January 9, 2010

The Mom I Grew Up With


My Mom died.
It's been five years now. She lived 81 years, and her last 4 were spent mostly as a shut in. I still want her back, but...


I miss the Mom I grew up with
, the Mom who was always there for me when I came home from school, or back from a date, or home from church. She prayed for me daily, preached God's love and Jesus' forgiveness, sang Amazing Grace through the house, and read her Bible every day. . . but she didn't go to church services. I can count on my hands the times I remember her going to church with me. Mostly these were special occasions, a Christmas Eve service here or there, or a special musical I was performing in. Mostly these were special because she was there, and I knew she needed to be there, in church.

She did go to her prayer meetings
and take me along, but I was very young, not even school age. My vague memories include seeing friendly folks laying hands on one another, praying for each other and saying things which I didn't understand. My Mom said they were speaking in tongues, that it was a special language from heaven that God had given them. Honestly, as a small child it scared me to hear them talking this way, but Mom was always there to comfort me and I knew she wouldn't let anything bad happen to me.
May be it was after one of these prayer meetings that she told me about Jesus, and how he died on the cross for me, because he loved me so much and didn't want me to die and go to hell. I was so young, but I remember the feelings, the sadness in my heart because Jesus was beaten and then died on the cross. It was with complete simplicity, and innocence, that I cried in my bed and asked Jesus to forgive my sins. I was so sorry for my sins... I did not come to Jesus like a child, I came to him as a child.
My Mom died. This past July. She lived 81 years and her last 4 were spent mostly as a shut in. I still want her back, but...

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