I went to a lovely church activity yesterday, one for the women I go to church with. I’m here to tell you that I consider it one of my greatest privileges to be in the company of such truly great women. Yesterday it was a further blessing to be in the company of their mothers.
I met their mothers, not in person but through a picture and a story that each of these women had brought. It was part of a game where we had to guess which mother belonged to which of the daughter there.
It was especially poinant to learn of these mothers through the eyes of their daughters. Wonderful stories of pies baked, dresses sewed, service to those in need but, alas, not all mothers are wonderful. Some have problems that affect their children.
One woman had previously confided in me about a difficult relationship with her mother. When I heard the story of this mother’s life which was itself very difficult I understood why she was the way she was with her daughter and so did this daughter. This is a daughter any mother would be so proud of. I love this daughter and yesterday I admired her even more for the kindness she showed her mother in what she said.
I want to follow her example and tell you about my mother, the story and picture I shared yesterday with these women.
When I was a very little girl, 4 or 5, I remember so clearly holding my mom’s hand walking down the main street of the small town where I grew up. She was born there and had lived all her life there and knew almost every soul that lived in that town.
As we passed Stewart’s Hardware store I saw a fancy long pink car I was later to find out was a Cadillac (a big deal in the fifties). Out of this shiny pink Cadillac steped a really well dressed woman and my mother stopped to have a very nice visit with her. I thought, wow! My mom knows rich fancy people that must make us special too.
Mom concluded her conversation and with me in tow she carried on down the street. On the corner I could see a very badly dressed man stumble off the curb and head towards us. I recognized even at that young age that he was very drunk. You can’t imagine my horror when he stopped to visit with my mom too. She was as pleasent to him as she had been with the woman in the pink Caddy.
My little brain tried to process all this and when we got home I asked mom about those two people. She said the woman had come from a very poor home and had been looked down on by the people in town till she had married a wealthy man. The man had come from a very good family and once had a lovely wife and children. When they were all killed in an accident he fell apart and became an alcoholic.
When I later heard that God is no respecter of persons it was very easy for me to understand and believe because of the example of my mom just walking down the street one day.