Mothers and the Boys Who Love Them

1Three days later there was a wedding in the village of Cana in Galilee. Jesus' mother was there. 2Jesus and his disciples were guests also. 3When they started running low on wine at the wedding banquet, Jesus' mother told him, "They're just about out of wine."
4Jesus said, "Is that any of our business, Mother--yours or mine? This isn't my time. Don't push me."

5She went ahead anyway, telling the servants, "Whatever he tells you, do it."

6Six stoneware water pots were there, used by the Jews for ritual washings. Each held twenty to thirty gallons. 7Jesus ordered the servants, "Fill the pots with water." And they filled them to the brim.

8"Now fill your pitchers and take them to the host," Jesus said, and they did.

9When the host tasted the water that had become wine (he didn't know what had just happened but the servants, of course, knew), he called out to the bridegroom, 10"Everybody I know begins with their finest wines and after the guests have had their fill brings in the cheap stuff. But you've saved the best till now!"

11This act in Cana of Galilee was the first sign Jesus gave, the first glimpse of his glory. And his disciples believed in him. John 2:1-11 (The Message)

It's been many years now since my Mother went home to be with Her Lord. But it hasn't gone away.

There are days when it's easier, when you remember silly little things, like the way she used to fix the boys instant cheese grits with torn up bits of sliced processed cheese, and they treated it like manna. "No one else could make grits the way Grandmother did," they'll say. Bunny and I would shake our head and laugh. Some days are laughing days.

Certain songs bring her memory closer. Old show tunes, big band numbers, and any song where someone yodeled. Yes, her first brush with fame was singing with "Uncle Ned" on the radio, and yodeling. A strong voice would come in handy later on when two boys competed for how far away from where they ought to be they could get. Oh and anytime the Star Spangled Banner is sung, I think I hear her too. Some days her memory is like a picture in my wallet.

Certain seasons too. No one ever was a bigger kid, or got more of a thrill out of Christmas than my Mother. Every year, no matter how old we got, under the tree we'd always find a couple of gifts from "Santa" or if she was pressed for time "SC." I'll probably never know how far in debt she went some years to get my brother and me what we wanted for Christmas, or for our birthdays. Of course as soon as our two boys were born, our benefits were cut in favor of the grandsons.

Seemed reasonable.

After a somewhat rocky start, ("You're going to what?") my Mother and my wife got along pretty well. The fact that they both had two boys, and both loved them fiercely, helped a lot I'm sure. There's something about the way a mother loves a boy. Girls most often grow up with mothers, boys grow away toward their fathers. But that love from their mother never leaves.

So when I read the passage above, particularly in the emotionally charged paraphrase by Eugene Peterson, I see a real mother and son relationship and out of that, the Son is recognized for what He really is - Messiah.

No one but Mary could have "pushed" Jesus and assumed He'd agree to be moved to action. No one except His mother. Mothers know their sons for who they really are, and mothers see what they can become. As they raise them to maturity, they fade into the background, but they never leave.

Women are unique in all of God's creation inherently. But a Mother takes that unique gifting and gives it away - willingly, gladly, joyfully. As one who continues to benefit from that gift, and who is grateful to be married to someone who continues to give, my prayer is that God will bless each Mother who reads this with a glimpse of just what you've given and it's lasting effect on your children. Lincoln was right - no one is poor who has a godly Mother.

Grace!



David Wilson

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. Past "Glimpses" are archived at www.newhopevalp.org Thanks and God bless, David Wilson

Pass It On

If your gift is that of serving others, serve them well. If you are a teacher, do a good job of teaching.8 If your gift is to encourage others, do it! Romans 12:7-8 (NLT)

How many people have you met in your lifetime? You probably can't count that high. Okay, how many can you say made a real difference? Chances are, out of a list of the top ten, there will be a teacher in there somewhere. Think back - who would you choose?

You'd probably not choose someone who laughed at you while scrawling an "F" on your essay. But that's exactly why I'd put Dr. Catherine Futral high on my list of women who've affected my life.

After a long time away, I had returned to Mercer University in Macon, GA to finish my undergraduate degree. I was majoring in business, because that's what my company would pay for, and was checking off the squares of required courses when I ran head on into Dr. Futral. A fixture for years at Tift College in Forsyth, she was teaching in the evening college after Mercer had absorbed her beloved campus. My goal was to get all my English courses out of the way as quickly and as easily as possible. Her goal seemed to be the destruction of the ecosystem by flooding the world with red ink.

To give you a mental picture of her wouldn't be hard. Think English teacher. That was harsh. Okay, think English teacher with a great smile and eyes that twinkled as she explained just how miserable she would be making our lives for the next 12 weeks.

She was a woman of grace, peppering her lectures with humor, and her comments on our work with wit. A committed Christian, and member of First Baptist Church of Forsyth, she'd often bring her faith experiences into her lectures. She'd quote Shakespeare, Faulkner, and the Psalms all in the same example of how to write a compelling paragraph. But when she evaluated your work - well, you'd better be ready to hear the truth.

I'll never forget one paper I wrote which received this comment: "Until the very last line of this paper, I felt that it was one of the best I had read. However, your thoughtless comma splice in the last phrase ruined it for me - and you." Beside that snippet she inscribed a large red "F".

Can I call that the gift of encouragement?

It was for me. My mission from that point on was to make Dr. Futral see the error of her ways. She kept trying to change my style, wanting me to use less punctuation - create shorter sentences - eliminate the passive voice. At one point, I ran a paper through a grammar checker program (new technology at the time) and handed it in. Her comment? "This isn't your work." "Oh yes it is," I replied, "and it's perfect." "It may very well be perfect as far as grammar is concerned," she shot back," but it is perfectly awful prose." You've never seen a smile leave anyone's face as fast as mine did. "You can do better," she said now smiling as she handed it back to me, "write it like David this time - from the heart."

Maybe she was from another time, when teaching was less a career and more a calling. All I know is that she gave her best and expected ours. I think of her often and thank God for her. In a sense I'm still writing partly for Dr. Futral. She believed in me. Every time I write I remember, "from the heart."

Do you remember someone who encouraged you along the way? Someone who helped you become the person you wanted to be?

Let them know it. They gave you their gift - pass it on.

Grace!

David Wilson
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

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