And so it goes, as we share our stories and remember how our characters have formed, there is this woman that I can never leave out. 
She is, without a doubt, the woman who knows my heart in no other way.

My sweet Momma.

Sometimes, I think of the things in life that could have easily led me down far worse roads than others have accused me of…
In those moments of conviction, character and conduct, my Momma was high on my conscious. She never had to spank me much because her words were always heavy on me — especially when I did wrong and so deservingly had them enter my conscious. 

When I read the eerie statistics of boys who grow up [at some point] without fathers, it is haunting to know how many end up in prison and/or with really jacked up views on how to be a husband or in general, a man. 
Sometimes, when thinking about some messed up times in life, I respond to folks, “Yeah…but I had a real good Momma”.
There’s no doubt the person I am today came from living with a household of women during my formative years. 

My Mom, is a resting place. Safety and comfort so sweetly pours out of her heart and through her always familiar Southern words. She is so many things…precious, kind, hard working, empathic and a word I can’t emphasize enough….strong.

She…is strong. A gentle force of nature that quite literally breaks down every fear and pillar of sadness we share together. I’ve always said, “If my momma starts to cry, I’m gonna start cryin’..’” - and that’s just how it works. 
While I was standing in front of Hannah at our wedding, listening to our pastors read our story, I started to feel the knot in my throat and the outlines of my eyes fill with water. Looking at my Mom, I saw her dabbing her eyes with a tissue and nearly lost it.

I knew, without a doubt…she was proud of me. She knew I was happy and for a momma, that’s all they want. They want their children safe and happy. 
And granted, I have given my Mom her fair share of scares, disappointments, worries — One thing I’ve always known true in my heart, is how much she loves me. How she stops what she’s doing and answers the phone, even when she’s at work.

And that love has kept me steady. 
I have her father’s soft heart and big toes — her mother’s spirit to see and understand the world and to counsel heavy hearts…
a product of August love…

I have my Mom’s gift of hospitality - to cook well for folks who come over and make sure it’s done in love and not necessity. Something of Joy and not disdain.

My mom has seen a lot of life…and a lot of life end in front of her eyes.
She has held the hands of the dying as they enter into the Great Mystery. 
I know somewhere…she hurts at this sadness that an ending life brings. 
My mom gets to see into Heaven sometimes, and brings it down to earth. I hear her stories and death slowly loses its sting. 

Just today, I got a package in the mail with some Easter goodies. My favorite, Reese’s easter eggs!
(Oh, and a jar of Blue Plate Mayonnaise! My favorite!) A woman who knows my heart too well. She always knows what I miss and especially, when I miss it.

You see, my Mom is a heart - and she beats for others.
I am spiritually and emotionally bonded to this heart;
its rhythm finds a home in my soul.

When all I can afford are words, I’m thankful I can give them to my Momma. 
I’m not a great writer, but she’ll say I am - and that’s really all that matters.

To you, my sweet Momma.

I love you and think of you 

and as always,
thankyou for the life you’ve given and spoken into me..

..and also,

that shining jar of Blue Plate Mayo.
:)