The house echoed with silence. Visions of all the other mothers and their fabulous celebrations filled my head. Soon, a pity party started forming in my brain. “And here I am all alone on Mother’s Day. It’s just another day. You are so blessed to have wonderful children who adore you,” I scolded myself as I dressed for church.

Once I arrived, instead of focusing on the worship service, I took a minute to look around at all the families spending the day with their moms. A feeling of disappointment rose up in my chest, threatening to spill down my cheeks.

Of all things the sermon was about giving your disappointments to God and realizing how very blessed we all are. Not exactly what I wanted to hear at the moment, but so very true. I began to let the words sink into my heart and thought about mothers who had lost children. Then, I thought about all the mothers who were estranged from their children. Before very long I was over the blues and thanking God that my children are all whole, healthy, and most of all have a relationship with Christ.

Sure, it would be great if we were in close proximity and could spend holidays together, but any time we spend together is special. I recall just a few months ago when both of my boys just happened to be in Mississippi at the same time. With the eldest working overseas, and the youngest working in California this is a rarity.

“Hey boys, come on upstairs!” I yelled down. “There are some old photos up here I want to show you guys.”

“OK, Mom, coming,” answered Ryan.

Robby also bounded up the stairs and flopped down on the sofa while I took out my treasure trove of memories to share with my two adult sons. Our family muddled through the death of my husband and their father the best we could with some bumps along the road. Eleven years later our love for each other is as strong and sure as ever.

Laughter filled the house as we reminisced over the old photos I had found stashed away. We interrupted each other with “Hey, do you remember the time we… and that was such a great day, look at Dad. Too bad Melinda couldn’t be here too.” There were no tears, but a profound sense of gratitude and joy to have a family full of love and acceptance.

We finally put the box away and began to talk about our lives and what we were each dealing with at the moment. My heart fairly burst when my eldest son said, “I have an idea. Why don’t we take a little time to pray about these things?”

My precious boys and I bowed our heads and unashamedly brought our requests and praises before the throne as I brushed away a happy tear.

I would have loved to have my children within hugging distance on Mother’s Day, but instead the memories held me in a warm embrace.

Jan Penton Miller can be reached at lilsisjan@yahoo.com.