Last night’s solar geo-storm display and the colors of the aurora borealis evoked a dramatic reminder there’s a great deal we do understand about our solar system, yet so much we can still learn. I was geeking out a bit on the night sky, looking things up on my phone, trying to understand how the solar flares were affecting the atmosphere. I was watching the news, scrolling social media, texting friends. Did I need to drive somewhere further from city lights, will I know it when I see it? 

As my daughter and I sat on the driveway mesmerized by the dancing colors in the sky, she talked about the ethereal veil between us and the afterlife. When someone we love passes through that veil, we are compelled to learn and understand more. Like the northern lights, we may understand some, but we have so much more to learn. We geek out a bit on heaven. And like wanting to watch the colored magnetic storm, are we where we need to be?

This weekend is Mother’s Day, a sweet, tender celebration for some women, and a hard, painful calendar date for others. I’m one of those lucky ones who grew up with a wonderful mom who managed a million little details and yet provided a warm, loving home. I think of my precious grandmothers who lived long lives, filled with wisdom and heavenly intercession, beautiful role models for generations to follow. And I think of my incredible mother-in-law, so capable, ambitious, fun, and generous. But this year I’m also thinking about Karl. He’s the one who made my motherhood possible. He embraced the new generation of fatherhood with balance and intentionality, and challenged and shaped what a mother should look like for me.

Ideally, parenting is a partnership. Karl proposed we commit to certain parenting practices, to pray faithfully for and with our kids, to discipline fairly and embrace the fun of family. We did the “Babywise” series, “Growing Kids God’s Way,” and “Parenting with Love & Logic.” He also shaped our definition of family, the kind that expands beyond our nuclear “fab five” to friends’ families with years of memories and traditions, vacations and holidays, simply sharing life. 

Karl also always made sure the kids remembered Mother’s Day. He conspired with them to make sure I felt celebrated. I have sweet memories of little people sneakily cleaning the house, folding laundry, putting flowers from the market in a vase, delivering breakfast in bed. I’m missing that generous quality of his. It was a quality of his mother’s too. She loved gifts, surprises, finding just the thing that would make someone feel special. He was a lot like her. 

Karl’s mom passed away suddenly and far too early as well. I remember just a few of her stories about his childhood. She’d tell us that when his brother was born, he lamented “there will never be enough milk for me!” and when Karl was born, he exclaimed “I’ll just go to the corner store and get the milk myself!” She told stories of his tenacity learning to tie his shoes in a day, skipping lunch, fiercely independent, stomping on the floor of his bedroom with frustration, emerging hours later with both shoes tied. Once he disobeyed and messed with her sewing machine and got a needle through his finger, right through the nail. He came quietly to the dinner table as they were entertaining guests, showed his mom his finger without saying a word or crying a tear. She quietly pulled it out and never said a word. The pain was punishment enough. His brother remembers a story of hearing his mother scream in their house in Vietnam. He ran to find that Karl had touched exposed electrical wires and she’d had to slap him free, both electrocuted and on the ground. Goodness! I can imagine he gave his mom plenty to worry about all those years. But what I do know is that he dearly loved and respected his mom.

There are stories of Karl we want to hold fast, commit to memory, record. As I sat on the driveway last night, I thought about his mom embracing him in heaven. How sweet their reunion would’ve been. I don’t know exactly what happens beyond our senses and on the other side of that ethereal veil, but I’d like to think of them together, a very special heavenly Mother’s Day. 

Even as I have my moments of sorrow this Mother’s Day, I am grateful for what Karl did leave behind for me. He left me three pretty incredible people who bear witness to his goodness, to his flaws, to his humor, ambition, tenacity, and generosity. The essence of him permeates his children and by God’s grace, they will be with me until it’s time for me to go. My motherhood is inextricably, eternally woven to Karl so I hold it tenderly, a gift only for me, a very special treasure to cherish.

So on this oddly emotional Mother’s Day, I am compelled to feel more deeply, to appreciate the nuances of a day designated to celebrate relationships. For many, it holds mixed emotions. For some, this day is truly painful. For others, it’s rewarding and wonderful. For me, I’m just grateful Karl honored motherhood, revered his role as a parent, and embraced a broad definition of family. In doing so, he lived and loved meaningfully. He gave me Mother’s Day.