Like My Mom

Mom and I went for our annual ride through a local cemetery. If that sounds a bit macabre, try doing it with a 90+ year old woman. Chester Rural cemetery has been around since 1863, and I want to make some crack about that being almost as long as my mom, but I'll refrain. We go there because of the azaleas. They are absolutely spectacular, and they are all over the place! It wasn't really the day for it --overcast, so their colors didn't pop quite the way they do in full sun-- and it's still a bit early. They won't be hitting their peak for another week or so; I know I'm rushing it. This time with my mother is slipping away; I can feel it. Things she was capable of doing only a few months ago have become more difficult. Things she knew to do only a few months ago are lost to her now.

It wasn't always this way. Of course, the forgetting is new --in the last fifteen years or so-- but my sadness is even newer. Mom has always been, to me, exasperating, difficult. I remember in my teen years being somewhat of her "Mini Me." We shared clothes, enjoyed the same hobbies; my first "real" job was at the same place she was working at the time. We even watched soap operas together (probably not one of my mother's best decisions). But as I began to develop interests of my own and acquire the means to pursue them, tensions arose in our relationship. The last person in the world I wanted to be was the woman I saw when I looked at my mother. In my twenties, Mom and I reunited over my children, but never really addressed or resolved the issues between us. I kept her entertained with field trips and regular meals at our home, but by the time my children were teenagers, she and I parted ways once again. My husband and I were virtually empty nesters when my father passed and my mother, living but one street away, became my charge once again. 

Somewhere in all of that I was being granted healing and Mom had begun to decline. I was being given another chance to repent, to reject the life I'd been living and follow in a much more eternal way; Mom's life was growing not only shorter but declining in quality, as they say. It has been a less than perfect journey for me (the One who has set me on this path is faithful to bring the necessary changes to fruition and see me through to the end); it has been brutal for Mom. I have been bitter and angry, blamed and resurrected ancient history (some of it in an effort to discover the source of my anger, but much of it to justify my bad behavior); Mom has as well, only for her, there is no resurrecting of history, only anger. I have hurt myself and others; Mom has, too, only given all she's been through, I would argue she has a right. I have wasted precious time; Mom is lingering as long as the Lord allows. And through that He is teaching me lessons.

The lesson I am learning these days is time is fleeting. I am making every effort to enjoy it with her. I am making every effort to enjoy it without her. I want to be as excited to put on fresh socks each morning as she is. I want to sit in the sun --no books, no phone, just sit. And I want to breathe. And be grateful for every breath. I want to squeal and coo at the azaleas every year as if it is my first --even under cloudy skies, even though furled blooms still clutter the branches-- just as she does. I want my eyes to light up at the sight of ice cream. I want to forgive quickly and love broadly. I want to leave lessons and be a blessing to others --even in my brokenness. The way my mother has.

Are You Qualified to Go Where He Calls?

Has God ever told you to do something? I mean something personal, something in agreement with His Word, but much more specific. Give to a specific cause. Move. Adopt a child. Some time ago, I knew God was telling me to do something. His instructions were clear: Write a book. At the time, things were a little busy. I was homeschooling and working, but that season ended. Write a book, He said. Then our son and his family moved in. I was still working, things were a little hectic, and how can an adorable, chubby-cheeked grandchild be anything but a welcome distraction? Write a book. Shortly after they moved out, Mom moved in. It wasn't as though she required lots of care, but I wanted her to feel at ease. I imagined moving from her large home to a small room in ours would be pretty traumatic, so I stayed close and sat with her many days. The adjustment was difficult for us as well. But God kept talking. Write a book. Mom is still with us, and our "Chameleon House," as I like to call it has been transformed to accommodate two different housing situations since. With every season there has been adjustment, and with every adjustment, a built-in excuse to not listen to what God has been telling me. During every season, when I have heard those three words, I have looked back and said, "I couldn't possibly find the time! I had much more time last season!" 

Israel, God's people, did that. They were slaves in Egypt --slaves of a pagan nation, and all that conjures up with it. Life was hard and their taskmasters were cruel. But God. He brought them out of bondage and His appointed leader, Moses, safeguarded them to a place of promise. But it wasn't an easy trip. It was wild terrain and they were not certain of the dangers they would encounter. They longed for the "ease" of Egypt. The ease? Had they forgotten all the prayers, all the cries with which they pierced the heavens during their time in Egypt? Had they forgotten the aching muscles, hands cracked and bloodied, lips parched and eyes stinging from sweat, the whips of tyrannical overseers? 

I hadn't forgotten the hardships of my seasons: the time it took to prepare lessons and organize paperwork; the many times I crashed, exhausted, into bed in just enough time to grab a couple hours' sleep before work; the days it felt as if I'd no sooner cleaned up breakfast and had to begin preparing lunch; Mom urging me to sit with her a little longer, after spending the entire morning together. I also hadn't forgotten the amount of time I wasted watching reruns, or scrolling social media, or gossiping with a friend, or staring at all my imperfections in the mirror. So much time I wasted. Why?

We are told in Exodus 3:11, Moses questioned God's selection process. "Who am I?" he asks. Exodus 4:1-17 records the litany of excuses and reservations Moses brought before God about this commission he'd been given. God assured and reassured him: He knows what He is doing. And He promises throughout Scripture He will not leave His people or forsake them. Philippians 1:6 tells us He finishes what He starts. And 2 Corinthians 9:8 tells us He is able to make grace abound toward us that we might have more than what we need to obey His call. It is not our strength and sustenance, but God's (Isaiah 41:10). When we rely on His power and trust Him to supply what is needed, we'll have no excuse for failing to obey. And if I'm being honest, much of my procrastination lies in my depending on my ability to do what God has told me to do. I look at my past and say, God, I'm nobody. And I dwell there. I look at my present and say, God, have you seen my past? And I dwell there. I look at what I think I know about the future and say, God, I'm so small. And I dwell there. But His answer to me in all of those things is: 

I am the God of peace who raised, from the dead, My Son, Jesus Christ.  He is the Shepherd of the sheep (and you, My dear, by His blood, are His sheep). I will equip you with every good thing you need to do My will, according to My good pleasure and for My glory. (from Heb. 13:20-21)

So what is God asking you to do? Are you willing to embrace that season, or are you too busy fearing the future and dwelling in the past? He makes us "complete in every good work to do His will." What does that look like for you?