I’m named after my maternal Grandmother. We share a middle name which is something I’ve been proud of my whole life. Priscilla Lorraine, (who goes by Lorraine because she hates the name Priscilla) was a legend in my house growing up. She was frequently used as an example to illustrate my own mother’s self-perceived short-comings. The phrases, “My mother would never…”, or “My mother would have always…” were a near daily occurrence as my mom assessed her own maternal habits by holding them up next to the perfection she saw in my Grandmother’s.  An unfair, inaccurate assessment that I’m sorry to say I’ve continued in my own motherhood journey. Ahhh generational mommy-guilt… #TrynaBreakTheCycle #MostlyFailing

But the truth of the matter is this: my Grandma Heywood is one tough act to follow.

Lorraine Heywood had six children, kept a tidy house (aided and abetted by my meticulously neat Grandfather), rarely raised her voice, was the primary caretaker of her father-in-law for eight years, worked as a school teacher, made homemade meals, kept a garden, grew fruit trees, canned seasonally, baked bread, took her children on annual family trips around the United States, knew the names of every kind of plant and taught them to her children, sang like an angel, volunteered her time and talents at church and in the community, taught her children to sew, painted, and above all, loved her children fiercely.

How do you follow that act?!

No but really, though, how? Inquiring minds want to know.

In preparing for this blog post, I asked her girls to tell me more about what life was like growing up with Lorraine Heywood as a mama and let me tell you, there were nothing but glowing reviews. In fact, my Aunt Chrystal expressed having experienced genuine concern as a child that her mom might at any moment be taken off of this troubled earth, straight to heaven because she was an actual perfect person.

Of course, as logical adult-type people we know now that this can’t be true, but hot dang is it though? Because maybe it is. This woman was the absolute standard of motherhood; womanhood; personhood. It’s no wonder my mom wasn’t alone in engaging in the “my mom would have always…” rhetoric. I’ve even engaged in that line of thinking when I’ve unwisely compared my motherhood journey to hers. I’ve done the same when comparing my motherhood journey to my mother’s as well.

Which brings us to the first point I’d like to make: mamas! People! Mankind! Stop. Comparing. Your journey. To other people’s journeys.

I know, I know. Easier said than done. I mean hi, Black Pot, I’m the kettle. You know?

But seriously, stop it.

My Grandma Heywood is an absolutely outstanding person. And she is still a person. A person with struggles and faults and flaws (like. Maybe she skipped flossing once or forgot one of her kids didn’t like crust on their sandwich That One Time or maybe she said a cuss by accident. I mean, I’ve heard stories, Grandma so here’s lookin at you) She fails sometimes. She loses her patience maybe (I’ve yet to see it in person, but I’ve heard she’s let out an exasperated sigh or two in her day) The point is that she is a person. And so is your neighbor and your cousin and your best friend and that fashionista you follow on Instagram and Joanna Gaines and Princess Kate with her stupid, perfect, tiny little body coming out of the hospital in high heels five minutes after giving birth. But I’m not bitter.

These are people. With totally different lives and circumstances and experiences. And it’s a fatal flaw to hold your life next to theirs and try and get an accurate reading of ‘how you’re doing’. Instead, try to hold up the picture of your life today to the picture of your life yesterday, two weeks ago, last year. Are you more patient? More kind? Less lonely? …Taller? (One can dream…) You are the only accurate measuring stick against which to compare your successes and failures.

The faster we can wrap our brains around that truth and embrace it, the happier we’ll be. It’s true. When in doubt, stick to my favorite life philosophy: you do you, boo. You. Do. You.

Point number two starts with a short story. A couple of weeks ago, I had just managed an argument between kids and was in the middle of tidying something when suddenly, the words for the title of this blog entry entered my mind in a flash of inspiration. –As a quick aside, I’ll mention that one of the magical things that has started to happen to me during this journey of intentional creation, is that I have apparently become a useful conduit for creations who are embarking on their journey to become (for more on this phenomenon, read “Big Magic” by Elizabeth Gilbert) and am now privy to frequent bursts of inspiration and direction that lead me to write, paint, and sing all kinds of beautiful things that wouldn’t have existed otherwise. It’s very intoxicating and I highly recommend it. But back to my flash of inspiration–. As I was on my hands and knees, picking up who knows what after just having brought peace back into the house after a fight between the two eldest, the thought came into my mind, “You are more like Lorraine than you may realize”. It stopped me in my tracks. I have never considered the fact that I may have inherited more from my Grandmother than just a middle name; that there might be other pieces of her that are an integral part of the person that I am.

For the first time in my life, I had the realization that I am a piece of Lorraine. That my love of music, my passion for teaching and loving children, my patience with my own boys, my propensity towards creativity, my fondness for painting, my joy in an orderly home…these pieces of me come from my Grandmother; that untouchable, unstoppable force; I am a part of her.

What an honor. What a legacy to live up to. What an encouraging truth.

Instead of engaging it the comparisons that bring discouragement and defeat, I’m trying to more frequently remind myself that I come from exceptional stock; that Lorraine’s goodness is a part of who I am and that I have the potential of becoming closer and closer to the mother she is reported to have been. I hope all of Grandma Heywood’s children and grandchildren can see the pieces of Lorraine that live within them and can use that foundation to build something wonderful. Some of the best people I know are descended from Lorraine Heywood. I don’t think that’s a coincidence.

My Grandma Heywood’s remaining time here might be relatively short, but because she has created this legacy, pieces of her will continue to live. Art, music, kindness, generosity, patience, humor, knowledge, skill, faith and love will be passed down from generation to generation and will continue to strengthen this world and the people in it. She might be only one person, but look at the pieces she has left this world. Look at the goodness and brightness and beauty she has left as her legacy. We all have that power to affect the world so profoundly. You are made of many pieces and you will always leave pieces behind. That is our power. That is our legacy. That is our potential.

I’m forever grateful for my pieces of Lorraine.