A Tribute to My Mother, Emma Rose

Mothers are unique. Yours is yours and mine is mine. Even if we had the same mother, her relationship with each of her children is different. That’s what makes a mother unique to each child. That’s a good thing. Along the way in our lives, most of us get to where we prefer our mother over those who are mothers of other people. It becomes more that way the older we get, and the older they get.

I remember my mother with fondness and love. There was one night when I was about ten or twelve. Three of my younger brothers and I had not been particularly obedient as the evening hours grew late, and Dad hadn’t come home yet. I don’t remember the details well. What I do recall is that we had done something wrong for long enough that Mom sent us all to bed early. Some punishments she left for Dad to take care of, but I had learned not to push things that far. The price was too high.

On this night, even lying in bed I still felt powerful enough that I exclaimed out loud from our room to her in the adjoining living room. “We’re supposed to obey you because we love you, not because we are afraid of you!” I guess I thought those words would hurt. Maybe she would change her mind. There was no response. But the words did hurt.

It only took an instant for them to begin hurting me, too. I quickly became ashamed of myself for being so brash and hurtful to someone I loved. Especially since I deserved the punishment. I also recognized that she had done me a favor by not waiting until Dad got home to deal with it. I began to cry out of my shame. Still no response.

Finally, I got up and walked sheepishly into the living room. Mom was sitting there as if she knew I would be there sooner or later. I apologized, cried a little more, and fell asleep with my head in her lap. Things were different after that. I had a lot more respect for Mom. That doesn’t mean I was a model son. That never happened. But, she was a model mom.

Men, whatever the incidents were in our own lives, we have to know that we owe a great deal to our mothers. Mothers not only suffered giving birth to us, but as they raised us and feared for what might happen to us. For what we might become. If you are adopted, you can be sure that your mother anguished just the same over you. Most likely if you are taking time to read this, you are turning out pretty well. You care enough to read about a tribute to my mother. You must care about yours too.

My mother has been gone now for eleven years. There is a resurrection coming. I look forward to rejoicing for part of the coming eternity with her. Part of what being a son means is that we recognize the great debt we owe our mother. Being a man of valor includes being surrendered to the God who can build you to be a man she can be proud of for eternity. Are you letting Him build you to be that man?  If not yet, now is a great time to begin. Live valor.

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