True and Tender

“I love you more, Mami,” I told her.
“Impossible,” she replied. “When you have your first baby, you’ll realize—it’s impossible for a child to love their mother more than a mother loves her child.”

The love I had for my mom felt like the pinnacle of love one person can feel for another. I was born with the privilege of being a woman, and as I grew, we reached a stage where we loved each other not only as mother and daughter but also as friends—friends who saw and understood each other in ways no one else ever could.

When they placed the baby I had carried for nine months on my chest, and her curious brown eyes looked into my soul, that was the moment I knew we were bound together forever. Behind the curtain, my mom, in tears, said to me,
“Tete, do you understand me now? She will never be able to love you more than you love her. It’s impossible.”

There is no purer or more selfless love than what I experienced when I became a mother. It was as if my world flipped upside down, and now I live each day thinking of all the ways I can make her world better.

There’s no one else we love from the very moment we realize they exist—from that first glimpse of two lines on a test, signaling that life is growing inside us. A life that is part of me but not mine—unique, iridescent, transforming so quickly I can hardly keep up. Oh, what a gift it is to watch her grow, to cherish every stage even as she sprints ahead to the next.

My mom had the gift of loving people purely. She was a first-grade teacher for more than twenty years—arguably one of the most challenging grades. Yet, one year she decided to teach sixth grade instead. I asked her,
“Do you want to keep teaching sixth grade? Was it easier?”
And she replied,
“It’s easier in the sense that the students are more independent, but I’m going back to first grade. I can’t get used to this age—where kids don’t love you as purely as they do in first grade. This is when they start making fun of their teachers behind their backs, and I just can’t get used to that.”

My mom’s first-grade students returned the love she gave them. And I, too, felt like a celebrity when I walked into her classroom: “Ms. Fania’s daughter!”
Nothing in life has ever made me feel as important as I did when I stepped into that room. I loved being her unofficial assistant. I felt like I already knew each student, because she had told me so many stories about them. To her, every single one was the most important person in the world—full of potential and capable of going far.

And how beautiful it is when someone’s love is something you can rest in, something you can count on—not something you have to earn.

I am surrounded by people who love boldly and sincerely, with a warmth that wraps around you. Stepping outside that bubble, away from my family and close friends, makes it harder for me to form connections with people who don’t know this kind of genuine, wholehearted love. For those of us who call ourselves followers of God’s Word, this love should be our standard, our expectation. The way we treat others should mirror the love God has shown us. As Paul so beautifully writes:

“Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It does not dishonor others, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres.” (1 Corinthians 13:4-7)

How did I learn what it means to love? I love because I was loved first. My love is a reflection of the goodness that surrounds me, a gratitude for the lives I still have with me. My love is so strong that even after my mother’s passing, it remains, tender and present, and it has shaped me into a better woman. I love because Christ once touched my mother’s heart, brought her to life, and filled her with joy where there was once a void. I love because my mother never allowed me to live a selfish life; what she had, she gave. I love because I was granted the privilege of becoming a mother and of working with college students who, too, need to be loved. I tell each of them how wonderful they are and how far I see them shine when they go out into the world. Because if I wholeheartedly believe that every person sitting across from me is wonderful and full of potential, maybe I can help them see themselves that way. And if they do, I hope they’ll go out into the world and make others feel just as special.