May 9, 2004

Rev. Henry Ticknor
Unitarian Universalist Church of the Shenandoah Valley

ISO:Mom

A few years ago Barbara Bush was interviewed for an article in Newsweek. At the time she created a bit of a stir when she dissed Mother's Day, saying: "It's a big rip-off." Well, have you ever heard such a thing? Barbara Bush, Republican First-Lady is against Mother’s day? That seems almost unpatriotic and certainly very un-Republican—after all, what about family values and all of that?

Now personally I think Mrs. Bush may be onto something, especially when we consider the patriarchy of most of our American holidays. Washington’s Birthday is for the ‘Father of our country’; the Fourth of July is for our ‘Founding Fathers’; Thanksgiving is for our ‘Pilgrim Fathers’; and even New Year’s Eve celebrates “Father Time’. So, I guess it’s only right and fitting that we have at least one national celebration of mothers. But where did this idea of celebrating Mother’s Day come from?

Some European countries observed the custom of celebrating “Mothering Day” during lent. If you knew what was good for you, you returned home at this time and paid homage to your mother. Lynnette read us the story of Julia Ward Howe’s “Mother’s Day Proclamation.” Howe wanted to set aside a day in May or June as an international day of peace to be observed by mothers around the world. She began to promote an international peace festival to be known as Mother’s Day and to be celebrated on June 2 each year, which in Boston is a good time for outdoor meetings and in the midst of the flower season. However, around the same time, a Methodist Layperson, Anna Jarvis picked up on the idea for a Mother’s Day. Jarvis was an Appalachian homemaker and she organized a day to raise awareness of poor health conditions of her community. She thought the day would be best advocated by mothers and called the day "Mother's Work Day".

When Anna Jarvis died in 1905 her daughter, also named Anna, began a campaign to memorialize the life work of her mother. Anna remembered that her mother said there were many days dedicated to men but not for mothers. Anna then began to lobby the politicians of the time to support a day dedicated to mothers. Anna Jarvis talked to many politicians including Presidents Taft and Roosevelt hoping they would support her campaign.

In 1908, Jarvis organized a church service to celebrate her mother where she handed out white carnations to those in attendance because the white carnation was her mother's favorite flower.

"Now, Therefore, I, Woodrow Wilson, President of the United States of America, by virtue of the authority vested in me by the said Joint Resolution, do hereby direct the government officials to display the United States flag on all government buildings and to invite the people of the United States to display the flag at their homes or other suitable places on the second Sunday in May as a public expression of our love and reverence for the mothers of our country." So, thanks to Anna Jarvis, the second Sunday in May has become the most popular day of the year to dine out, and telephone lines record their highest traffic, as sons and daughters everywhere take advantage of this day to honor and to express appreciation of their mothers. Happy Mother’s Day.

When our daughters, Kristina and Kathryn, were little girls we read to them every night before bed. As I recall, a favorite story of theirs and ours was P.D. Eastman’s Are You My Mother?

The rest of the story entails a series of encounters between the baby bird and a number of other critters including a chicken, a puppy, a cow, a wrecked car, and my personal favorite, a steam shovel.

Each time the baby bird approached a new animal or object, the baby bird would ask, “Are you my mother?” And each time the answer would come back, “No.” In growing frustration the baby bird says, “I did have a mother…I know I did. I have to find her. I will. I will.”

The crisis of this little epic occurs when the baby bird is lifted up high in the air by steam shovel and wails out,” Where am I..I want to go home…I want my mother.” Well, as bedtime stories go, this one comes to a blessedly brief conclusion as the steam shovel plops the bird back in the nest and she is reunited with her mother. End of story. As I was thinking about this morning’s sermon, the phrase ‘who is my mother/’ began to run through my head. As some of you will know I have borrowed the title of this sermon from the personal adds found in newspapers and magazines: ISO: Mother—In Search Of Mother. But moms come with lots of names and the question is, “Which mom are we in search of?”

Are we searching for that person we called mom or mommy? Are we searching for a stepmother, a grandmother, a mother-in-law? Are we searching for a birth mother or an adoptive mother or perhaps a surrogate mother?

Each of these women played an unique role is our lives—filling the empty place in our hearts and caring for us with unconditional love. Our friends at Hallmark give passing attention to some of these moms, but mostly they focus on that ideal Saturday Evening Post kind of mother that most of us never knew.

Many of us, if not most, know our histories well. I know, for example, that I am the fifth child and third son born to Elizabeth Ticknor. She was the daughter of Julia, the granddaughter of Laura Elizabeth and the great granddaughter of another Julia. I also know that Nancy is the mother of our two daughters and that Kathryn and Kristina are in the process of writing their own future stories. For some, however, this genealogy business isn’t so easy.

Now, Nancy, and I tell this with her permission, has two mothers. She has a birth mother, who gave birth to her, and she has an adoptive mother who loved her totally and unconditionally from the time she was six weeks of age and whom Nancy called “mom”.

Nancy and the woman she called “mom” were great life supporters and companions until this fine person died three years ago. The loss of a parent is always difficult—at some unconscious level our parents are meant to live forever, to always be there for us in good times and bad.

Mothers are immortal. Mothers don’t die. A mother doesn’t die and leave children behind; even adult children. For Nancy, the loss of her adoptive mother meant that she had experienced the loss of two mothers. Kathryn and Kristina are the only blood relatives she knows.

For many, mother’s day with all its references to happiness, togetherness, love and affection is a bittersweet day—a day of joy and sorrow in equal measure.

There is the joy of remembrance of the person who gave us life; whom we loved and who loved us in return. When adoptees lose their adoptive mother not only are their lives filled with sorrow at the loss of a companion, friend and advocate; but there is also the resurrected sorrow that comes from having no knowledge of one’s biological heritage that determines everything from hair color to personality traits.

Now the laws around adoptees in search of their birth parents are slowly changing and many adopted children have been able to contact their birth parents. But in most states adoption records are sealed and the search process is long and often painful. In Nancy’s case she has had a third-party letter exchange with her birth mother who, due to her own pain surrounding Nancy’s conception, birth and relinquishment, does not want any further contact with her birth daughter, even 53 years later.

Nature gives us birth and nurturance gives us life. But at some point, unlike those of us who can trace our family histories back for generations, adoptees must, as Betty Jean Lifton writes in her book Lost and Found: The adoption experience, “Adoptees must give birth to their own self to recover and re-write one’s own history.”

The mother’s of adopted children must often deal with the challenge of raising a child as they simultaneously acknowledge the pain of not being able to bear and give birth to their own biological child. This is an incredible balancing act requiring much inner strength, determination, and above all, love.

And what of those women who find themselves in the role of stepmother? Surely the wicked stepmother of fairy tales is a metaphor for our own fears about who really is our mother. In today’s world there are more able and capable stepmothers than ever and they are helping their life partners to raise healthy, capable, and productive children. For some, the entrance into instant parenthood is a new and difficult adventure.

If mom and dad can do this, who else can abandon me? “Are you my mother?” demands the teen, “No, but I can love you and teach you and protect you if we agree to work on this together.” I may not be your mother, but that doesn’t mean I cannot be a mother for you.

And, too, there are those among us who for a variety of reasons never had the kind of relationship with our mothers that Hallmark is trying to sell. The spectrum of those with wounds runs wide—from children who lived with mothers whose behavior was abusive, or neglectful—to those whose mothers were absent because they were sick and needed care themselves, or those whose mothers died when they were still young and vulnerable. Some of our mothers were depressed or distant, some were needy or sad, or unpredictable. Some mothers didn’t know that things they did, or the words they said hurt us and linger with us still.

In some cases we reached out to others for maternal comfort. The nice woman who lived alone but always had time to hear our stories, the friend’s mother who understood what our world was like and tried to bring us some sense of normalcy, and even the teacher, who made sure our coat was buttoned, our shoes were tied and we had Kleenex for our runny nose. “Are you my mother?” “No, but I am your friend and I love you very much.”

There is a poem titled “When I am an Old Woman.” In a humorous way the author, a former Trustee of the UUA, writes of the freedoms we might expect when the kids are grown up, the dog dies and they are on their own. In part she writes: When I am an old woman, I shall wear mostly Jeans and T-shirts that say outrageous things. And I shall spend my social security on causes and UUA books.

More and more, grandparents are being asked to raise their grandchildren. At a time in their life when they thought they could slow down, travel or just enjoy each other’s company they are thrust back into the world of carpools, teacher conferences and soccer games. Yes, they are grandfathers and grandmothers, wise elders, and they are full of unconditional love and support. “Are you my mother?” “ No,” comes the reply, “ but I am your grandmother and I love you dearly.” And lastly, let us think of those mothers whose children are no longer part of their lives. Whose children have died, have, by necessity been raised by others, whose children have abandoned or rejected them. They too, deserve to be honored this day for they are mothers who always remember birthdays, who may still ache for their losses and cherish their memories.

On this Mothers Day “Let us give thanks for those who have reared us,” says Richard Gilbert, “For those who have nourished us through sleepless nights and restless days, who have seen us through the good times and the bad. Who have celebrated our triumphs and suffered our defeats.

We are thankful for their nurturing spirit, their gentle touch and firm hand, their familiar laugh and their sympathetic tears.

We pay silent tribute to the loved ones no longer among us and speak a soft thanksgiving to those who are. May we who have been nurtured also be nurturers of those who follow; that we may be a part of humanity that courses through time and space,”

Mother, birth-mother, adoptive mother, step-mother, surrogate mother, grandmother or the person next door who gave us love when our own mothers couldn’t—let us be thankful indeed for those who raised us with love and unconditional positive regard. Who nourished us, supported us and celebrated our lives with us.

On this Mother’s day 2004 we give thanks for mom—by whatever name you are known.