After my mom died my senior year of college, I felt like I had slipped on the ice, fallen flat on my back. Stunned, not in awe, rather in that weird denial part of grief that has the potential to leave you stuck for many years. Unprepared and unaware of prayer, I wandered aimlessly like the Israelites in the wilderness. My soul echoed back the fear and anger of being abandoned, again.
My mom was not here to make things right, make up for lost time, or just be her goofy self.
My mom still is not here. I cannot celebrate with her this Sunday, but I can choose to celebrate her.
In my first book, you will hear more about me and my mom, the pain, the groans, the suffering and the hope God showed me before I even knew Him.
But this post is to celebrate Laurie Bemont Latham.
~What hard-working hands she had. My mom worked on submarines, made meat subs in delis, and mixed drinks in bars.
~My mom stretched the norm. The story goes when she was two years old, she climbed a swingset, not to pump her little legs and feel the breeze in her nostrils. Nope, she somehow got to the top, only to fall and break her little leg. And I remember her tuna macaroni salad. She began to add color, something different, green peas and carrots to mix with the raw onion. I searched meticulously for the onion. At least I could see the peas to relocate them out of the salad before I ate it.
~My mom let me sit on her lap when I graduated high school. Her physical strength carried us through many hard times.
~My mom loved to laugh. Her sense of humor was fluid, not fixed. Out of some of our difficult circumstances, she could lift spirits with a sarcastic spin or, even better, offering herself as the joke. Yes, I remember my mom laughing at herself in utter humility. She once miswrote a recipe card: “mocha fiffing”. Those two f’s instead of l’s were the joy of many subsequent conversations. Back then, we couldn’t blame autocorrect. Though I cannot hear her laugh anymore, I can see the image of her face, wrinkled up, eyes wet with tears as she released pent up stress … yes her cheeks were dimpled and rosy … kinda like Santa.
~My mom liked to tell stories, too. I need to pray and ask God to help me remember some of those accounts. Jesus is such a wonderful Teacher, for He told parables about very common things, applicable to every day life. The author of our salvation knew the entire story of our lives before we were born. Moments, conversations, our heart’s highs and lows are the very thread He began knitting us with in our mother’s womb, knitting my mom in her mother’s womb.
My mom, whom I shared the first twenty-one years of my life, was my friend.
I miss the good moments. I am learning from the struggles, still, as I write the book.
If you are without your mom this Mother’s Day, here is a poem God gave me for us 🙂
If you grieve a mom
Who loved you
I am with you
My mom loved
In her own broken way
Yet He Our Light, Our Life, Our Way
was with me and she
My mom died too soon
Only 40 years of moons
She met Me
Finally, says Jesus
I pray every daughter
Knows through Jesus her heavenly Father
For He leaves not one
An orphan, no one is forsaken
I pray every daughter
Missing her mother
Would turn to none other
Than Christ Her Savior
Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven (Matthew 5:3).
At the end of today, we have to trust that our lives would be nothing without Jesus. For those of us who are lonely and grieving this Mother’s Day, let us hold fast to His cloak, curl up at the Cross where the comfort of Our Savior is given freely to those who believe.Tweet
Let s hold unswervingly to the hope we profess, for He who promised is faithful (Hebrews 10:23).
Hope holds us tight in the echo of night
Hope reminds us every wrong will be made right
Hope is His breath in the wind, rustling branches
Hope is Our Savior who died that we would have many chances
For eternal salvation.
Salvation is found in no one else, for there is no other name under heaven given to mankind by which we must be saved (Acts 4:12).
Thank you so much for being here with me. Mother’s Day is not my favorite. I asked my guys to give me a break from puppy duty. Maybe I will go for a walk by myself, well I mean with Jesus.
How will you choose to celebrate?
I thank Jesus for helping me remember and honor my mom.
If you need prayer this weekend, related to Mother’s Day or not, please email me at email@example.com.
This one photo here is mine, of course.
Love in Him,