an ounce of mother worth a pound of clergy

This is a repost from 2010.

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My mother has been the greatest picture of selflessness and sacrifice in my life.  Sometimes people think being a missionary in Africa involves a lot of sacrifice –but I’ve got nothing on my mom.  From the time I was 13, she raised three of us on her own, while working full-time and going back to school.  Mom graduated from college with degrees in business administration and accounting the same year I graduated high school.  And she did so with a 4.0.

But more than that, my mother raised us to have faith in Jesus Christ, and to be committed fully to him.  As the Spanish proverb says,

An ounce of mother is worth a pound of clergy.

Mom, I hope you have a very special day today.  I’m sorry I can’t be there to celebrate it with you.  Thank you for all you’ve done to bring me into the faith in which I now rest — and for teaching me how to sacrifice myself for others.  I love you.

A lot of people have said a lot of nice things about mothers.  Below are some of my favorites:

overheard

Overheard at a small spring behind my house, where local kids are often sent to fetch water for their families.  [Except in the early mornings when the mothers themselves fetch the majority of the day's water (for cooking, drinking, cleaning, and washing clothes.]  The girls arguing were probably nine or ten:

“Your family’s so poor that after dinner you have to say, ‘Mama, I’m not full, I’m not full.  I’m still hungry.  I’m not full.’”

“That’s not true. We got plenty of food.  Look at you… and them skinny legs.  I don’t know how you can even walk with them skinny little legs.  Your family’s the one ain’t got no money.”

“I can walk just fine with these legs.  I got power in my body.  I can carry a whole bucket of water from here to my house.  Girl, you probably can’t carry a bucket on your head from here (draws a line in the dirt road) to here (scratches another one).”

“I can too carry water.  I do it every day.”

“Not a big bucket, you don’t.  Look at that little bucket.  If you can carry a big one, then prove it.  Do it, girl.  Come on.  See, you ain’t no lady.  See, y’all, she ain’t no lady — can’t even carry a bucket over to here!”

“You’re skinnier than I am.  You ain’t got no meat on those bones.”

“Girl, I am thick.  And you know it’s true.  Because my mama feeds me real good.”

“At least my family’s got a couch.  Your family don’t got no couch; everybody be sitting on wood stools all around the room.”

“My family does too have a couch.  Ask my neighbors, those kids right there (pointing).”

Those kids: “Yes, they have a sofa.  We seen it.”

“My family does too wha wha wha wha…  Ask my wha wha wha wha…” said mockingly while holding her nose and rolling her eyes.

“We drink sodas, too.  I bet you ain’t never had a soda.  You’re family’s so poor all you can drink is water from this here spring.  Too bad you ain’t never got the chance to enjoy a Coca-Cola.”

“At least my family ain’t going hungry.  Your family don’t got enough money to feed everybody.  And you don’t even know how to cook anyway.  You ain’t no lady.  Your mama probably don’t know either.”

“My mama does know how to cook.  And she can till a field, too.  Your mama’s so weak she can’t get the land ready to plant.”

“You ain’t ever even seen my house.  We got lots of corn.”

• I suppose kids in every culture learn early to make themselves look better by putting others down.
• One difference between these kids’ insults and those of American kids (at least when I was one) is that all the insults about being poor are more likely to be true here.  In the states, many insults never actually hit home.  It’s possible (and often the case) to make fun of others while saying things that are obviously far from true.
• Another difference is that these Tanzanian kids are already wanting to appear as adults and to perform the duties of their parents (most of those duties seem to fall to the women).  And many of the insults are designed accordingly.
• Those of you who enjoy learning about new cultures, take note of what makes one a lady here — and contrast that with our American views and ideals.
• Oh, and when’s the last time you heard an American girl making fun of how skinny another girl was?

a mother’s response to the ground zero controversy

THAT’S IT!  I. have. had. E…NOUGH!  I’m sick and tired of you two arguing all the time.  You boys are entirely too old to be acting like this.

Islam, you’re 1400 years old and should know better than to wittingly aggravate your brother like this; and your “This is not actually Ground Zero — I’m not touching, I’m not touching” routine is not going to cut it this time, mister.

And you, Christianity, I can’t believe I’m listening to a 2000 year old whine and cry about where someone else wants to play with his toys.  This is a shared house, and what do you think gives YOU the right to control where everybody else goes and what they do there?!

I don’t know why you two can’t be more like your older brother, Judaism, and quietly mind your own business.  And I do mean business.  Have you seen Jud’s lemonade stand?  He’s making a killing right there in our own front yard — and no one’s being made angry in the process.

And, no, WE WILL NOT be drawing a line down the middle of the room.  We didn’t do that in the 1860′s with North and South, and we’re for sure not doing it with you.  You boys are just gonna’ have to learn to share.  And if you two don’t start playing well together, then no one — and I mean NO ONE — gets a place of worship!  Not at Ground Zero or anywhere else.

Now hug and go to your room.  There will be absolutely no Xbox tonight, and I’d say you’re going to bed without any dinner, but — Islam, you must be starving; you haven’t eaten since sunrise.  I’ll send Judaism up with some Kosher foods after dark.  Until then, I want you two to think about what you’ve done, and how it reflects on who you are.

[For my thoughts on another controversy at ground zero, have a look see here.]

who cries when you leave the room?

baylor in her easter dress from my grandmother

• For a child to be an extension of your own flesh and blood.
• To experience the miracle of birth.
• Being witness to the first chuckle and the first time she sits up on her own.
• Realizing your daughter now not only recognizes your face, but even your voice.
• Finding that she smiles every time you enter the room.

These blessings have brought me incredible joy, far beyond anything I deserve.

And the experiences below, well… they’re different, because you’re not just witness to them.  Rather, they are hard and tangible evidence that you are the greatest object of another individual’s affection, that you are wanted and needed, that you are indeed indispensable in the life of another:

• Having your daughter love you so much that she cries when you leave the room.
• Knowing that your child at times longs to be held only by you.
• And that during those times, there is not one other individual on earth whose touch would calm her.

These things I can’t even begin to describe.

No seriously, I can’t… because I have no idea how great that would be.  You’ll have to ask Christie about them.  The favorite.  Ask her if you want to know.