a very tall mama

The freezer seemed very tall, and so did Mama, which is how I know I must have been quite young.  She was rummaging through the icy insides of that freezer, trying to find cool whip for a special treat she was making. I consider my childhood, for the most part, to be a sunny one. It was adventurous and bright and full of freedom - until school, that is, and even that was something Mama tried to make enjoyable.  Learning to read under her was an experience she guided so that words came alive and wriggly under my fingers. When spring came we got itchy and excited and Mama knew we had cabin fever, so she'd let us out of school for a few minutes to clear our minds in the air and sunshine.  But May First was the day we waited for with bouncing excitement, for on May First and not a day sooner, we could go barefoot at last. This we'd do as soon as we woke up, running outside in dewy grass and poking our toes in moss that grew under the Maple tree.

That is what most readily comes to mind when thinking of my childhood. Sunshine and adventure.
But this day, as I stood looking up at my very tall Mama and the even taller freezer she was rearranging in her search, there was a little cloud that hovered over my bright sky and quaked and threatened with a feeling I'd seldom known before. There were three teenage boys and lots of little mouths to feed and clothe and pay life's way for. Believe it or not, there were some days of concern with nine kids to raise. Perhaps I sensed this, or heard something, but whatever the case, I'd gotten the idea into my head that there would not be enough money or food for all of us. And this was terrible. { I'd learned not too much earlier that money was some strange thing that everyone who wanted to live must have.  Therefore It was the most terrible thing I could imagine, for if there were no money, there must be no food and I was sure we'd all die.}  This was the only rational reasoning I could put to my dark little cloud, at least. What filled my cloud most with fear, however, was the sense that Mama herself was worried about it and that she might not be able to fix it.  What a foreign idea, "…..Mama, not fix it?"  She'd fixed everything in life, from scraped knees, to belly aches, to fevers and colds to nightmares and bad attitudes - I was absolutely confident that there was't a thing she couldn't fix.  You could bruise up life any which way you pleased and I'd be fine with that, because I'd be sitting right in her lap as I watched her patch it up again.  But I wondered, with a slow dread, "…Could it be that Mama is worried?…." And that is when I felt the pit in my stomach - a tight little knot, right in the middle somewhere - because I knew at that moment, she was worried and she couldn't fix it. To this day, when I recall that image to my mind and the moment it dawned on me that all might not be well - that Mama herself might be upset and worried with life, and that she could not help or fix it, or make it better - I can still feel that knot in my stomach.

She must have heard the groans coming from the thumb-sucking figure lying on my bed, for she came in and sat beside me.  She said I was having growing pains in my leg, so she held my hand and sang me the songs she'd sung to me for years: "Angels Watching Over Me", "God's Gift To Us", and "He's Got the Whole World In His Hands".  I guess I'd thought growing pains were just that: things you grow out of once you get old. But I'm realizing more and more, they're pains you grow into. They do help you grow. That day, standing there watching Mama by the freezer, a growing pain took hold and stretched me a little bit. And while it was stretching my childish mind, Mama gave me some advice I guess I'll never forget. I stood there and spilled the beans,
"Mama, I'm afraid…is there enough food?  What if we run out of food?  What if we don't have enough money?" She looked down at me for a moment then said,
"Darlin' don't worry about that. We don't always know how God will provide, but He's promised He will take care of all His children. That means, even if things look bad, you still trust in your Heavenly Father and ask Him to give you what you need.  But while you're waiting on Him to answer, you remember to have a calm and quiet spirit because He says that is of highest price to Him."

That day I saw a ripple in what has long been a Calm and Quiet Spirit.  Mama doesn't lead by word. She leads by example and reinforces that example with her words. Since that time I've seen her deal with circumstances she could have easily yelled at or said cutting, biting words in response to.  But she follows examples of Great Women like Mary who "pondered all these things in her heart".  Whether dealing with circumstances inside or outside of the home, she has strived to have that calm and quiet spirit.  She does this by directly handing over her concerns, hurts, fears, dreams and heart to God, instead of reacting to those words or threats, people or situations of life.  "Anything that is enough to take up your time worrying or hoping, dreading or desiring it, is enough of a reason to pray about it," she's told me.  "Don't react to people; give it over to God and He'll handle it for you."

Though we're about the same height, Mama is taller now than she ever was that day by the freezer.  Taller in wisdom and kindness and maturity and in knowing how to love people and in understanding life itself.  I can't be thankful enough to my Very Tall Mama…

p.s. she's 5'3"