I don’t remember the first time I called her my hero. But for as long as I can remember, my mother’s theme song (in my mind, not her’s) has been, “Wing Beneath My Wings”. I even sang it once at church for Mother’s Day.
If I could choose anyone in the world to emulate, it would be my mother. Of course, I know she’s not perfect; that’s most of what I love about her. I’ve watched her stumble and fall on Jesus. I’ve seen her stand humbly, boldly and beautifully. I’ve felt her hand make compassionate circles on my tired back, buried my tearful face in her lap and wrapped my longer arms around her waist. I always loop my arms beneath her shoulders even though I’m taller. It just feels right.
Mother is most beautiful to me, most heroic when I watch her swoop in and rescue others. I’ve seen her tend my sisters when they had their babies, drop all her priorities to be her mother’s best friend on lonely days. I’ve heard her encourage my father, telling him of all his worth and ability and brilliance.
But more than anything, my mother’s faith is heroic. In her I see Jesus.