It was about two
months ago,
the perfect summer
evening.
We were sitting on
our front porch, my mom and I, both with a mug of our favorite coffee in hand.
Between laughter and
conversation, we’d pause for a bit just to soak in the sound of the crickets
gearing up for sunset.
We watched the golden
light turn to a faint pink,
sinking lower,
fading to dusk.
These moments, I
knew, were the ones I’d miss dearly when I left home for full time missions.
You see, my mother is quite the lady.
Always selfless.
Always pouring out
love.
When I share, she
listens.
When I hurt, she
hurts.
When I laugh, she
laughs harder.
Growing up was easy
in the Callihan household.
We were always loved,
Always provided for.
We were taught to
respect,
to be kind,
to love God.
My mother always made
sure our holidays were magical,
and our birthdays
were special.
As children, she
would share in our excitement for the newest beanie baby releases.
She made from scratch
our dream Halloween costumes, even when I wanted to be a giant dog.
She worked on our
school projects more than we did, and never left our side when we were ill.
She was that mom that
had fresh chocolate chip cookies in the oven and meaty chili on the stove when
we walked through the door after school.
She allowed my
intense Nsync phase, even sending off my letters for me, the ones inviting them
to my birthday party.. every year.
She treated our homemade gifts as jewels,
And never missed a
school activity.
When middle school
hit, she was on the edge of my bed multiple nights, and listened as I cried out
of insecurity, assuring me of the confidence I would grow in.
She tolerated my half
hour a day attempts to play the alto saxophone, for three years, as well as all
my emotional pre-teen rollercoaster moments.
As I grew older, she
welcomed the boys I brought home with open arms, and held me as I cried when it
was over. This was a good balance to my dad, who was more than ready to break
out the shot gun at a moments notice.
She was well versed
in my crushes, my hurts, my joys, my triumphs, my dreams.
…
I remember telling my
parents that I was going to college to be a photographer.
Even with doubts, the
support was unfailing.
My mother’s heart was
full of grace as I entered into my moody artist phase, hands always in
developer, eyes always behind a camera.
Then one day, I
announced casually that I felt God directing me to do YWAM, in Germany.
Not one moment passed
that she wasn’t supportive or helping me prepare.
And then I was off,
not knowing what the future would hold.
Even from thousands
of miles away, I felt her unfailing love, whether it be in package, letter or
email form.
When I failed at
communication, she didn’t, fully letting me do my thing, but making sure I was
aware of how much love and prayer was coming from home.
February hit, and my
life changed, completely.
Just a few months
earlier I was telling her how we would have a wedding on our hands to plan in a
years time, and now I was on one end of skype, sitting in Moldova, gasping for
air, explaining that it was all over.
As I dove into months
of hurt and pain, she dove in with me.
Not understanding my
pain, but allowing it to take it’s various forms.
She always had the
words, whether I wanted to hear them or not, she had them.
But then she shared
the one’s that God used to help wake me up.
“Kelsey, you have not
been rejected, you have been released.”
It wasn’t a surprise
that I decided to enter full time missions, but it wasn’t easy for her either.
Her girls were grown
up, and her middle baby, was moving to Germany.
But through her
worry, I saw her beaming, proud.
I am not the same as
I was a year ago,
I am a twenty two
going on twenty three year old woman.
I sing a new song
now.
A song of confidence,
and fulfillment in my
Father’s love.
I say this all,
Because today is my
mother’s birthday.
And I owe so much of
where I am now to this incredible woman.
She is in fact a
gift and a blessing from God.
I could never give
her a greater gift than she and my dad have given me.
A life full of love.
Love that has allowed
me to stumble.
Love that has allowed
me to be myself.
Love that has allowed
me to follow God wherever I hear His calling.
Momma,
I can’t find the
words to tell you how much I appreciate you, so I hope this will do until I
can. When I come home next summer, we’ll have coffee on the front porch. I’ll
put too much creamer in; you’ll probably snort when you laugh.
And it will be just
the way I remember.
I love you.
Happy Birthday.
