Sunday, May 12, 2013

Happy Mother's Day, Mom.

For some reason, the church that I grew up in afforded me numerous opportunities through the years to read aloud a letter to my mother at a Mother's Day event.  I specifically remember a Mother's Day banquet and a Mother's Day service as two such times, and I know that there was a least one other time.

My letters always carried the same theme:  My mother's prayers.

For as far back as I can remember, I went to sleep at night hearing my mother praying in the living room.  She worked outside the home, so it fit better for her to have her devoted prayer time at night.  She would tend to my brother and I, tuck us into bed, and go into the living room to pray.  I can remember laying in my daybed, falling asleep to the sound of my mother praying.

I did not grow up in the most ideal family situation.  My parents were divorced when I was two.  My father backslid and moved back home to Phoenix, while my mother and I stayed in the church in Merced, California.  I would fly out to Phoenix to spend time with my dad, who would spend the time trying to convince me that the church that my mother was raising me in was not the path that I should choose to follow.  I thank the Lord today that I always knew that my dad was wrong, even as a little girl.  I asked my mom one time how she, as a mother, survived the pain of putting her child on a plane, knowing the spiritual pressure that I would face.  She told me that when she prayed, the Lord gave her a promise that I would live for God.  She never wavered from that promise, instead covering me with her prayers until I was under her wing again.

My mom and step-dad divorced when I was eighteen, and he left the church.  Again I witnessed my mom pick up the spiritual burden, covering my brother with prayer as he navigated rough spiritual waters.  My brother is living for God today because my mom did not give up.

Today, I know that if I send her a text about a situation, she will pray.  And God will listen.

When I think of my mom, the song "Midnight Oil" allows comes to mind.  Now, bare in mind, my mom does not have eight kids, the midnight hour doesn't necessary mean midnight, and I am a mom, too, (a man wrote this song).  Oh, and my mom's not dead.  Other than that, it fits:

Mama always got up early
And she never went to bed ´til late
Yet, I never heard her complainin´
About her family of eight
There were times she should´ve been sleepin´
But, late in the midnight hour
She would get down on her knees
And you could hear her say,
"Lord fill them will your power"

Mama like to burn the midnight oil
Down on her knees in prayer
If you asked why she did it
She said she did it care she cared
Now Mama always talked to Jesus
When she knelt by her rocking chair
Oh, I am glad my mama was willin´
To burn the midnight oil in prayer

Now Mama´s gone to be with Jesus
I have got a family of my own
Yet, whenever the clock strikes midnight
You´ll find me all alone
That is when I start to call upon Jesus
For His wisdom & His power
Cause it seems that He loves
To hear a Daddy´s prayer
Even in the midnight hour


Yeahrs from now, when my grown little boy
Has a family of his own
Will he kneel down & pray
When the hour gets late
And pass the legacy on


Cause now theres a Daddy who has willing
To burn the midnight oil in prayer

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