My Mother’s Tears

   On the first Sunday in May, Al was asked to help serve communion at our church. He held a basket of bread pieces and a woman standing next to him, a cup of grape juice while people walked to the front of the church in two single file lines. As each person came forward to partake of the bread and juice, he repeated the words, “Christ’s body broken for you.” Al’s face was radiant with God’s love shining through him.

   It was a special moment when he administered the bread of communion to me, moving me to tears. I remembered how my mom used to cry whenever she attended one of my dad’s talks on behalf of the Fellowship of Christian Athletes. Even though she had heard   his stories over and over, she would still cry each time. I could relate to her feelings of thankfulness and pride.

    Mom’s tenderheartedness began when she was young. She and her older sister enjoyed going to the movies on the weekends. One Saturday they were sitting a few rows in front of some boys from their high school. At the end of the movie, one of the fellows noticed that she was crying and called her a “cry-baby!”

    Of course she recognized him from school. He was tall, red-headed and wore a letterman jacket. But all of that didn’t matter. His comment made her mad and it was quite awhile before she spoke to him again. That varsity football star turned out to be my dad!

    When he was going through Marine boot camp after their engagement, she wrote to him once or twice a week, often mentioning movies she had seen. “I am glad you liked the picture, ‘Going my way.’ Honey I got the same feeling as you did… about the young couple getting married. I sure did cry in that picture.” And in another letter, mom commented about her propensity to crying, “I guess that’s to be expected!” By the age 18, she had already consigned herself to the fact that she cried a lot!

   Mom used to apologize to us kids about it. Her tears flowed so easily—whenever she was sad or happy, during a proud moment or when consoling someone else who was down. Of course there were times when she got really angry about something. She cried at those times too. We could tell when the angry tears were coming—she would get very quiet and then the end of her nose would turn white! That meant mom was mad, better go take a quick voluntary time-out!

   In the six years between her first three children and the twins, mom had two miscarriages. I remember her saying what a difficult time it was for her. Perhaps that was why she volunteered to organize a project called “Angel Babies,” for a hospital in Bakersfield, where tiny blankets and gowns were sewn for babies who died before or during childbirth. Each family received two sets: one set consisting of a blanket and a gown was given as a keepsake to the parents; and the other for the burial services of their precious babies. Mom was passionate about the Angel Babies project. I am sure that her tears brought comfort to many women who were going through the same pain that she had experienced.

    Thank God for mothers who have tender hearts, shed their tears freely and who are funnels of God’s love to their children, grandchildren and other people’s children too.  Happy Mother’s Day!

“You keep track of all my sorrows. You have collected all my tears in your bottle. You have recorded each one in your book.” Psalm 56:8 NLT

“Jesus wept.” John 11:35 NIV  
                                               Mom's 80th birthday party, 2006