Pillowcases For Mother's Day

It's hard to escape the fact that I'm a mother. After all, four little voices and four sets of needs, confront me every hour of every day, reminding me, cajoling me, rebuking me for all that I have or have not done to make their lives paradise on earth.

So when the older ones realized Mother's Day was coming up, they began to regale me with promises of treasures untold, each one trying to outdo the other in the, "Just wait until you see what I give you" department.

I wish I could say I didn't have a favorite gift this year, but I'd be lying.

One of my daughters wrote for me a sweet poem that actually rhymes. She's not prone to spontaneously generated verse, so this is pretty precious.

Another of my girls drew for me a beautiful picture of red roses. She's our resident artist, so this offering was not entirely unexpected, although it, too, is very much appreciated.

No, the clincher -- the gift of all gifts to give a weary mum on her special day -- came from my rambunctious, sometimes obnoxious, always handsome and astonishingly brilliant four-year-old son.

No candy, no writing, no flowers. Just. . . pillowcases.

Two of them. Blue cotton sateen.

"Mama," he said, his big blue eyes earnest in a face of delicate features, "I'm going to give you a present for Mother's Day. Do you know what I'm going to give you? I'm going to go up and get something from my room and that will be your present."

He often complains he doesn't have any money and won't have any until he grows up and becomes an electrician and buys his own house and little car to drive around. This day was no different. "I'm just a little kid and little kids don't have lots of money," he said, his voice trailing off as he went up the stairs to his room.

When he returned, he was hiding something behind his back and excitedly asked me to guess what it was. When I couldn't, he proudly produced the two pillowcases packaged in a little drawstring bag just as I'd bought them on sale some months ago to use in his room. That was then. Now they took on a whole new aura -- they'd become a Mother's Day present.

"Do you love them?" my son asked gravely. "Will you put them on your pillows tonight?"

I assured him his dad and I would be thrilled to have nice new pillowcases on our pillows that night and for many nights to come and he seemed satisfied that his mission was complete.

"Now I'm going to give you a big Mother's Day hug," he said. "Even though you are big you are still precious so I'll call you precious."

And with that, two little wiry arms wrapped themselves tightly around my waist.

I'd originally hoped to get a nap for Mother's Day. That didn't happen, but in retrospect I got something much more useful and enduring. Every time those blue pillowcases make an appearance on our bed, I'll be reminded of the deep and sincere heart of a four-year-old boy and the privilege I've been given of being his mother.

Thanks, God.