Friday, February 22, 2013

FMF~ My Mama

What makes my mama unique from any other? Her uniqueness is not found in food, laughing, dancing, or even in storytelling. (I really laughed out loud at those descriptions.) Her uniqueness is found in the difficult, lonely, and mundane events.

It’s a mom’s worst nightmare. A sick, hurting baby, and a refusal from the medical world to offer answers. Days turned to weeks and weeks to months and this tiny infant was only getting worse. And my fearful mama was dealing with it alone. She comforted and caressed, but even the love of a faithful mama cannot mend a broken body.

Doctor after doctor turned her away, and she sought the only one left to listen: Almighty God. His answer came through a young intern. The most unexpected and under qualified used that stethoscope and the ears of God to hear the imperfection within. There was something wrong with the heart, and surgery was impertinent.
No mama could ever imagine her nine-month-old whisked away; being wheeled into that cold room to be cut wide open, heart completely removed from the struggling little body. And my mama’s heart was broken along with my own. Yet, in the brokenness she found comfort and hope in a God she hadn’t seen, but desperately cried out to.

Flash forward over half a decade and you’d find her rushing to the stage at the front of a gymnasium to rescue her scared little girl from the eyes of hundreds of onlookers. Or you’d glimpse her tediously pedaling an old bicycle, infant seat attached, determined to get her baby girl to a birthday party. We stayed only long enough to offer a gift and there we went, peddling back home. I think she knew I’d be too shy to stay, too scared to be left alone.

Years later, on the day of my 14th birthday, there was my faithful mama, comforting me in a post-op hospital room. I was throwing up, I was in pain, and the jello only made me nauseous. The dry heaves were unbearable. She arrived in my room famished, carrying a grease covered bag of deep fried food and carbs. No, it wasn’t for me, and no I wasn’t supposed to have it, but one look at my face and she quickly handed over her only meal. Nothing was said to the hospital staff.

I know this is supposed to be a five minute response, but who can reminisce about a mama for only five minutes? I could go on and on. Couldn’t you? She’s always been there for me and she continues to be my mama, even at the age of 33. Just yesterday she offered comfort only a mama can insisting I use her pillow as I lay useless on the couch in a sick heap. No, she’s not perfect. Yes, we’ve had our struggles, and yes, there were times I doubted her mothering abilities (she’d be the first to admit she’s no chef, and I recall numerous visits to Little Caesar’s and Arby’s for dinner).   

How is my mom unique from any other?  She’s a rescuer. She’s compassionate and all heart. Her love is effortless and sacrificial. She’s a helper- sometimes an over-the-top and a you’re-not-letting-them-learn-from-their-mistakes-and-difficulties kind of helper, but a helper nonetheless. And I love this mama of mine like I love no other.  

You’ve always loved me, Mom. You’re heart has been broken and mended even as mine has. Yet, you continue to willingly hand it over without question or hesitation. Thank you, Mom!

Today’s your turn. What did your mama do that makes her your mama? Let’s unpack those memories today. Let’s trace our fingers along the lines of the unexpected. The ordinary beauty in a day of motherhood. The food or the laughing or the dancing or the story telling.
Where is your memory buried?
In just five minutes. Tell me all about what your mama did that made her yours….
{and don’t forget to spend some time commenting on the post of the person who linked up just before you}
Follow me by liking my Facebook page. 

Friday, February 15, 2013


I saw today’s prompt from Lisa-Jo Baker and I couldn’t not write.

It was a challenge I didn’t accept quickly. I couldn’t recall ever reading anything like it in the scriptures and it almost felt like a way to test God. Plus, I was a little scared and unsure. “Ask God to give you one word. Ask Him who you are,” She said. “When you are truly seeking Him, He will answer you, and He won’t allow the enemy to be involved in this conversation.” Hmmmmm, I wasn’t so sure about that. Plus, did I really want to know what HE thought of me?

 I lay there, alone, scared- no, frightened. Who am I Lord? The answer came before I even voiced the entire question. Like He’s been waiting for it… waiting to tell me who I was. Waiting for me to ask. Knowing eventually I would.


At the beginning of your supplications the command went out, and I have come to tell you, for you are greatly beloved.   Daniel 9:23

It was so clear and so heavy and so real I wasn’t sure how to respond. And my reply was so typical, because when my husband tells me how wonderful I am, how beautiful I am, I think of all those times he made his own dinner and of the large rolls hanging over my denim jeans. Wonderful? Beautiful? Beloved?

And when a friend compliments me and tells me how special I am; that I am a friend to be trusted; that I am missed and worth missing, I deny it to myself and throw insults and condemnations. They obviously don’t know this woman very well. I’ve tricked them all into believing the lie.

But the truth is they know me all too well. They know my struggles and they know my pain and they know my failures, and they knowingly love me. My husband married a woman almost sixteen years ago because of a mistake. He stays married to her because he knows her inside and out and cherishes what she has become despite the mistakes.

My Lord knew me before I was formed and decided to work amid the mistakes and the questions and the doubts and make me pure, spotless, beloved.
It is me who has believed the lie. I am beloved and I choose to be loved.

Lisa-Jo offers the challenge week after week: take a measly five minutes and write. No over thinking, no backtracking, no ‘wait, that’s not spiritual enough, and I can’t share that in cyber city’ mentality. Only writing. Writing for five minutes and risking the outcome. This week’s prompt- BELOVED

Follow me on Facebook.

Read more about my Beloved Story at the following links