Mom taught me
hospitality
My dad worked a lot with FCA (Fellowship of Christian
Athletes) when I was growing up. Often,
the group of teenagers would meet over at our house for the Bible study. Mom was always a gracious hostess, ready with
drinks and/or snacks for all. I cannot
begin to count the number of times we would have friends come over after church
for lunch and “a few hours” which turned into the entire afternoon and supper
and half the evening. I’m certain there
were times when Mom was half-wondering how we would feed everyone (again) but
she never complained or tried to shoo people out (considering our friends being
over often meant another dozen people, that is no small feat).
In these past few years Mom’s health hasn’t allowed her
to host nearly as often as when I was a kid but the lesson of an open house
still stands. I love simply opening my
home to let people come in and crash for the night, stop for a drink of water,
or snatch a nap. I’ve even had folks
come over after going to a movie without me and just assemble to discuss and
decompress. Without my Mom’s early
lessons on having an open, welcoming home, I don’t think these things would
happen nearly as often.
Mom teaches me
endurance
I’m known for stubbornness and refusing to give up. Mom called me “Bulldog” when I was in high
school for the way I would not let go and give up in a tennis match. Now I see her fighting against ill health
that doesn’t let her sleep well consistently, makes her muscles and nerves
constantly ache, and generally leaves her continuously tired and she doesn’t give up. Sometimes, that works against her as she
tries to do too much too soon but she hasn’t let it stop her from trying.
I hope you know, Mom, just how much I admire you for
fighting through chronic pain. I cannot
imagine what it is like to keep going
even when everything hurts. You’re
amazing.
Mom shows me love
I’m not the best with emotional stuff. Or with asking for help. Or with keeping in touch with people even
when they live in the same city as I do.
(I’ve talked about this a little in “Burdens Shared.”) I’m quite certain there are times when Mom
wishes I would just talk to her more.
But she knows the spoken word isn’t my strong point or, honestly, even
the way I show love or receive it. So
she’s made a way for us to have special times together. Twice now we’ve been to a weekend conference
and I hope that we’ll be able to set aside time over the summer to “hang
out.” I’m trying to be better about
actively talking with Mom for fun – I think that’ll be a lifelong journey.
Mom taught me the
love of Story
I am a storyteller.
But I learned that at my mother’s knee.
She read us The Chronicles of
Narnia and Caddie Woodlawn and Little House in the Big Woods and The Great and Terrible Quest and Charlotte’s Web and many, many
more. And then as I grew older, she gave
me good and great books. Sir Walter
Scott. J. R. R. Tolkien. C. S. Lewis.
Rosemary Sutcliff. Madeline
L’Engle. Jane Austen. Even Louis L’Amour and Sir Arthur Conan
Doyle. These days I’m more likely to be
handing her books to read, but it all started with her.
Part 3 to come on Sunday
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