Why I love my Mom

I love my mom.  Today as I came home from class, I was (surprise!) discouraged beyond description.  Again.  Why is this?  Why can I not seem to shake this discouragement, this despondency?  I was told the secret today: contentment.  I know it is true.  But that is another topic and one I’m not brave enough to face yet.  For right now, let me tell you about my mom.

It occurred to me today, as I came in from class and found her sitting at the computer, working on something or other.  She had spent the morning at open prayer, a prayer time at our church where people are free to meet and pray for the needs of the body and city.  Then she ran errands, got groceries, and now was thawing meat for dinner (beef stroganoff which is what I overheard my dad requesting this morning).  She didn’t hear me come in, so it wasn’t until I had mixed up my hot chocolate, thrown a yam in the oven to bake, and sat down by the fire behind her that she turned and greeted me, as she always does, with a smile.  She could read my face immediately that I was discouraged and her face turned downward with mine.  “I’m ok,” I assured her and gave her a “thanks” smile, then sipped my hot drink.  “How was your morning?” I asked.  She said what she’d done.  “Who was at prayer?”  I asked, even though I didn’t have to because I already knew.   It was she, Muriel, and Dave.  The famous three, I call them.  Because, you see, they are always the ones at prayer.  Always.  And even though no one knows they pray, and even though hardly ever does anyone else join them, they always pray. 

The reason all this stands out today is that my mom would never write a blog about how she feels swallowed up.  Why?  She’s already been swallowed up.  My mom has been swallowed up in Christ.  Her life is hidden with Christ in God.  She’s not searching for herself because she’s already been found – once and for all. 

This plays out in very tangible ways.  My mom is the best listener I have ever met.  I have never heard her interrupt anyone—ever—in my entire life.  I have never heard her demand her rights, never heard her complain about her lot in life.  Not that she has no feelings or desires, that’s not it.  But she’s been swallowed up—my mom’s life is hidden with Christ in God. 

This amazing character trait of hers used to bother me. In high school I thought she was weak.  I thought a real woman would assert herself, stick up for herself, demand her rights, right?  I real woman would say, “Get your own darn sandwich!”  But no, she looks those real women in the eye and says, there’s a better way. 

This doesn’t mean she doesn’t get sad.  My mom is currently facing profound sorrow and grief.  She’s battling a debilitating disease (bravely I might add!).  She’s coping with the proximal “loss” of her son and daughter-in-law and granddaughter, which is magnified because of the physical limitations she’s facing.  And, on top of all that, she has to deal with her opinionated and profoundly emotional daughter living in her house, cluttering her countertops and criticizing her organizational skills.  (I know, the third trumps them all, huh?!)  But she has taken all three of these things in admirable stride.  She’s grieving, she’s weakened, she’s affected, but she is not shaken.  This is because she has been crucified with Christ, and the life she now lives in the body she lives by faith in the Son of God who loved her and gave Himself for her.  And she really does this, she doesn’t just spout off a verse about it.

So, all this to say that I am touched and humbled and blessed by my mom.  The focus has been on me and poor me and oh how hard this season has been for me.   But the truth is that my mom is battling things far more difficult than I ever have, and she calmly, contently, and serenely goes about her day, grocery shopping for beef stroganoff and meeting with her faithful three prayer warriors, serving behind the scenes for the sake of others.  Thanks, Mom, for the way that you teach me so profoundly.  Thanks, Mom, for putting up with me.  You’re an inspiration.  Why can’t I be more like you?! J