Today, I'm glad to be out in Oregon, which I have developed a greater appreciation for each passing year. This was, after all, the place where my mother grew up, and though I didn't always appreciate it as much growing up, I have come to recognize the error of my ways.
As much as I enjoy visiting out here, I am mindful of the fact that I'm not able to be with my own mother on this Mother's Day. I will pay my penance later. :)
You never appreciate just how much is involved in parenting, and especially mothering, until you become a parent yourself. In fact, I was just talking with someone yesterday about my own upbringing. Though it was difficult to recognize the value of my own mother growing up, particularly when I was on the receiving end of a spanking (or was it just my brothers who needed such course corrections?), I have developed a much deeper respect and appreciation for just how privileged I have been to have the mother I have. (And I know any of you who know my mom, Joanie, would agree. :) She is truly a one of a kind--who ably balanced empathetic love with firm discipline borne out of that love.
My mother instilled in us from a very early age a strong spiritual foundation that was not the stale piety of tired ritual. Instead, she, as much as anyone I have ever known, has demonstrated with her life a genuine religious conviction in which her constant self-sacrifice and others-first approach to life was motivated by her increasing love for God. She is the one who has led a small group of ladies from Martinsville, IN who drive 45 minutes to minister to the incarcerated girls at the Girls School in Indianapolis every week for the last 25 years. She is the one who, when we were too young to fully realize the significant implications of her example, drove down to the inner-city in Indianapolis to pick up a nomadic group of African-American kids and bring them out to the church each week, and VBS in the summers (despite opposition and the naysayers). Through those experiences and the subsequent times we would bring those kids down to Crane Acres in Martinsville (which has never fully gotten past its racist reputation and KKK history), we developed a color-blindedness toward those of different race and ethnicities. And this was further expanded through the constant interaction with missionaries, and occasional trips to places like Haiti, India, South America, etc. where our eyes were opened to the needs of the least and the lost living in the margins of the world. It was my mother who largely shaped my own view of the world and opened my own heart to the critical importance of reaching out to everyone whom God has placed within our sphere of influence. Even as I reflect on my mother now, I realize that it is nearly impossible to fully capture the essence of this woman whom God allowed to be my mother.
And the beauty of it all is that I married the same kind of woman in Jean. I am continually amazed that even in my own finite understanding of what qualities I should be pursuing in a future lifemate, God brought to me a woman who far exceeds any expectations I had before we met. As they say, "I married up!" :) I am a blessed man indeed to have such a good woman to be the mother of our children. And it is in large part because of the steady influence of Jean's mother as well. Her own commitment to Christ is reflective of my own mother's, and I am so thankful to have such influence shaping the lives of my own children.
My hope and prayer is that one day Caleb, Andrew, Mark, and Emma will come to recognize the same truth I have come to: I have been blessed with the best mom in the world! I love you, Mom. I love you, Jean. I love you, Mom Blanchard. Thank you for being the unsung heroes of all of our lives. 
