My mom

My little girl is four years old. There are days when I look at her and think: when I was her age, just a little girl of four, my dad left us. My mom was abandoned by her husband, and her little girls (ages four and five) were abandoned by their daddy. Can you imagine my mom’s heartache?

A bit later we moved in with a friend of my moms. Mom got a job as a secretary at our church, and my sister and I began going to our church’s daycare. I remember I loved this, because from the playground I could look up at the church office where mom was working and see a window. I knew that behind the window sat my mom’s desk. I couldn’t ever see her through the window, but it was comforting for me to know she was up there. There were many times I would squint up at that window and wonder if she was looking at me right at that moment, too.

For the next four years mom was a single mom: working at the church and taking care of us. When we began to go to school (which sat up the street from our church), we would walk down to the church office after school and sit with mom and staple, fold or stuff envelopes.

She drove a little red Honda, and it seemed like we were always stranded somewhere, having run out of gas. (To this day, I am paranoid if my gas tank gets below a quarter of a tank (my husband thinks I’m nuts; he’s always like, “Stacy, you do NOT need gas YET.” But he lets me.)

Mom’s parents helped her purchase a little house and moved us in. Each weekend we went to stay with my biological dad, who had a house on the other side of town, and who had a different girlfriend every other week. My heart breaks to think of mom having to get us ready to go each weekend, packing our little bags, sending us off with hugs and kisses and reassurances.

Mom prayed for us faithfully. She sang to us, talked to us about God, and answered all of our questions. She tucked us in each night. When I had nightmares or tears, she was by my side: comforting, soothing, and praying me back to sleep. She played with my hair, she scratched my back. She gave lots of hugs and lots of encouragement and affection.

Eventually she met a man who would later become our step-dad. And they had two sons, and we were a family of six.

Mom made our lunches every day, and nearly every day she would tuck a note inside of our lunch box, telling us how very much she loved us, sometimes with a verse of encouragement, or a note that she was praying for us: the test we were worried about, or the friendship we were struggling with. When we came home from school, she had freshly-baked cookies sitting on the counter. And she prayed, and she listened, and she laughed, and she was- and is- an awful lot of fun.

I wish you could meet her today. She is beautiful. I can’t even tell you her age, exactly- because in my mind, she’s always 40-ish. She looks it. She would greet you with a smile and a hug, and make you feel so cared for. If you had a frown or misty eyes, she would ask if she could pray for you, and then she would put her arm around you and pray, right there. Then she would send you a card a week from now, checking in, asking how you’re doing, giving you encouragement and cheer. She would feed you; she’s the best cook in the world. And there is always dessert. She’d make you laugh. She is compassionate, gracious, warm, hospitable, caring, kind, encouraging, fun, spontaneous, initiative, devoted, trustworthy, generous, selfless, prayerful, and loving. She is someone I’ve always wanted to be like.

You’d never know, to look at her today- that she has weathered some of life’s most difficult storms. I honor her today, for the mother that she is. For the friend I now have in her. For teaching me so much about being a mommy to my own children. For teaching me about Jesus and living out her faith openly before us.

I love you, Mom. I am blessed beyond words.

Happy Mothers Day!

1 comment:

  1. May. 14, 2006 - Untitled Comment
    Posted by reformingmama
    Well said Stacy. I love your mom too! I have observed her wonderfulness as well! And you are a LOT like her!
    love ya, amy


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