Mother’s Day has always served as a day when we honor and celebrate the cherished mothers and mother-like mentors in our lives.
It’s a day where young kids scribble their names on printer paper, draw sticks figures of themselves holding hands with Mommy and go to the store with Dad to pick out her favorite candy. They get to stay up just a little later that night setting everything up for the big reveal the next morning, not realizing Momma knows every move they make but cherishes it all the more because of it.
It’s a day to look to serve the one who always serves selflessly. The house looks a little cleaner just for a day because Dad wanted to make sure Mom got to prop her feet up for a bit. The weeds in the garden bed get pulled without question because the son or daughter in-law wants to make sure it looks its best for her. Flowers arrive at her place of work because the student she poured into 20 years ago remembers the life-changing influence she had on them.
For some, it’s a day of reflection, honoring the heroic women in our lives who are no longer here. Families gather to decorate headstones, sharing stories of their mothers and reconnecting with relatives they may only see a few times a year. If your family is anything like ours, it also becomes a reason to eat a little too much, take plenty of pictures and add another memory to the collection.
The reason behind Mother’s Day is a beautiful one, and my hope is that for everyone who can, the day is filled with joy and intentionality toward the motherly figure they celebrate, no matter who that may be.
But what happens when Mother’s Day loses some of that joy? The celebration part of it? Is that even possible?
A month ago, my wife was diagnosed with stage 4 cancer. It came like a whirlwind. What appeared to be routine surgery revealed far more than we could have ever prepared for. In just a month, we have had surgery, questions, scans, more questions, another surgery ahead and endless changes to the rhythm of our daily lives.
We’ve had to explain to our 8-year-old what cancer is and what it means for Mom. To our 5-year-old that Mommy is sick. I’ve watched my mother-in-law break down in the silent moments between comforting her daughter and being ever present and strong for everyone else.
And I would be a liar if I didn’t say I was scared too, wrestling with God through the “Why?” while also trying to lean into the hope found in His “I am.”
It’s been a lot. And honestly, we are just at the beginning.
So, what do I say to my wife this Mother’s Day, who is about to face her biggest mountain yet? What do we say to those mothers who are in the thick of it, on a day meant to make them feel special, when finding joy feels harder than ever?
I’m not really sure what the perfect words are, but I think it would go something like this:
To my wife, mother of our two feral dragons,
First, let me say how proud I am of you.
I know that this year, especially these past few months, has been one challenge after another for us, yet you have held your resolve through it all.
We went from stressing over weekend ball tournaments, fighting over unmade beds, eating far too much Waffle House with friends and our favorite “American Idol” date nights, to hanging on every word the doctor says at the next appointment.
It’s strange how quickly the things that once exhausted us now seem so small compared to the mountain standing in front of us.
But here you are, still being a mother to two relentless boys, being a wife to a husband who needs you for balance and a youth pastor’s wife to students who see you as a source of strength.
I admire you.
In all of this, you haven’t missed a ball game. You wanted to be back in church right after your first surgery. You are singing again. You stress over your clients who “need their hair did” like they are your own family. You still vacuum and mop every other day, which still drives me absolutely nuts.
Even in the midst of all this mess, you continue choosing to be the very best parts of yourself.
And yes, there have been moments, understandably so, of being overwhelmed and seeing the very same “Why?” in your eyes. I’ve seen the silent struggles that you have, trying to shield it from our children’s eyes. I’ve felt the nights where you tremble next to me. I can feel the exhaustion in the words of your texts after a long day.
I want you to know it’s okay to have those moments you need to let it all out. I’ll be there however you need me, every step of the way.
From you, I am learning what real strength actually requires. In the face of your hardest Mother’s Day yet, you keep showing up for us, even when we just want you to slow down and rest a bit. I could never fully express how thankful I am that, in the very hour we received the news, you chose to put your hope in the Lord and trust Him in the unknown.
While I sank like Peter, you poured out your alabaster jar, trusting in Jesus.
You chose hope. You have faith. You believe that there is still purpose in this valley. That is real strength.
And I can’t help but think about the story that you will one day have to tell after all of this. The encouragement, your perspective and strength that you can bring to mothers who are facing their hardest days, too.
You have everything you need to win this battle. You are enough. The Lord created you so.
I admire your courage and faith in the face of pain, and I challenge you to keep showing up with both. Carry them with you as you climb this mountain.
And on the days that come when it all feels like too much, we will be there to help carry you through it. Like Sam carried Frodo, I’ll be your Sam.
“I can’t carry it for you, but I can carry you.”
All of us. Me. Our boys. Your family. Our friends, church and all of those baseball moms who pray for you relentlessly. We are here.
You are truly loved.
You are my favorite person.
Love you, wife,
Gauge
