It is a typical Monday morning here in Navarre, Ohio. I awoke early for work, about an hour ago, and my head is always filled with images and scenes from the weekend. Yesterday was Mother’s Day, and the tradition that my in-laws have is to have lunch with the mothers and to exchange cards and gifts. Since my mom lives in North Carolina, I am not able to do that with her, but my wife and I did send a card and I did call my mother yesterday afternoon.
Like most guys, I think my mom is special. I know, I know, but really…she is. My Dad passed away when I was ten and mom raised me. I was a typical rebellious teenager until Jesus got a hold of me and I often took for granted the little things. I never went hungry, even though my mom did. I never missed church if I was well enough to go. A childhood friend on Facebook recently reminded me that I had a pretty good childhood, despite being an only child of a single mother.
This morning, I raise my cup of coffee to my mom. I love her for many reasons, but mostly just because she’s my mom. That may not be a big deal on the surface, but to an only child, she was my everything.