Mama Tried
(This week I'm writing about women who have made a difference in my life)

41Sitting across from the offering box, he was observing how the crowd tossed money in for the collection. Many of the rich were making large contributions. 42One poor widow came up and put in two small coins--a measly two cents. 43Jesus called his disciples over and said, "The truth is that this poor widow gave more to the collection than all the others put together. 44All the others gave what they'll never miss; she gave extravagantly what she couldn't afford--she gave her all." Mark 12:41-44 (The Message)

When I think of my grandmother, I see her hands. Small, wrinkled and scarred from years of work - first picking cotton in the fields of Southwest Georgia, then in "Mr. Willingham's Mill" where she worked from age 7 to age 72. She had lost portions of some fingers in the twine rolls there, but continued to work 6 days a week to feed her family. Her hands were seldom idle, even in the last few years of her life. But when they were, she'd rub them together over and over, as if she could wring the last bit of pain from her life. Often, I'd see her bowed over her Bible, her hands clasped in silent prayer.

She buried her husband early, after he was struck by a car, walked home, then died the next day. Then came her daughter, set ablaze while lighting the stove and in her fright, racing away and preventing anyone from helping. Soon the car in which her oldest son was riding in was struck by a train within earshot of his home. She gathered the remaining children together and loved them even more.

The depression came, but I'm not sure she noticed much. They were bitterly poor, but rich in what matters - so rich that when two other children needed a home, she took them in. Took me decades to figure out that Aunt Barbara and Aunt Peggy weren't really related at all. Others came and went - folks used to say that Bertie was a "soft touch", but in those years when people were often wanting, Mama did all she could do.

She raised her family, made sure they got an education, and lined them up every Sunday and marched them across the railroad tracks to Rebecca Baptist church. There they would hear about someone who loved them no matter what. His name was Jesus. They learned that He gave His life for them. Mama made sure her kids knew Jesus.

My mother was one of those who was baptized in that little church, and after coming home from WW2, settled into a home next door to raise her family. I don't remember Rebecca Baptist, but I was told that on more than one occasion my Mother took me to the front porch to lay on hands.

When Mama died, there wasn't much for the family to divide. My Aunt Geneva got her sometimes sharp tongue. My Mother kept her giving heart. All I got was a memory of a woman who spent her life giving to her family everything she had - one day at a time. Maybe she couldn't make her kids lives better than hers, but mama tried. Her legacy was a family who loved God and each other.

Fiercely loyal, surprisingly warm, always faithful. When her life was over, it was clear she had put into her family all she had. They might not have been perfect, but Mama tried.

I thank God for women like that. What a difference they make!

May God bless all those women who give their lives away to their God and to their families.


Grace!

David

(Friends, as we look forward to honoring Mothers this weekend, don't forget to thank all the women who have made a difference in your life. They may have never had children of their own, but that doesn't mean they haven't made a difference. Let them know.)

A Glimpse of New Hope is my attempt to share the hope I have found in a relationship with Jesus Christ. Should you no longer wish to receive it, or find that you have received it in error, please write me at dwilsonfl@earthlink.net and I will immediately remove you. Thanks and God bless, David Wilson