// her children rise up and call her blessed || [ proverbs 31:28 ]
Anyone who knows me for a somewhat extended period of time knows my two younger sisters and I are adopted. We are not biologically related, which means we each have two moms—our separate birth mothers and our same adopted mother.
In very different ways, the woman who gave birth to me and the woman who has chosen to call me her daughter have unequivocally inspired me.
I admire my birth mama’s bravery to do the right thing—to give up her baby in order to save her life and give her the opportunity to find a new, welcoming family. Under the given circumstances surrounding 1996, this decision was not only in disobedience to the law, but probably also a monumental endeavor as the risks and potential consequences would have been high.
From the sacrificial love my Chinese mother showed me, my adopted mother was able to take over her role flawlessly. My mom is full of joy, and she radiates her positivity to everyone around her. She, along with my dad, has created a strong, supportive, and unfailingly loving family. Unashamedly, my mom lives to bless others with her servant-like heart and her listening spirit. During the past two years away at college, I’ve come to realize how much I value not only the nurturing aspects of my mom, but her friendship as well. She has loved, laughed, and cried with me through elementary school awkwardness, middle school friendship drama, high school crushes, and now college stress. And I know she’ll continue to walk with me through every single milestone in my life. That alone is a greater blessing than I can fully fathom or appreciate.
Both my birth mama and my mom have given me standards to strive to achieve when I hopefully become a mother myself. Like my birth mama, I want to have the courage to understand, plan, and act upon what is best for my children. Like my mom, I want to exude the timeless beauty of the spirit, listen with an open heart, teach with loving enthusiasm, and guide with gentle wisdom.
Although not written on motherhood, the poet, Lord Byron’s quaint, lovely piece, “She Walks in Beauty” more aesthetically articulates the way many are privileged to view their mother figures:
She walks in beauty, like the night
Of cloudless climes and starry skies;
And all that’s best of dark and bright
Meet in her aspect and her eyes;
Thus mellowed to that tender light
Which heaven to gaudy day denies.
One shade the more, one ray the less,
Had half impaired the nameless grace
Which waves in every raven tress,
Or softly lightens o’er her face;
Where thoughts serenely sweet express,
How pure, how dear their dwelling-place.
And on that cheek, and o’er that brow,
So soft, so calm, yet eloquent,
The smiles that win, the tints that glow,
But tell of days in goodness spent,
A mind at peace with all below,
A heart whose love is innocent!
Relish in the time you have with your mother and glean all you can learn from her. She is the prize jewel to a crown and a blessing that abounds in relentless love.
[ au revoir, hannah ]