A tribute to my mom
I have been blessed with having a daughter who makes me feel bad sometimes. (ha!) Yes, she loves me but she lets me see when I fail or embarrass her reminding me this way I’m not the perfect mother I’ve dreamed to be. For example, watching my grandchild one day, I’ve jumped, ran, pushed his car, done pirouettes and watched a Veggie Tales movie (well, through his 10 min attention span). I finally let him get busy on his own, playing with his cars and I did some ironing by the kitchen doorway. (He played between living and kitchen so I found a place where I could watch him.) My grandchild decided to go out of the kitchen to our patio to play with his cars outside – the ‘highway’ on the patio does not have all the obstacles as the living room. I was able to still watch him from my position through the three, 71” tall glass windows in the kitchen (more windows than wall) plus the door was opened. About 10 minutes after I opened the ironing board, I heard a car pulled in the driveway and I waited assuming no one will come all the way unless it was my daughter and her husband or my sister-in-law. But no one came out of the car immediately. Then I see the dad coming reaching out to his son and hurrying to the back yard; but no sign of my daughter. So, I finally went out and asked her if something was wrong (they had been in a lunch meeting). Something was wrong. But it wasn't the meeting. It was Me. I wasn’t watching Ezra as I was supposed to. When I said I was, she mentioned that I did not come out when the car got there. “Because I knew it got to be you guys.” It did not matter I said that not only was I able to watch him from where I was but also we did a lot together until 10 minutes ago; I messed up. My daughter was pointing I have failed… and that hurt. (My mom & my Daughter)
That got me thinking about mothers. How much a mother tries to be the best mother to her children. How we, mothers, want to protect our children from pain and pretty soon they are giving us pain; but we take it. We just don’t want them to have it. Then in China, there was another incident. I made a comment that my daughter did not approve. The tone of voice she used made me feel she was embarrassed of me. And that did it. I was reminded of my relationship with my mother and the times I have done the same to her. I grew up thinking like most of us do. As children, we believe our mothers are beautiful and intelligent and we want to grow up to be just like them (I even have a paper my daughter wrote to that effect). Then, as we become teenagers, we pull away from our mothers not wanting to be anything like them. In adulthood . . . We are just like them. We realize we have become our mothers. The incidents with my own daughter always took me to the phone to call my mother and confess my own trespasses toward her. One of those times was from China. I wanted to tell her I was sorry for the times I’ve corrected her in public about things she should or should not say. I wanted to tell her I love her and that she could be herself. So, I called and she greeted me sort of excited knowing I was calling from China. I had a small speech prepared but did not get to say anything. She talked, and talked and talked. Then asked a few questions about my trip and then she was gone to church. I sat thinking, “I did not get to say what I wanted to say. She did not let me talk.” And then, smiling, I thought, “That’s mom.” Through one of my siblings I heard my mom's knees needed surgery. I called mom to find out about details. She talked a bit about it but then changed the subject as if it wasn’t important. Again, I did not get to tell her that I was praying for her knees to heal since because of those knees I believe I’m alive and serving God today. Those are the knees that prayed for protection over my life when I did not feel like praying myself. Those are the knees that carried me through the dark days of my life and now “Lord”, I said, “those knees need your healing touch to keep our family glued to you.”
My mom did not always do all the talking. Every now and then she stopped to listen about the ministry and the work we are doing in Texas. When I visited her last summer, we sat in the living room with a cup of coffee and got into some deep talks. She never said she was “proud” of me but she let me know she admired me for obeying the Lord and doing HIS work. The Lord gave my mom an awesome responsibility – and it did not end when we all left home. She kept teaching, preaching and praying for us… all 11 of us. My mom, I've always said, taught me how to pray. She gave me my first lesson of what is to pray being specific and completely sincere with God.
Tell HIM you don't like it, she said,
HE already knows it just tell HIM to help you with that issue.I did and it worked! I was 13 years old. In one occasion, I was talking about how good my mom sounded and how much she is admired when she is preaching / talking among the people she helps. However, taken out of her circle, she did not sound so good. A person said, “You have to accept (or see) that she is sort of a hillbilly.” I stopped to think and laughed at the suggestion realizing that it made a bit of sense. Then, I looked at the person and said, “Yes, but that’s my mom and she is the only one I got and I love her. Imperfect and all.” This is the mom that would sit all 9 of us (at the time) to read the Bible and an article from the Reader's Digest and prayed the nights we did not go to church. I always tell the ladies I disciple that she would have breakfast ready every morning, waited until we finished eating and read a Psalm and prayed before we went to school. Sometimes the bus driver waited for us as she wasn't finished. She was determined for us to "get it". God comes first and it will do us good not to neglect the reading of the Scriptures. Her legacy is forever embedded in my heart. Is part of the quilt of my life.
I dreaded the day I will lose you and that day have come. I wondered my reaction and how I would feel when I can’t hear your voice. When I’d pick up that phone to call only to realize you’re not there to answer. Well, I know how it feels: very painful and unreal. But there is joy too. My first thought after hearing “she is gone” was “Oh mom, you have seen Jesus' face. You have already seen HIS face. What a moment!” The next one was a funny one,
She is probably trying to sing along with the angels lifting up her voice higher than them and missing a tune here and there.That’s my mom and I’ll miss her every day of my life.
I’ll see you in Heaven and everything will be perfect.
