Thank you, Mom

Mom,

You're roughly 1,988 miles away right now, visiting your grandchildren in Oregon, and I miss you.

I'm babysitting your children, but you've made that incredibly easy for me by preparing a whole refrigerator full of meals in advance. You cleaned the house and got everything in preparation while packing for your trip, WHILE hosting a missionary family and feeding them. You are incredible.

This Mother's Day, I think about all the things you've done for me, but Google has informed me that blog posts are not allowed to be infinitely long, so I'll have to keep things brief.

Of the seven children God gave to you, I see your influence especially in Shannon and Shelley, who have matured into strong, caring, awesome mothers of their own. They take after you in many ways, and the world is a better place because of it.

I see your influence in Shelby and his love for music, and I know the Maust ancestors would be especially proud.

I see your influence in Shane, Sheryl, and Shaylon, who are already becoming self-sufficient and able to help others in need. Granted, they can't seem to get to bed before 2am, but I think they get that from you too.

As a young boy, I was the frail child. The weak one. Because of this, I saw an entire side of you that the other children only saw glimpses of.

At age 6, I wiped out while goofing around on a bike and tore up my knee. I came in bawling like I had ruptured a lung. You bandaged it and held me all evening while we ate that potluck in the Kalona park.

At age 9, when I was diagnosed with Diabetes, you stayed by my side in that dreadful hospital room we shared with a wheezing, elderly man. You slept uncomfortably in a ghastly armchair for the three nights that I spent trembling in that pitiful general-issue hospital gown. You held my hand when they drew blood samples, because I hated needles. After we were released from the hospital, you gave me my insulin injections for 6 months because I couldn't bear to watch, much less administer them myself. Because of your strength, I am no longer scared of needles, and I frequently take injections while driving. (That isn't wise or safe or anything, so I won't attribute that to you.)

Two weeks later, when I was officially diagnosed with Celiac, you cried with me but spent no time whining about how it changed your life, how you'd have to learn the diseases right alongside me in order to feed me. You'd make food similar to what other the other kids were having at school so I didn't feel so left out.

During the frequent hospital visits, you wouldn't allow me to have pity parties for myself. You'd constantly point out other children my age with amputations, cancer, leukemia, or allergies worse than mine. Because of that, I will never think of myself as unfortunate.

At age 15, thanks to some bumbling homeschooler that ran into me and fractured my wrist, you spent 6 weeks helping me bathe so I could keep my arm cast from getting wet and itchy. It still got wet and itchy and I was too busy whining to notice all the extra chores you did so I didn't have to.

At age 17, when you caught me looking at pornography, I expected (and briefly hoped) to get straight-up murdered but instead you prayed with me. I will never forget that.

Because of you and Dad, I've never lacked anything I've needed. I've always been clothed, sheltered, fed, and loved. I have received Godly counsel and wisdom from you both on just about every subject there is, including (but most certainly not limited to) theology, dating & relationships, setting moral boundaries, respect, obedience, driving habits, purity, helping others, sticking to a task, and table manners. Well, you've administered the counsel and wisdom of table manners, but I'm still working on applying it all. :) 

You took care of me and let me stay at home rent-free while I went to college for two years and figured out that was precisely the wrong place for me to be. (Dad, thank you for encouraging me to stick with it and keep going, because you didn't want me to feel obligated to stay with the family business.)

At age 21, I moved away from home. I would claim to be a self-sufficient adult, but you still help me with so much. You stop by my place to clean the yards and the trailer. You regularly "accidentally" purchase too much food and give me loads of it. You go shopping and find me cheap shoes and work boots, which still astounds me because I can never find size 13 ANYWHERE second-hand and I usually have to end up special-ordering it from Neptune.

"I love you" is a pretty weak phrase when I'm trying to convey the depth of gratitude I have for all that you are and all that you've done for me, Mom.

But really, I love you.

Shawn