Of all the special days a year holds, Mother's Day is the hardest for me since we left the Amish.
In the past I used to write a letter of sorts, here on my blog, to my Mom for Mother's Day. All the things I wrote, I could write again, I still mean every word.
After we left I was told not to mention the word love in any letters I write to her, or give her any gifts because it was all a mockery, a way to soothe my guilty conscience, and could not be heartfelt after causing her the worst pain a child possibly could cause her mother, by leaving the Amish.
As a child I used to like picking a little bouquet of violets for her on Mother's Day, I loved writing poetry and would write a poem for her as well as make a homemade card. We would all pitch in and do the dishes so she could have the day off.
I would have loved to send her a card and letter this year and have a bouquet of flowers delivered to her, but I know she would not have appreciated it, so I didn't. I'll try to show my love for her by respecting her wishes to not do or say anything love related to her. It hurts though, really hurts. She was my absolute best friend in the world, seeing her house now purged of anything I ever gave her in my entire life, hearing from one of my used to be closest friends that she was asked to be her daughter since I no longer qualify ... hurts more than I can tell.
So I read Psalms 27:10 again. I turn to my family, my husband and precious children who try and succeed in making Mother's Day special for me.
They're great at taking what our yard has to offer and creating a gorgeous bouquet for me. I was pampered and made to feel special all day.