I have thought these words to myself countless times in the past year. With a fresh teenager in seventh grade and a pre-teen in fifth, it has been a year of trial and tribulation I can only imagine compares to the biblical character Job. Okay, so maybe I am a bit dramatic. However, as a hard-working single mother, this year has truly tested me to the point of near torture. And here I am, still standing, in need of copious amounts of caffeine and some serious self-care but still standing nonetheless.
I am admittedly (and my sons would agree) not much of a cook. However, last night, my oldest son and I stopped by the store as my youngest son stayed home sick from school. I wanted to make a nice, hot meal of comfort food that my small family could enjoy. Never mind the fact that funds are tight, sleep is in a season of avoidance, and I am truly grasping at straws to make ends meet.
I recalled an easy recipe from an elderly lady from my hometown church. My mother used to make it when I didn’t feel well. It wasn’t exactly my favorite, but it was easy, had few enough ingredients for me to recall, and was definitely reminiscent of a less stressful time.
I compiled the ingredients, stuffed the colorful casserole in the oven, and told my boys we would eat in approximately an hour. They were both astounded (or perhaps that look was fearful) that I was cooking. Still, I knew there was no way to mess up this particular recipe.
Sure enough, the casserole, complete with fresh out the oven biscuits was ready nearly an hour later. I called the boys to the kitchen table (these days we are all heading in different directions, so sitting together at the table at the same time is a true rarity).
One son dutifully finished his dinner, denying seconds. The other son ate about half and pushed it away, saying he wasn’t hungry (probably because he had been snacking since he got home, unbeknownst to me). I asked why he didn’t finish his meal. He said, “Nothing against you, Mom. I just don’t really care for it.” Okay, point taken and despite his desire not to offend me, he totally did offend me!
At times like this, I think to myself, “Why do I even try?” The daily duties of a mom often go unnoticed. The lunches made, dishes done, laundry folded and put away, the driving all over God’s green earth, the sacrifice of time to attend every single sporting event known to man, the plethora of priorities moms simply do day in and day out, with a rare thank you from her precious family. Why do I even try?
As I cleaned up the kitchen, I contemplated this recurring thought. Why do I try? Thankfully, something greater than myself washed over me because the answers were plentiful, humbling, and absolutely breathtaking.
I try because my mother tried. She daily met me before and after school with my physical needs met and an extra dose of emotional support I never realized took time away from her own important life.
I try because I want my sons to know they are special, they are worthy, they are adored. And I hope the way I treat them, as their mother, somehow translates to the journey of marriage and parenthood I hope they will someday encounter.
I try because there are very few people in this world who still do. Our society is full of instant gratification, entertainment 24/7, very little face-to-face interaction, and a pace that makes me positively dizzy. There has to be some room in our busy lives for a nice, warm, home-cooked, made-with-love meal every now and then.
I try because I love these two boys with all my being. Sure, one barely talks to me and the other is often distracted by video games and YouTube, but I know that is just the season of parenting and growing up in which we currently find ourselves. This too shall pass, and when it does, I will likely miss the dirty dishes, the unmade beds, the piles of laundry, and the thankless meals.
I try because it is simply what a mother does. She doesn’t do it for applause, thank yous, gratification, or to prove her worth. The heart of a mother is unlike any other creature on this planet. It desires more than anything to protect, persevere, and infuse her offspring with the absolute most valuable gift she has to offer: her time, her attention, her heart, her immeasurable love.
I don’t try because I have to. Sometimes I don’t try because I want to. I try because I know no other way. It is a special brand of love handed down from one generation to the next, very much like the simple recipe I made for my family on this weeknight evening (that no one fully enjoyed other than myself).
The next time you ask yourself, “Why do I even try?” take a look into the colorful eyes of those little faces gathered around the table, even if dinner feels more like a barnyard feeding frenzy than a family meal, and the remarkable eyes that meet your own . . . that is why we try.
by Jennifer Toscano 
by Moriah Couch 
by Ashley Smith 
