My First Lightbulb Moment

I remember a place where nighttime pain and fear vanished away. A magic place where, when I was sick and miserable, I found comfort and peace. At the age of two, Mom's rocking chair was something amazing and mystical. I thought it would fix any boo-boo, dry any tear, cure any discomfort that came along.

Then one day, I clearly remember feeling bored and lonely, as my mom worked in the kitchen, I looked at that chair, and thought, "Hey, I need Mom to rock me!" So I went in and pulled at her skirt, demanding The Chair. She looked at me and said, "Sweetie, I can't rock you right now, but you can get in the chair and rock yourself!"

This appealed to my two-year old sensibilities, as I did enjoy doing things without help, so I eagerly padded my barefoot little feet across the wooden floor and climbed into The Chair.

I sat down, and turned around. My feet reached the end of the seat, and pointed up at the ceiling. I put my hands on the armrests, somewhere near my ears, and jerked my head back and forth, trying to make the thing work.

It didn't. Turned out there was no magic in The Chair, whatsoever. What a rip-off! Then came the lightbulb moment, as the sound of my mother working hard in the kitchen came to my ears.

There was nothing special about the chair. It was the chair, with my own Mother in it that made the difference! That chair was nothing without my mother in it! I remember so clearly that first time realizing how important my mother was to bringing me comfort.

Isn't that how motherhood is? So much of what we do is taken completely for granted, as if that chair actually had special powers. And yet, we are essential, desperately needed. We hold such power in our hands. What an honor it is to be given a position of so much importance in a person's life!

I'm typing this on Sunday morning after watching the live stream video service at Lancaster Baptist Church. They had a beautiful Mother's Day service; I enjoyed it thoroughly. In my lap is a feverish little boy, who couldn't go to church this morning. He needs his mommy. His hot little body is snuggled up firmly and his head rests on my shoulder. He only wants to be held, and because I'm his mommy, I know why. I'm his magic rocking chair.

P.S.
Thank you, Mother, for being consistent, unselfish, and compassionate. You modelled good mothering to me, and I will always be grateful.

Update: He's all better, by the way! The fever mentioned in this post was the its last appearance. David is tearing around, hungry as a bear, and causing trouble as usual.