I can see her now. Sitting in front of her computer, shaking her head as she reads along. She’s not going to agree with me, but I’m okay with that.
I can see her in my mind. The image a mere shadow of the past, and yet every bit as vivid and tender as a Degas painting: in the chair of golden tapestry; the one with the stain on the headrest. Bathed in the light of a small lamp, eyes closed. Bible, pages dog-eared from years of daily use, markings filling the margins and underlining verse upon verse, open on her lap. I stand there in the dark of the hall. I feel as though I’m intruding upon an intimate conversation. Her face is peaceful, hands folded upon her lap. She is with Him. She’s been up
I can see her in the kitchen, dressed, towel wrapped hair putting together breakfast. English muffin and tea for her. Cereal for me and my brother. She moves quickly, but the peace remains.
I can see her in her office. At her desk. Working diligently. Serving a man with more class than you’d find in a full arena.
She gets up while it is still dark. She goes to bed long after the sun. She serves her family. She loves her husband. She spends time daily with her Lord. She speaks of Him. To Him all day.
She who graduated college the same year I graduated high school – decades after she first began.
She teaches. She teaches and loves and is tangible Jesus to a school full of children who desperately need to know they matter. She teaches half notes and rests and recorders and theory. And yet they learn compassion. Forgiveness. Integrity. Love.
She loves. Her family. She remembers things said in passing; and acts upon it. She knows the favorites of each one of her beloved brood. She invests time, money and heart to make sure those she loves most know it; see it; feel it. In word. Deed. Attitude.
She. This one. She is the closest thing to the Proverbs 31 woman I’ve ever seen; met; known.
She is my mother. I can only pray that one day my children hold me in half as high regard as I hold her. Her children truly rise up and call her blessed. And we are blessed all the more for having had the privilege of being molded and nurtured by her hand, at her side.
Happy Birthday, Mom. I love you.
Note: Mom’s birthday is tomorrow, March 3, but I just had to post this now.