In the house I grew up in, there was a portrait of a woman standing tall in a field of trees. Her clothes were plain and humble, her beauty natural. I knew from fairy tales and movies that royal families displayed portraits of ancestors in their castles, so for years, I assumed this woman was part of our family.  And it made sense to me.  She was not a woman dolled up, sitting upon a chair like royalty with long ringlets of curls. This was a woman who knew hard work, sacrifice, and what it meant to get her hands dirty.  I remember thinking she even looked like family and reminded me of my mom.  And not just with her facial features, but in her subtle strength.

My mom was never afraid to roll up her sleeves on big home projects, work in the yard, or even help my dad pour concrete and build houses for our family business. She never complained, insinuated or huffed about regarding any job or project. She knows how to do so much. She knows about trees, gardening, farming, construction, baking, playing the bass, making the best strawberry jam in the world, and taking care of others. She is tough as nails, but funny as heck. She laughs so hard that she cries and sometimes forgets to breathe for laughing so hard (I know because we have the same laugh.) Growing up, she exemplified for me what it meant to be not only a mom or a wife; but a woman. That single or married, a woman can do hard work, can put on boots and get dirty.  That we can cook, clean, work, and plant a tree. That I can be strong, yet silly. Tough, but kind.

As a single woman, there is nothing more frustrating then feeling like you have to deal with home disasters alone.  But I try to remember my mom in those moments, and I know that being a woman doesn’t stop me from picking up a hammer, or trying to fix a sink by myself.

My mom is a problem solver. A helper. A truth-teller, even when the truth is painful. She is a fierce advocate and protector (just ask any of mine or my siblings teachers or coaches.)  And someone who goes to great lengths to help if she can. My mom would drive across country overnight to take care of those closest to her fueled only by sheer will and a regular dose of Mountain Dew and peanuts (together, as in she puts peanuts in the bottle of Mountain Dew because it’s more efficient and she’s a genius.) My mom would work all day perfecting recipes while everyone else happily waited to be test her concoctions out. She would wake up early, every third Sunday, to slave over church potluck meals and gallons of sweet tea (often making multiple dishes and desserts to make sure there was plenty.) There was even a season, where once a month my mom made biscuits and gravy for everyone at our church.  Her love language is acts of love – through the way she served, the people she fed, the care she took to make something special – thinking of the person and what they would want and need, and very simply being there for someone in need.

Recently, we got to see some friends from my childhood at a wedding. And there was this very sweet moment when a friend close to my age shared that her fondest memory of my mom was when she was recovering from having her appendix removed. My mom was over to help and check in when she started to get terribly sick. She remembers my mom holding the puke bin. Sharing this memory made us laugh, but the sweet thing is that she didn’t just remember my mom and the puke – she remembered my mom caring for her in a horrible moment.

I think it might be impossible to list all the ways my mom has cared for, sacrificed for, fought for or given to me — let alone my family, our friends, or my dad.  She might also strangle me for calling so much attention to her, so I won’t try. She also isn’t the biggest fan of Mother’s Day- something about the obligatory gifts and attention -so I can’t exactly call this a Mother’s Day blog.

My mom, along with many other women in my life like her, have taught me from an early age what it meant to be woman. And it is something not defined by stereotypical definitions of being feminine. But that whether I am at work or at home or dolled up for a fancy event or dripping in sweat with dirt under my nails, I can face life feeling empowered, beautiful and strong. But maybe more than all of that– that I can help, that I can serve, and that I can love others with whatever skills and strength God gave me.