Monday, June 18, 2007


Yesterday in Sunday school, we began a lesson on saints. It's actually a book about saints that we're exploring as a class.

One half of the couple teaching summed together what he gathered as the definition of "saint" to be. He said that to him, a saint is someone that gives their self to the service of others.

I was astonished at this. I'd never really thought about it that way. Actually -- being that I'm not a Catholic -- I never give much thought to saints at all. But, when he spoke that definition, it dawned on me; by [his] definition, [most] mothers are saints. I use his and most because he isn't Miriam Webster and not all mothers give their self to the service of anyone other than their own self. But I tend to think that I am guilty of this habit. I give myself to the service of others. It's certainly true in the instance of my son. I do not want to get up at 7:30am and I do not want to take him immediately to his high chair, plunk him down, and go about fixing him breakfast. But I do it anyway. I do it because I do not want him to go hungry. I do it because I love him. I would rather, however, lay in bed until I felt compelled enough to get up...then fix a pot of coffee and drink it -- leisurely -- while I watched whatever morning news show I felt like.

This sainthood is also present in the instance of my relationship with my husband (although he may see otherwise). I give myself to him daily. And no, not THAT way. Although I'm quite sure he'd like it if it were that way. I mean, I cook dinner for him. No matter how tired I am, I muster up the energy to be excited when he gets home. I pull together all the strength I have left so that I can stay up as late as he likes just so I can be with him. I give my whole day to him in a way; waiting for 6:30pm to come as soon as he walks out that door in the morning. I even find it in myself to make him a smoothie so he can have liquid breakfast on his way to the office. He hinted at me making him a milk shake last night, and when I hesitated, he wondered why. I told him I just didn't feel like messing with the blender because I was going to have to do it all over again in the morning for his smoothie, and that was enough work, thank you. He seemed surprised. He immediately asked me if I didn't like making his smoothies. No, I do not like to make them. But I do like to make them for him. I like doing things for him.

So, in reality I am no saint. But for a moment, I was defined as one. All of us moms were.

It was grand. Very novel idea.