She Called Me Mom

She called me mom. Gina (not her real name) had been outside and came back in with a sunburn that evening. Because few chemicals can be left in the possession of any of the kids, the aloe vera had to be applied by a nurse and documented accordingly. I was tired, and had my own children waiting at home; but I trekked down the hall to her room where Gina lay on her bed, face in her pillows. I gently rubbed the soothing cream over her blistered shoulders and neck. Looking on, her roommate piped up.
“Nurse Ladonna, I think you take care of us like you do because you have kids of your own”.
I paused, reflecting on that comment, then continued. Perhaps she was right. I’ve certainly applied enough aloe vera in my time!
Then a muffled voice said, “Nurse Ladonna, can I call you mom?” Gina craned her neck around to gauge my response. Unruly and obnoxious though they can be at times, something inside of me hurt for this little girl, and I smiled reassuringly at her. 
“Gina, you can call me whatever you like. Just don’t go outside like that without sunscreen again” the mom in me replied.
I love being a mom. Though not without its difficulties and frustrations, having these amazing people who ask questions, present new ideas, and challenge me to be a better person is at once exhausting and exhilarating. 
On my better days I remember that this whole symbiotic relationship is more than keeping mouths fed, bodies clothed and minds stretching; but I sometimes forget that the greater picture of the parent/child relationship is something beyond the here and now, that it is based on the eternal relationship of God and man. What I do is merely an imperfect reflection of the Perfect Parent and His not-so-perfect children. 
As I finished the simple task, I thought of the many times I had done something similar for one of my own children. And yet this one had no one to do such a simple thing for her. And I thought of the power there is in the concept of being a parent, the overwhelming desolation when that space is vacated and children are left to raise themselves. The damage done in those formative years by the lack of or ineptitude of parents is profound, and the consequences last a lifetime. 
We never outgrow the need to be loved and affirmed. God must have known this when the Bible refers to Him as our Heavenly Father. Indeed, we are told to call him Abba Father. Abba, the Aramaic word that would most closely be translated as “Daddy” was a common term that young children used to address their fathers. It signifies the close, intimate relationship of a father to his child, as well as the childlike trust that a young child puts in his “daddy.”
As I turned her light out and wished her good night, a child-like questioning voice came out of the darkness, “Good night…..mom”. I stood with my hand on the door knob and recognized again that we are the only representation of Christ some people will ever see. And if one of them has to call me mom to get to the love of her Heavenly Father….I’ll rub aloe vera on a few more sunburns.