Honor her for all her hands have done
My mom turns 70 this spring. I have been
thinking about this for a while: How can I honor her at this milestone,
especially from a distance, in a meaningful way?
In God's gracious provision,
Mom already has all her physical needs and most of her wishes. She's not into
showy gifts, even if we could wisely afford them. If you ask her what she most
desires, my mom will quote 3 John 4: "I have no greater joy than to hear that my
children are walking in the truth."
She knows better than any other human that
in my case, that walk has not been smooth. Externally, I am a success: God has
generously kept me well employed, married, churched, and befriended. But Mom has
been privy to a good portion of the tearful anger, the tortured indecision, the
persistent self-worship that wars with the Spirit in my heart regardless of my
circumstances.
But I'm still up and walking, and that is in no small part due to
her efforts. From my stubborn toddlerhood, Mom has patiently persevered in
countering my self-will with love, truth, and training. She did her best to
emulate our perfect Parent who disciplines us for our own good, because He loves
us (Hebrews 12:5-10).
I credit our close friendship of today to the years of my
youth when Mom didn't particularly try to be my friend, but rather a faithful
and self-sacrificing steward of God's gifts, including her children. I hope our
like-mindedness now is a sort of reward for her long slog through the Terrible
Twos and beyond.
Since repayment is impossible, the best gift I can think of for
this birthday is to "arise and call her blessed," to "honor her for all that her
hands have done" (Proverbs 31: 28,31). Ultimately, I hope that process will not
put her on an improper pedestal but point to the Lord who made her, led her, and
worked in her to make something beautiful in His unique style.
While these
reflections will already sound familiar to her, I hope sharing them may also
encourage her and the other mothers and children who may read them.
The unseen battles are faith's proving ground.
"Train up a child in the way he should go; even when he is old he will not
depart from it." (Proverbs 22:6)
Mom and I were both raised by two God-fearing
parents who prioritized teaching their kids the truth from the Word of God. We
were "sheltered" in the best sense—we were spared the horrific trauma and
heart-breaking instability that affects so many children for the rest of their
lives.
The upshot to this is that we were older when we found ourselves in the
rubber-meets-road situation of having to trust God himself, not our godly
parents. When it came to our grown-up decisions, their best advice (even if
sought!) would fail because it was not their wisdom we needed: It was the
ultimate wisdom, the fear of the Lord in our own hearts.
Both of us had
expressed childlike faith in childhood, but that faith had to be "proved" much
like bakers' yeast proves itself alive when the dough actually rises—under a bit
of heat!
Neither of us underwent the kinds of visible crisis that inhabit the
more dramatic testimonies you hear. For Mom, the proof came after leaving her
parents' home and marrying another sinner (the only kind of spouse available to
anyone). For me, it came first in the temptation to marry an unrepentant sinner
(big difference!) against the backdrop of a fear of being alone for the rest of
my life.
In both these situations, we had to face up to the inability of other
humans to give us what we want from them or what we truly need. We also had to
learn to recognize what that need is: renewed minds and spiritual strength to
persevere "in step with the Spirit" (Galatians 5:25). That is done by the Holy
Spirit's indwelling through faith in Jesus. Even the best people we knew could
not give us that; it had to come straight from the Source.
When I became an
adult facing my own sins and temptations, Mom shared with me some of her history
of faithless fears, desperate prayers, and spiritual epiphanies in her early
marriage. Most of it happened silently, internally, between her and the only One
who could see and understand her heart. Marriage and parenting were God's
tailored training ground for her to practice entrusting herself to the One who
sees all, knows all, and always gives us what we truly need.
By the time I was
old enough to notice, she had gained a better footing on a solid rock - not her
parents or husband (who was also going through his own proving ground) but
Christ!
And I'd like to be able to say I learned perfectly from her experiences,
but again, that isn't how it works. While training and example are important,
faith had to be proved where Mom and Dad couldn't reach me. They did pray to the
One who could.
I believed feebly. I sinned greatly. I whined a LOT.
My proving
ground has been its own painful, sweaty, fumbling mess through which God pulled
me as a burning twig from the fire. His faithfulness to rescue, cleanse, and
restore me showed that he can and will sustain my puny, faltering faith to
endure through the end. He proved it to Mom, and he proved it to me.
My heavenly
Father is absolutely committed to making me a complete, perfect child in his own
image, a full citizen of his household, entrusted with his eternal business.
That is His commitment to each one who puts faith in Him. Our faith may start as
simply as a child's; God will mature it in his own time and way—including
painful seasons and passages—until it is finished. Even Jesus completed his
obedience through suffering (Hebrews 5:8).
The beautiful person Mom has become
is a product of God's work over the years through many struggles, mostly unseen.
He's making her truly perfect, like many of us already think she is.
"The
testing of your faith produces steadfastness. And let steadfastness have its
full effect, that you may be perfect and complete, lacking in nothing" (James
1:3-4).
Mom trusts Jesus. Mom is not Jesus.
"All these people were still living
by faith when they died. They did not receive the things promised; they only saw
them and welcomed them from a distance, admitting that they were foreigners and
strangers on earth. ... [T]hey were longing for a better country—a heavenly one.
Therefore God is not ashamed to be called their God, for he has prepared a city
for them." Hebrews 11:13,16
On Christ, the solid rock, I stand. Mom is no more
nor less than a pebble on that mountain, placed in God's perfect providence. She
is part of a chain that includes Abraham, Moses, Ruth, David, Martin Luther,
Elisabeth Elliott and other "giants" in my history—weak, flawed humans who
attained eternal significance through the only possible means: by faith. Like
them, she knows this world is not her home—she has a better one prepared for
her.
Going to college far from home, I developed a habit of calling Mom whenever
I was excited or distressed, usually over schoolwork and/or boys. I knew she
would provide a listening ear and sympathy. I knew I would feel better if I
called Mom, so it became a no-brainer to pick up that landline.
As I got older
and my challenges became more challenging, I began to learn God desires my
worship in needy dependence as well as joyful praise. Whether it's "out of the
depths" (Psalm 130:1) or "with thanksgiving" (Psalm 100:4), my first call should
be to my true home, to the Father who calls me to that eternal city.
While she
likes to hear from her kids as much as any parent, Mom would agree: She is not
my refuge, my hiding place, my strong tower, my fortress. Her comfort and her
power to help me are limited; His are not. It is false hope, and unfair to her,
to expect her to be my savior.
When I'm overwhelmed, it still takes mental
discipline not to revert to the old habit of calling Mom right away. Of course I
can and do still call her often for prayer, fellowship and wise counsel. But my
first stop should always be the One who is never unavailable, who already prays
for me when I have no words.
A 70th birthday makes it impossible to ignore the
probability that Mom will go home to that prepared city in the course of my
life. Already God has given her more time, health and strength here than he has
done for most other saints. If the Lord tarries, even that will pass away
someday.
It is not comfortable to talk about it; typing these words just filled
my eyes with tears. I cannot fully express my gratitude for my mom's comfort and
care, for her prayers, for the joy it is just to be with her. I cannot
undervalue her God-ordained influence on me and many others.
Quite the contrary.
Contemplating life without her exposes the fear in my heart: Can I live without
her? Sometimes it feels like I couldn't. But if I can't, if life is meaningless
without her, then Christ is not enough.
Mom recently endured the illness and
passing of her much-loved father. In one way it didn't matter that his life was
long and well-lived: Death will always be sad and wrong, a byproduct of sin, the
"last enemy" Christ will eliminate upon His return (I Corinthians 15:26).
It was
a heavy loss, and she felt it deeply. But even in her grief, Mom holds onto hope
and carries on faithfully with the life entrusted to her because Christ is
enough. When He calls her home, or returns to this world, she will be reunited
with Granddad and all others who died in faith.
By example, she shows me I can
live without her as long as I must. When Jesus does take Mom home in His
perfect, loving time, it can and will be well with my soul. He will be enough
for me in that moment and everything after.
Today, I praise the Giver of all
good gifts for making, perfecting, and sustaining a precious saint through three
score and ten. May His kindness give us more together and bring us both safely
home forever.
posted by Lynn @ 4:20 PM
3 Comments:
This is a very beautiful Lynn.
I'm glad to know ya.
Oh my goodness. What a beautiful tribute to your beautiful mom! I’m sure reading it brought tears to her eyes too!
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