loss.
I see inheritance.
Not necessarily money.
Not property.
Not possessions.
I’m talking about the things nobody can put a price tag on.
The way I think.
The way I love.
The way I survive.
The way I pray.
The way I keep going.
The things she taught me intentionally.
And probably some things she taught me without ever knowing I was watching.

WHAT WILL THEY REMEMBER ABOUT YOU?

And reflection always turns into examination.
Because while I’m thinking about my mother’s legacy, I have to think about mine.
What am I leaving behind?
When people sit at the reflection pool of their lives and remember me, what will they remember?
Will they remember kindness?
Will they remember encouragement?
Will they remember that I showed up?
Will they remember that I prayed?
Will they remember that I spoke life into them?
Will they remember that I loved people beyond convenience?
Because here’s the thing:
You do not have to be somebody’s mother to leave a mothering legacy.
You can nurture purpose wherever you find it.
You can encourage somebody.
You can mentor somebody.
You can protect somebody.
You can tell somebody:
“I see something in you.”
You never know how deeply those words may land.

HAPPY HEAVENLY 90TH, MOM

So Mom…
As your 90th birthday approaches, I celebrate you.
I celebrate every year you lived.
Every lesson you taught.
Every prayer you prayed.
Every sacrifice I knew about…
and the ones I probably never knew.
Thank you for the life you gave me.
Thank you for being part of the woman I became.
And thank you for the wonderful little piece of our story that still makes me smile:
That around your birthday, you got to bring me home.
Some birthday present, huh?
And here I am all these years later, still talking.
Still dreaming.
Still building.
Still believing.
Still becoming.
And I would like to believe that would make you smile.
Happy Heavenly 90th Birthday, Mama.
I’ll keep living.
I’ll keep loving.
I’ll keep serving.
And I’ll keep carrying forward the best of what you deposited in me.

A PRAYER FOR THE MOTHERED, THE MOTHERLESS AND THE MOTHERING

Father,
Thank You for the gift of life.
Thank You for mothers.
Thank You for the women who carried us, nurtured us, prayed for us, corrected us and covered us.
And today, I especially thank You for my mother.
Thank You for every year I was allowed to know her.
Thank You for every memory that remains.
Thank You that although she is absent from this earthly body, my faith assures me that she is present with You.
Lord, comfort every person listening who is grieving their mother today.
Sit with them in the quiet places.
Hold them during the moments when the memories suddenly become overwhelming.
Remind them that love does not disappear simply because someone is no longer physically present.
And Father, I pray especially for the person whose relationship with their mother was painful.
For the person who was abandoned.
For the person who never felt chosen.
For the person who watched others receive the kind of mothering they desperately wanted.
Heal those places, Lord.
And open their eyes.
Show them the people You have already placed in their lives.
Reveal the grandmothers, aunties, mentors, teachers, friends, spiritual mothers and unexpected vessels through whom You have been loving them.
And if that person has not yet appeared, send the right connection in Your perfect timing.
Be everything that is missing until that connection comes.
And Lord, help us also recognize when we are being called to become that nurturing presence for somebody else.
Let our lives provide shade.
Safety.
Wisdom.
Encouragement.
Correction.
Compassion.
And love.
Teach us to honor those who came before us by living well while we are still here.
Thank You for the mothers who are with us.
Thank You for the mothers who have gone before us.
Thank You for the mother figures You send along the way.
And thank You for being the God who knows how to fill every empty space.
In Jesus’ name,
Amen.

This Soul & Self-Care Sunday, I leave you with this:
Do not only grieve what is gone.
Give thanks for what was given.
Do not only mourn the empty chair.
Remember everything that person poured into the one who is still sitting here: you.
And when you stand at the reflection pool of your life, don’t only look for what you lost.
Look carefully.
You may discover that love left fingerprints everywhere.
Happy Heavenly 90th Birthday, Mom.
Your life mattered.
Your love mattered.
And because you were here…
a part of you is still here too.