Humans are odd creatures. We usually wait until those we love are gone to say all the beautiful things we think about them. I am as guilty of this as you. But it should not be so. Why would we not rise up and call them blessed while they can still receive the blessing?
Allow me to introduce my mother. She turned 81 today. Isn’t she lovely? And you haven’t even seen her heart!
Mom had seven children. Two of them died young, as did her first precious granddaughter and a beloved son-in-law. I’ve watched her weather many storms in my years. For a season, I was one of them. I’ve seen her hurt, betrayed, misunderstood and rejected. I’ve watched her faith shaken and her heart broken. The one thing I’ve never seen my mother do is quit.
If I had to narrow down the most important thing my mother taught me, it would be this: never. give. up.
Not on God.
Not on the church.
Not on your marriage.
Not on your children.
Not on people.
Not on yourself.
But where did she get this perseverance? It’s a quiet strength. An enviable trait. A tenacity of faith that could only come from an unshakeable and unfeigned faith in a source greater than oneself. It’s a steadfastness forged in the fires of pain. Deep pain. Agony so dark that only Christ would dare stoop down into its clutches to rescue the sufferer.
The death of a child.
The death of a dream.
The death of part of yourself.
Only Jesus could redeem such a tragedy.
So, He did.
And what a beautiful testimony she has because of it. I’ve been hearing her story my whole life. She says she longs to be able to write or speak eloquently like her daughters, but who does she think gave us the wherewithal to tell our stories? We learned at the knees of her faith.
I read a quote today by Soledad Francis that made me smile. “Before you die, experience the love of a writer, poet or painter. If you’re lucky enough to be an artist’s muse, they will immortalize you.”
I love that, because it means her legacy will live on forever. As well it should.
