One of the greatest blessings in my life was the special bond I shared with my mom.

My older brother used to tell me I couldn't even formulate an opinion without consulting her first. He would ask me something simple—like, what was my favorite color? I'd ask my mom what her favorite color was. “Green,”  she'd answer. 

“Green,” I'd tell Jeff.

 It exasperated him. "Why can't you come up with anything on your own?” 

"That is what I came up with on my own!" I'd answer indignantly and turn to my mom, “Huh Mumma?”

My life became a series of “Huh Mumma’s?” I never stopped seeking her affirmation.

Today is Brett’s 15th birthday. His first birthday without my mom. I know if she was here, we would rehash some of the funny stories, ruminate about the positive impact “The Baby” has had on our lives. She never once called him Brett, always The Baby.

It was only because of a heart-wrenching chain of losses that my mom was living with us when Brett was born. Oh, how thankful I was to have her by my side every day! 

All those days of carefully measuring and re-measuring Brett’s ever growing head, not wanting to believe the horrifying numbers. The days and nights of trying to get him to drink one ounce of formula on the hour, every hour. The seemingly impossible job of trying to keep the oxygen cannula lined up with his tiny nostrils.

When we brought Brett home they provided us with a "mother tank" of oxygen that had a 50 foot long cord allowing us to walk around the house with him. Anytime we'd pick him up we'd pull on the cord several times, ensuring we had enough slack to keep the cord from pulling against his face. 

Several days after he was no longer on the oxygen, I watched my mom pick him up and then "pull" on an imaginary oxygen cord. It was hilarious to watch because I found myself doing the same thing. We both had gotten so used to the cord that long after it was gone we were still “pulling” air. It was hysterical. I’m sure if I were to see her today, I could reenact it and we’d laugh just as hard now as we did then. 

The Baby, who is fifteen years old today, is still like a baby—a giant, content baby. 

Today, I’m thanking God for allowing my mom to be here in Michigan…from the day Brett took his first breath fifteen years ago to the day she took her last. 

Our awesome God knew just what I needed…”Huh Mumma?”

”We act as though comfort and luxury were the chief requirement of life, when all we really need to make us happy is something to be enthusiastic about.” I jotted that down without noting who said it, but apparently it resonated with me. Winston Churchill described success as "going from failure to failure without any loss of enthusiasm." I love it.

I was reminded of that joke about the optimist and pessimist. Some psychologists decided to perform an experiment on two little boys, one an eternal optimist, the other a perpetual pessimist. They locked the pessimist in a room with every thing a boy could ever dream of owning. There was a merry-go-round, an umpteen amount of popular video games, a live pony and all sorts of other toys to charm the daylights out of any little boy. Surprisingly, when they came to check on him in a hour, they found his dreary little self just sitting in a corner.

They were incredulous. ”Why are you just sitting there??? Why aren't you playing with all the fun things we've provided for you?"

He answered dejectedly, "If I tried to ride the pony it would probably buck me off, the merry-go-round would make me dizzy and the video games are too violent..."

They left him moping in the corner and went to check on the optimist. They had locked this little boy in a room full of nothing but manure. When they came to check on him, he appeared to be having the time of his life! He was diving in out of the manure, happily flinging it about—generally just having a walloping good time.

Again, they were absolutely incredulous. ”What are you doing??? How could you be having so much fun?”

The happy little lad answered joyously, "I figured with all this manure, there had to be a pony in here somewhere!"

Talk about optimistic enthusiasm! I do believe we need to be enthusiastic about something, and as Christians we have something far greater than the prospect of a live pony to make all the "crap" worth wading through. We have the assurance of eternal life. We know despite what wretches we are, we are loved unconditionally. We have God's word to direct, comfort and empower us. We have brothers and sisters in Christ who are steady sources of love, encouragement and prayer. 

Yet I still have days when all I see is the manure. Days when I feel far from God, when I feel hopeless and inadequate. Days when I act just like that wretched little pessimist—moping around because I've let all the sad stuff blind me to all the good stuff.

Let's face it, crap happens. In so many ways, losing my mom has been the crappiest thing that's ever happened to me. She was the epitome of optimistic enthusiasm, and it was contagious, and I will never stop missing it—but I’m also never going to stop striving to be like her, hoping one day my attitude will lift others up the way she could always lift mine up.