Color Me Butterfly

I remember the first and last time I have ever disrespected my mother.  I was a rebellious 14 year old who’d one day forgotten her place.  It was a Sunday afternoon  – a time for family to commune, to pray together, to eat some of the best home cooking you’d ever imagine.  I’d put on my Sunday’s best and was prepared to go out with my friends.  “But why can’t I go?” I remember shouting across the room at my mother when she stopped me dead in my tracks.  “Because I said so,” was her reply.  But that wasn’t good enough.  I needed a better answer; and more importantly – to change her mind.  When those tactics didn’t work, I stomped my feet and screamed “I hate you.”  To this day, I’m not sure what transpired next.  All I remember is being pinned up against the wall with mama’s hands wrapped around my neck and words that has stayed with me.  “I brought you in this world and I’ll take you out,” she said in a strained voice and bent eyebrows.  My girlfriends stood nearby, stunned.  I’m not sure if the look on their faces was pity or penitence. 

That day and for many, many days afterwards, I thought I hated my mother.  At times, I’d sit in my room huffing and puffing, scrounging and scrapping at thoughts about how I couldn’t wait for the day when I was grown, had a daughter of my own and how I’d be nothing like my mother. 

Turn up the clock 28 years and two daughters later, I’ve come to regret those frivolous thoughts and words.  I’ve come to realize what it truly means to be a ‘mother’ – the kind of mother that my mother was:  A mother who’d take the food out of her mouth to feed her children.  A mother who’d take the last stitch off her back to clothe her children.  A mother who’d work two jobs to take care of her children.  And yes, a mother who would occasionally splutter words in a strained voice with bent eyebrows. 

There is no greater deed than that of motherhood.  The woman who I once thought I abhorred is the rock that has sustained me, the teaching that has prepared me, and the one thing that keeps me whole.  I could have never become the woman that I am today and raise my daughters with such grace had it not been for my mother.  This Mother’s Day season, let us not forget to honor our mothers, worship our mothers, love our mothers unconditionally.  Let us also remember to pass on these sentiments to our daughters.

Happy Mother’s Day, Week, Month, Year and Eternity.

Janice Hemmings
Raleigh, NC

It's amazing how the many things our mothers taught us have resurfaced at various stages of our lives.  Actions that we once thought ridiculous now make sense.  Routines we just couldn't follow have become second nature.  Practices we once didn’t understand are evermore purposeful.  Of all the things that I’ve learned from my mother, there is one that has sustained me – the power of prayer.
 
For centuries, our mothers have been the cornerstone to connect us with spirit and prayer.  They have  passed on what has sustained them from generation to generation.  They have instilled in their daughters the need to pray their way through whatever life offers.  And many of us whom have accepted this wisdom are doing just that. 

I'm told that my great grandmother would sit in her rocker for hours on end – an open bible on her lap, silently praying.  Great grandmother prayed for the health and well being of her children and her children's children.  She prayed for peace in her home.  My grandmother's prayer practices were very similar to that of her mother.  Grandmother attended church regularly and expected her children to follow suit.  She prayed that her children would come to see God in all things.  My mother, the third generation mimicked her own mother and took it one step further by incorporating music into her prayers.  Mother would pray and sing at different times of the day or night – celebrating and affirming that God would bless her children with happiness.
 
As the fourth generation, I have adopted my foremothers prayer practices and have expanded upon them.  In interlocking their prayer practices with my own, I have added to the tapestry of our family tradition.  I open many a holy book, silently praying for peace in my soul and in my life.  Attending both traditional and nontraditional church services, I see God in all things, all people, all of life.  Moreover, I find my prayers are leading me to the happy home of my heart.
 
My prayer this Mother's Day 2008 is for all mothers, daughters, aunts, nieces, sisters and girlfriends to remember the prayer practices of their foremothers.  I pray that we will all join together to form a prayer bridge to heaven. Indeed, these are the prayers that will enrich us all for generations to come.

Margaret Silverstone
Catonsville, MD

As a child, my brother and I would often visit Godmother Marie who lived next door.  She’d babysat for me and my brother while our parents worked.  With wiry curls and bright eyes, a firm but nurturing attitude, she’d greet us at the door with a smile and would restrict our playtime to her backyard.  But her pet sheepdog Howard provided more than enough incentive for play.  Godmother Marie's home always smelled like a bakery.  Cookies and cakes lined her cupboard and she’d welcome anyone who visited her with a treat. 
 
By the time I became a teenager, Godmother Vera came into my life.  She was my mother's best friend.  Vibrant and funny, being around Godmother Vera was always festive.  Her home was the one everyone stopped by after work or school.  With the music blasting, Godmother Vera would serve unlimited supplies of cold drinks and hot plates of food.  Her jokes were laced with mimics and her laughter was laced with the joy of making others happy.  I told many a teenage secrets to Godmother Vera.  She guarded my privacy as closely as she did my mother's, teaching me the value of being and having a close and trusting friend.  With her inspiring attitude, Godmother Vera was a consummate confidence builder.  She often told me how pretty and smart I was and encouraged me to always walk with pride, something that has inspired and stayed with me to this day.
 
During my college years, Godmother Jackie, the mother of one of my girlfriends, challenged my young adult life decisions.  She considered all of her daughter’s friends as “her children.”  Godmother Jackie guided my life and took personal interest and responsibility in me like a parent.  She’d offer sound, unintrusive advice and would take all of her 'daughters' to the movies, museums, and other activities.  She questioned me on the books I read, sometimes even reading them herself to foster more in-depth discussion.  Godmother Jackie mentored me in focusing on the best life has to offer - not just in material things but in the connections we have with others.
 
Recently, I was invited to the christening of a new baby.  I am a friend of the woman who will Godmother this new life.  Her role in loving and supporting this child got me to thinking about the many Godmothers I had in my early life.  Though no ceremonies were performed to bind us, these women are held dear because of the acts of love they unselfishly gave to me.
 
This Mother's Day, let us remember our Godmothers.  Godmothers are revered for their special and coveted role and the difference they can make in a child’s life.  In my Latin culture, the word for Godmother is madrina which means woman of honor.  This meaning accurately describes the feelings of gratitude for the grace these women offered me as a youth.  As an adult, I aspire to a place of honor beside them.
 
Lordes Chavez
Santa Ana, California