Advice from my Mom

For good and for not-so-good, my mom was a strong woman.

The good side was that she was an “I can do this” woman. She worked hard and smartly. She figured things out. She didn’t give up easily. She genuinely cared about people and worked to help them in any way she could.

The not-so-good side meant that she was a “my way is the right way” woman. Stubborn and sure of herself. 

Today I laughed out loud thinking of something that happened years ago that illustrates boht sides of her strength and also shows the gentle working of her strong and kind Savior.

At upwards of 85 years old, when my dad fell and broke both his arms, we knew it was past time for them to move into a home without stairs. Eventually they were accepted into an independent living facility. It was lovely. Affordable. My dad was ready to start packing. My mom was having nothing to do with it. No reasons given. She just didn’t want to move.

Time passes. Mom helps Dad up and down staircases. Dad’s arms heal. A year later, Dad falls again. OK. This time you really must move. She acquiesces. Not happily. Not without a lot of reminding everyone that this is NOT her idea. But we get them moved. It was a lovely place. My kids worked hard on the day of the move. When we left the two of them after supper there were no boxes that were not unpacked. Photos were out. Framed pictures were on the wall. The kitchen was set up. Towels were on the rods in the bathroom. 

“What’s your guess that she moves out tomorrow?” my husband asked as we walked to our car. He had prophesied. I got a call in the early morning. Mom wanted to go back “home.”  “There is no home to go back to, Mom.” I reasoned. She was smart enough to know she had no good options. But she felt tricked into making this decision and was not going to let us be happy. 

Fast forward many months. Many months of wondering if I would get a phone call every morning. Many months of fielding complaints. Many months of counter arguments about some new plan she would come up with. Her plan. The right plan.

Eventually the complaining stopped. Peetered out. And then the reports from friends started. 

“We were at your folk’s last night. We had so much fun.”  

“Your folks invited our family over for cookies yesterday.”  

“Our kids love the cafe at your folk’s new place.” 

Two, three, even four such reports came my way every month. 

“Your folks seem so delightfully at home.”  

“Your mom’s hospitality is so thoughtful.” “I think your mom knows everyone’s name in their new place.”

What happened?  

Again, I must give you some history. My mom loved to feed people. Our dinner table often (at least 2 times a week) had people other than our family at it. She cooked for large groups. She cooked at camps. She loved to serve. 

This became a hard thing for her to do in her eighties. If she was having people over, I knew I would be getting a phone call more than a couple times the week before. “What should I serve?” “How much should I buy?” “Can I make the salad a day ahead?” “What temperature should I set the oven at?” 

 All of the answers to these questions had been second nature to her.  

She knew she was losing her ability to have people over. To serve. And it frightened her. Capable people are very frightened by losses in old age. 

But God. God loved my mother. It was He that had given her the skills she loved to use. It was He that had promised to not withhold from her any good thing. He had a plan. She had been too stubborn to see it. And like a patient Father, He gently waited out her stubbornness until she came to her senses. 

The independent living facility they moved into had a cafe where you could invite visitors to join you and “put it on your tab.” Mom eventually figured out that this meant they could invite people over for dinner and not have to cook for them. Kids got to order corn dogs if they liked. Parents could have chicken salad sandwiches. And then everyone could come to Dad and Mom’s place for ice cream. Mom was soon in her element again. Once again, the new visitors to church were coming to her home for Sunday dinner. 

I remembered driving over to their place that first day after the move and finding mom on a bench outside. Ready to leave. I wish I could have known to tell her, “Mom, your heavenly Father has everything figured out. This place where you don’t want to live, is really the answer to your concerns about not being able to serve others any more. The Lord has so much in store for you, here.” And if I was a little bold, I might have said, “Stop being so stubborn and thinking you always have to figure it out if it’s going to be done right. You’re not God.”   

And if my mom in heaven is even a little interested in what I am doing down here now, she would, with a smile, say to me, “Dear, are you planning on following your own advice?”