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REFLECTIONS

Featured writer, Patty Deen

"When Did I Become My Mother?"

When I was fifteen, my Mom was thirty-seven.   I was  getting pimples.  Mom was getting “religion”.  When I was fifteen, I wanted to be a cheerleader for my high school football team… Mom became a cheerleader for God.  When I was fifteen, my favorite television program was  “The Young and the Restless.” Mom’s favorite program was “The PTL Club” with Jim and Tammy Faye Baker.  When I was fifteen, I wanted to be the best dressed kid at school.  Mom wanted to be the best person she could be, though she wasn’t a saint (human nature wouldn’t allow it).

When I was fifteen, I remember going to a church service with Mom when she lifted her hands high above her head… she said she was praising God.  I remember looking around and feeling a huge sense of relief when I didn’t recognize a single face in the church.  When I was fifteen, I remember feeling uncomfortable when she would talk about God or when she would make a little sign of the cross on my forehead and pray for me just before I would leave her.  I remember thinking that my Mom was different from other moms.

When I was fifteen, I remember hearing my Mom talk to herself.    Of course she never would admit it, she said she was talking to God.  In any case, it was done right out loud – as if He was right there next to her.  She would walk around thanking God for all kinds of things…  “Oh, it rained this morning… praise God!”  “The line was short at the grocery store… thank you sweet Jesus.”  “My headache is gone… praise the Lord!”  Her conversations weren’t just to say “thanks” either.  She would put her needs before God whenever she felt like it… even the smallest things.  “Dear Lord, help me make this light before it turns red.”  “Dear God, please help stretch this paycheck - you’re the one who blessed me with six wonderful children”.  There were times when I wondered if we should check Mom into the loony bin.

When I was fifteen, I remember watching Mom give all kinds of things to those in need.  I remember watching her give an elderly woman some money, because the woman had large holes in her shoes. I remember watching Mom give away almost more than she kept for herself.  I remember watching her take three kids from New York City into her home for four weeks each summer… so these kids could experience life in the country (which she did for ten years).

When I was fifteen I watched my Mom closely.  After all, wasn’t this what I was supposed to be when I grew up? I didn’t want any part of it.  When I was fifteen, I thought a lot of thoughts, but mostly I thought this… “my Mom and I don’t have a single thing in common.” 

The other night my kids and I went out for dinner.  We pulled up in front of the restaurant and the parking spot closest to the front door was available.  We parked the car and I said out loud, “Thank you God for this wonderful parking space.”  My daughter looked at me and said, “Do you know who you just sounded like?  Grandma!”  She’s right, but when did this happen?  When did I become my mother?  The transformation happened so slowly, I didn’t even notice it. 

Autumn to winter, winter to spring,
Spring into summer, summer into fall, --
So rolls the changing year, and so we change;
Motion so swift, we know not that we move.
--Dinah Mulock Craik

My daughter (Lindsey) is fourteen and I’m thirty-nine.  Lindsey likes to listen to rock music, I like Christian Radio.  Lindsey likes to play her electric guitar, I like to read the Bible.  Lindsey enjoys her soccer team.  I enjoy writing for Dragonfly Ministries. Lindsey sometimes needs to be reminded that she doesn’t have to be the “best dressed kid at school.”  I sometimes need to be reminded not to be a “perfectionist” and that I’m not a saint (human nature wouldn’t allow it).  Sometimes Lindsey gets a little uncomfortable when I pray with her.  Sometimes she watches me shed a tear at church, when the spirit moves me, and perhaps she wonders if it’s time to check me into the loony bin.  Lindsey thinks a lot of thoughts, but probably she thinks this the most…. “My Mom and I don’t have a single thing in common.”  Maybe this is good!   Maybe I’m not such a bad mother after all.  And maybe, just maybe, the secret to being a good Mom is being a good example.

When I was fifteen, I thought my Mom was different from other moms… I was right!   Because my Mom was extra special.  She taught me by example how to love God, how to have a relationship with Him and how to love others.  When did I become my Mother?  I don’t know… but “Praise The Lord” -- I did!

Patty

Patty's Mom, Linda