Think about what you were like before you became one. You see, I have a theory; I think motherhood turns most women into saints. The foundation of motherhood is usually built with nine months of being with-child, culminating with the agony of delivery, followed by round-the-clock feedings, countless diaper changes, and rocking the baby until it becomes an art form.
The love grows exponentially, and soon is displayed by planting kisses on ‘boo-boos’ when the toddler falls off the tricycle, along with enough readings of Dr. Seuss that every word of “Green Eggs and Ham” has been memorized.
As a child matures, a mother’s love is now displayed through conversations and support for her child’s interests. During the teen years, she can suffer terribly, as the one she’s poured her heart and soul into and loved unconditionally might now be rejecting her due to the adolescent’s self-absorption. Still, she loves, hopes, prays. The child’s lack of proper feelings for his mother does not diminish her love. As the young adult leaves home with the “child-rearing” coming to a close, he comes to see how wonderful his mother was to him and how much wisdom she actually holds.
But her role doesn’t end when he leaves home; in fact, it never does; she would have it no other way. It just changes form; moving boxes, weddings, babies, and baby-sitting. Decades of this sacrificing and giving makes a woman even more beautiful than she was before. I’m convinced it’s God’s way of stretching a mother beyond herself.

Her role doesn’t end when he leaves home
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My own mother’s love is as dependable as the sunrise. When peddling around town as a paperboy and a storm would begin to blow, my mother would always come to find me. I’d throw my bike and papers in the back and hop in, feeling secure in her love and care for me. Oma, as she’s called by my kids and grandkids, assured us of her love in word and deed.
My wife, Patricia, always dreamed of having a family. Now she’s raised our four children and keeps active with five grandchildren. It is not possible for our four to imagine a better mother, as she devoted herself entirely to them.
My oldest daughter explains it this way; “Her patience was seemingly endless, her creativity and problem-solving so clever, her discipline firm but motivated by love, which continues to encompass every fiber of her being. The personal cost to her was never given a thought and her encouragement echoes in my thoughts. It’s because of her that life is as rich for me as it is.”
For me, as their father, there’s nothing more I could ask.
Thank you, mothers, especially the mother of my children and my own mother. You are saints. Happy Mother’s Day.