"My Angel Mother"

I'm writing my post a little bit early today.  Monday night I came down with a cold and I have been fighting it ever since.  So I opted to stay home from Church today in hopes of getting some needed rest and avoiding passing my germs along to other unsuspecting victims.  Being sick in graduate school is an interesting challenge.  If it is really bad your professors will let you miss a seminar, but it had better be ebola bad and it had only better be one seminar session that you miss.  So it can make for some fun times.

In the middle of feeling miserable and being wide awake for three nights in a row this week, I couldn't help but think about my Mom, whose arthritis has disrupted more than a few nights of sleep during my lifetime.  While I was irritable and hard to get along with after only three such nights, my Mom never seems to let the sleep deprivation get to her, or at least she doesn't let it show.  Every morning, she is awake and ready to go about the day with a smile on her face, regardless of the fact that she only slept for an hour or two during the night.  She's an inspiration.

My Mom and Me, BYU Graduation, April 2011

There's another reason I have been thinking about her though: tomorrow (October 22) is her birthday and I wanted to pay her a small tribute since I will not be able to be there to celebrate with her in person.

I didn't always make things easy on my Mom when I was growing up.  When I was three or so, my Mom took Rob, Lynley, and me with her to the store.  When it came time to leave and go home, I didn't want to go for one reason or another and as Mom tried to get me out of the store I screamed out for all to hear, "She's not my mother!", a response that no doubt turned many heads and humiliated my Mom.  As if that statement didn't do enough to cast aspersions onto her, my constant injuries as a child (downing a bottle of Tylenol with codeine, and various other bumps and bruises that led to frequent hospital visits) certainly caused a nurse or two to question her undeservingly.

But in spite of all of that, she somehow managed to get the important messages through to me.  I will never forget a moment that happened when I was three or four.  Dad was at the bedside of my Grandpa Dowdle late, helping him through the painful last months of terminal cancer.  I had a nightmare and could hear Mom down in the living room waiting for Dad to come home, so I took my blanket and went down to the living room to tell her that I had had a scary dream and couldn't sleep.  She reassured me that everything was ok and then said a little prayer with me and simply taught me that prayers would help me to sleep whenever I had a nightmare.  I was then able to go back to bed and sleep comfortably.

Variations of that same theme have played out over and over and over again throughout my life.  Whenever I have been concerned or scared or upset, Mom has been there with the right words and the reassurance that if I would put my trust in the Lord, things would work out.  After nearly thirty years of such lessons and counsel, I can say without hesitation that she has never been wrong.  My worst fears have never actually materialized and her faith in God's plans has always been vindicated.  Right along side her has been my Dad, whose faith, counsel, and example of righteousness have likewise blessed my life forever.

Lincoln once said of his mother that he inherited his qualities from her and then concluded, "All that I am or hope ever to be I get from my mother, God bless her" (Recollected Words of Abraham Lincoln, 240).  I can't help but feel the same.  While I may have screamed out, "She's not my mother!" when I was three years old, today and for the rest of eternity I shall be proud to say with conviction, "She's my mother!  Isn't she wonderful!"

Happy birthday Mom! I love you!

Brett