My mother had me at 33 years old, on a Wednesday morning.
Or it could have been evening, she says, because she can't really remember the time. I suppose that can happen when you bear seven children in nine years.

I was a girl. I was healthy. And that was all we needed to know on that memorable Wednesday in 1968.

"She loves me like a rock"

— Paul Simon

I am her youngest and growing up I thought my mother was the most un-cool. She was strict and old, and there is nothing cool about those things when you are a teenager.

I was wrong.
Because soon enough I learned she was the coolest, strongest, youngest, and most beautiful woman I know.

There are three things I've learned from my mother. In all fairness, many more—but three have shaped who I am.

my mother & me

Anna Maria

dinner gathering

To Gather

My mother is a gatherer. Everyone was always welcome at our table. My father built our dining table—long and wide. I can't remember ever sitting by myself at that table. We were already nine, and for my mother it made no difference to feed 9, 12, or even 15 people on an ordinary weeknight.

It wasn't because she had lots of time, or money, or Instagram-worthy tableware. Nothing like that.
It was her. She was there.

And she brought conversation, empathy, food, and presence to the table. In the busy-ness of her life, she was available.

I am her daughter.

And I find tremendous worth in gathering around the dinner table. Not for the obvious—food and nourishment—but as a place to connect. To see. To rest. To be.

She taught me this by example. By living it.

This month my mother turned 92—the baton has been passed.
My parents' lives have changed in recent years. From a fierce, driving, dinner-party-hosting, morning-exercising 89-year-old (seriously!), my mother became someone who forgets.

My father—who is 99 (long live longevity!)—and she moved into a place where meals are cooked, tables are set, and care is available.

To Stretch

The second thing I learned from my mother is this: do not take expiration dates too seriously.

Yogurt two weeks past the date? No problem.
Cheese with white spots? Cut it off.
Little mold on the strawberries? Oh, well.
She would 'revive' things— as if we wouldn't notice.

This part, I unlearned.

But what I did learn was her ability to stretch.
Unexpected guests? Add soup. Add applesauce. Stretch what you have.
Even more people? Add water.

Water goes a long way. Many a night we had watered-down applesauce.
It turns out—this is a life skill.

I do it too. Not the yogurt (I promise).
But a quick soup, an extra appetizer, more salad, a few more potatoes.

There is always a way to make room for everyone.

To Hope

And lastly, the third thing my mother taught me.
It was something she told me. Many, many times.

“Ruth, let your hope not be on anybody or anything.
But in everything, let it be on God. Expect everything from Him.
And more.”

We lived in California, far from family, with four small children. Whether my days were beautiful or difficult, on the phone she would say this:

“Ruth, set your hope on Him. Expect everything from God. And more.”

The ‘and more’ is a beautiful cadenza. This is where we get to know the stretching abundance of God. My mother understands this.

…now to Him who is able to do superabundantly
more than all that we dare ask or think ,
according to His power that is at work within us,
to Him be the glory...

—Ephesians 3:20-21 AMP

I am learning to understand this too.

Life never stays the same. It shifts, takes, and gives. Just like people. No matter how good and faithful intentions are—no-one can carry the weight of our hope.

But God can.
And more.

He loves you. Like the Rock of Ages...

— Paul Simon

Questions:

1. What did your mother teach you? Is it something you’d like to pass on?
2. I realize how blessed I am, growing up in a warm nest. Perhaps you didn’t have that. Perhaps you had to un-learn things.
   Think about these things. This is an important part of your story.
3. Where in your life are you learning to stretch? To make room and invite others in? To prepare a place to see, to rest, to be?
4. And lastly, when did you experience superabundantly (don’t you love that word?!) more than you dare to ask or think of?
   Do share in the comments below, I love to hear these stories!