My Mother, the Creator

It is an interesting thing to grow older and realize there is more to one's own mother than years of selfless sacrifice for the sake of her children. I have always been proud of my mother and the work she does. Although at times I have felt a pang of embarrassment when admitting to having been raised in the less than glamorous state of Arkansas, I've never been ashamed to tell people I was raised by a florist. In fact, I've been damn proud. From my earliest memories, my mother has created: kid-sized aprons for her miniature sous chefs or homemade pasta as a general staple, elaborate Halloween and, later, theater costumes. Her actual job centers around arranging what to my biased eyes have always been the most beautiful flowers in creation. She taught me how to cook and crochet...how to sew and, most importantly, how to look at the world and instead of seeing what is, to see what things could be transformed into.

She collected grape vines and flat stones on nature walks which were eventually turned into wreaths for her shop and paving stones for our front walkway. She showed us how to race milk jug caps down the racing gulley of our roadside ditch during torrential downpours just to see whose fine vessel would go the fastest. This woman  reflects all the beauty of our Lord and the ultimate Creator by taking what supplies He has offered and making them into something beautiful...and it's hard for me to see how any gift could be more glorifying to Him. 

And I haven't even moved past the years of my childhood yet. 

As my siblings and I have grown older and left the nest, my Mother has not resigned herself to a fate unknown. She may be an incredibly devoted mother and grandmother to boot, but the absence of the everyday drama that only teenagers can inflict on a person has freed up her schedule, so to speak. Her ambition and desire to create have taken her down the dirt road (pardon the pun) of pottery. The woman can create things out of clay that astound me. And not only does she supply her grateful family and friends with gorgeous pieces of art, but she is beginning an endeavor with her new clay-throwing partners in crime to market these unbelievable vessel sinks to architectural design firms. 

I could go on for ages. And all this leads me to thinking: this woman, my mother, is creating a legacy. She has no towers or grand sculptures dedicated to her-no buildings with her likeness gracing the front, but she has created so much that the ways and depths she has touched other people's lives are unfathomable. 

I find myself thinking back to my Grandma Pfaff-- a woman I knew for too short a time, in my book.  But what I do remember of her is her smile. Her laughter. And her uncontainable love for her family. Of all the memories I have of her, there isn't a one that comes without love. And while she didn't share the same organic roots my mother does, Grandma Pfaff was a creator too. She could whip out a crocheted blanket faster than you could blink and it went without saying that every grandkid could have a hand decorated cake of their choosing; the woman had a cake tin for every occasion fathomable. And that was her legacy too: unconditional joyous love.  

I obviously have a lot to live up to. I often find myself wanting to better myself, as we all do, but really, it's because I have these amazing women I owe my life to. And I want my children someday to recognize that legacy...which is honestly God's love poured out through them: unconditional, joyous, loving generosity.