Nena – Our “Steal Magnolia”

I’ve come to value many parts of the liturgical faith traditions and recently listened to a creative, guided meditation that was absolutely beautiful. (https://www.athirstforgod.com/the-emmanuel-promise/ chapter 1 Jesus Blessing the Children)

As I listened to the story, I had multiple emotions and thoughts that surprised me. Surprise at how often I’ve felt vulnerable in my life. How quickly emotions welled up when thinking about my childhood. My deep desire to meet with Jesus and my fear that he has better things to do. His tenderness to look me in the eyes and say “I always have time. Do you?” My need for quiet moments with Him. But the most surprising thing that came out of those 15 minutes of prayer was the overwhelming gratitude in my heart for my mom.

I suddenly realized how often I’ve written about my Dad, kids and grandparents but how little I have honored this woman who has taught me the things about following God that are, honestly, the most difficult for me. Maybe that’s why I’ve written about people who exemplify the things in me that are natural. Easy. Or, at least, easier.

As the meditation begins, the leader says to imagine being a child, grabbing the hand of your caregiver and feeling them grab it back. Suddenly, all the implications of that picture flooded over me. When I heard the word “caregiver,” there was no question or hesitation to who that has been. Mom instantly appeared in my head as she has always appeared when needed. As the constant, loving, strong, serving, faithful woman that she is for everyone in her life for almost 91 years. I may have understood my Dad more because our personalities were similar, but my mom is the one who created the foundation on which I have been able to grow. She’s the one who always kept the boat stable in whatever storm we faced.

I can be difficult to get close to and, in some ways, she can too. We both tend to put other people first, to a fault. I imagine that, through the course of my life, she has desired that I reach out and grab her hand more often. I know I crave that closeness with my own girls. Yet, although she has never pushed that upon me or been angry with my distance, she has always been quick to respond when I do. As the meditation continued, I realized how she has consistently she pointed me to a quiet yet unshakeable faith in our God. She’s never asked for, or needed accolades, attention, applause or recognition. She is tenderhearted and has no shame for shedding tears over the beauty of life or the pain and suffering of others. But, in her own suffering, she finds strength in God and refuses to let it control her. She doesn’t feel smart enough or eloquent enough to teach, but she is. She was my Sunday School teacher for years and I saw her love on kids who were difficult to love at church, Buckner Children’s home and in her work as a school nurse. She always seemed so meek and kind to me but had a fierce strength when dealing with, and fighting for, the kids under her care. She’s never complained, even when she could and probably should have. She loves and accepts people where they’re at, even when they deny everything she holds precious.

She’s taught me about sacrificial service. Going the extra mile in everything you do. Being content and grateful even when life doesn’t go your way. Loving people like they are even if you want more for them. Not striving to become what other people think you should be. Standing by your beliefs when everyone else seems to disagree. Living modestly. The truth that worship is how we live and not just music. That a woman can work hard, be strong and still maintain a softness in her spirit.

As I finished the meditation and was basking in the peace of sitting with Jesus, I wondered if she knew how important she is to me and everyone who knows her. I can imagine that, if she were to picture herself as a child again, she too would question whether Jesus had time for her. It seems to be a common worry that many of us have. So, I continued the train of thought imagining my mom as a toeheaded little girl from the ’30s sitting with me as a towheaded little girl from the ’60s. We watched and listened as Jesus taught when He suddenly turns his face to us, smiles with a delighted and loving gaze and blesses us. And I reach over to grab her hand, feeling her grab mine back, and realize that I had made a new friend that was more like me than I had ever thought.