How do you measure a life?
I love this picture of my mom. If you know my mom, I bet you like it too.
The picture isn’t stellar because it’s her “best side” or captures a significant moment, but because it’s more than a snapshot, it’s a metaphor of who mom is.
In this image, Mom is measuring my son and marking his growth progress on the door jam.
For years Mom has skipped the trim paint, written in sloppy scroll and used whatever pen was handy to communicate one theme:
I notice you. I see you growing up. I appreciate who you are becoming.
I am paying attention.
If you know Mom, you know when you are around, she gives you her complete focus.
When I was in High School I was always a little annoyed how much my friends wanted to hang out with her. I mean, I didn’t hate her or anything, but I didn’t think she was very cool. Why in the world would my friends pour out their hearts to her?
Eventually, I got it.
People love Mom because Mom loves them.
She really does. She asks a hundred questions and then a hundred more follow-up questions just to make sure she has the story straight.
She is interesting precisely because she is interested.
She wants to hear your stories. She wants to laugh at your jokes. And she definitely wants to borrow any books you have loved.
There are a thousand different ways I could measure my mom’s impact on me. To the casual observer, the lines could look sloppy and the ink could seem mismatched, but the markers are significant nonetheless.
Thanks Mom for noticing and loving so well.