barest room in
the house, consisting of only my old queen-sized bed and dresser. The closet
was filled with clothes I hoped to wear again, at least in my dreams.
A reflection of myself in the
closet mirror nearly startled me. There, with my head wrapped in a scarf,
wearing an outdated robe, was a vision of my mother in me. I remember when I
used to walk into her room to request money or ask her if she knew where
something was, and I’d find her in this same position. On the floor praying.
Rocking back and forth. With tears in her eyes.
Just like me.
Sometimes, I would slip back
out of the room. Other times, she would look up and ask me if I wanted to join
her. The older I got, the more I said yes, if only for a few minutes.
And now there I was, a grown
woman doing what my mother had modeled for me all those years ago.
“Thank you, God, for her
example.”
I just knelt there and cried.
Cried and cried and cried. Partly because I missed Momma—and anyone who
has lost a mother will agree that it is possible to cry almost endlessly.
But I also released tears of
joy because I’d missed Him and, finally, we were reunited. Just the two
of us. And I sensed that He’d missed me, too.
Perhaps the reunion with
Momma would feel the same.
Once I finished slobbing all
over the bed’s comforter, I propped myself up on the pillows and began writing
on the makeshift journal. If memory served correctly, I hadn’t written anything
in my journal for months. And even then, my entries were short, sweet, and
guilty: God, I’m sorry I haven’t talked to you much. I’m hoping this is only
a season. -Shondra .
With nearly a full hour to do
whatever came spiritually, I popped in a praise CD and wrote to my heart’s
content, telling God how I had quit my job, telling Him about how Stelson and
Daddy didn’t see eye-to-eye about Seth, asking Him why Peaches seemed so
foreign to me now. She was still my girl and all, but the more I wrote, the
more I discovered resentment toward her, which surprised me.
I went on to discover
resentment toward a lot of things: Stelson steering me to be more domestic,
society saying I needed to lose twenty pounds, my dad acting like I owed him a
dark child.
God, what is all this in
my heart? Felt as though
I was undergoing a divine intervention.
Daddy led me to the topic
index in Stelson’s NIV Bible, where I searched for the words “bitterness” and
“resentment” and found references to plenty of scriptures that sanded down my
recently-formed heart callouses. The third citation led me to James 3:13-18.
Who is
wise and understanding among you? Let them show it by their good life, by deeds
done in the humility that comes from wisdom. But if you harbor bitter envy and
selfish ambition in your hearts, do not boast about it or deny the truth. Such
“wisdom” does not come down from heaven but is earthly, unspiritual, demonic.
For where you have envy and selfish ambition, there you find disorder and every
evil practice. But the wisdom that comes from heaven is first of all pure; then
peace-loving, considerate, submissive, full of mercy and good fruit, impartial
and sincere. Peacemakers who sow in peace reap a harvest of righteousness.
I closed my eyes, rested my
head on a pillow and let the truth of His words burrow deep into my soul. And
then a verse I’d memorized in Sunday school, circa 1980, flashed on my mind’s
screen: If any of you lack wisdom, let him ask of God. I couldn’t remember the
scripture reference, but I knew it was in there. The Lord Himself must have
written those words on my heart because they popped up like they’d been waiting
for such a time as this.
With the simplicity of a
child, I prayed aloud, “God, I don’t want the world’s wisdom. I want Your wisdom. Please give it to me.”
I received it in faith.
Verse after verse confirmed
His desire to pick up right where we’d left off. For real, God?
Proverbs 1 said: YES.
No probationary period. Just
a willing
the house, consisting of only my old queen-sized bed and dresser. The closet
was filled with clothes I hoped to wear again, at least in my dreams.
A reflection of myself in the
closet mirror nearly startled me. There, with my head wrapped in a scarf,
wearing an outdated robe, was a vision of my mother in me. I remember when I
used to walk into her room to request money or ask her if she knew where
something was, and I’d find her in this same position. On the floor praying.
Rocking back and forth. With tears in her eyes.
Just like me.
Sometimes, I would slip back
out of the room. Other times, she would look up and ask me if I wanted to join
her. The older I got, the more I said yes, if only for a few minutes.
And now there I was, a grown
woman doing what my mother had modeled for me all those years ago.
“Thank you, God, for her
example.”
I just knelt there and cried.
Cried and cried and cried. Partly because I missed Momma—and anyone who
has lost a mother will agree that it is possible to cry almost endlessly.
But I also released tears of
joy because I’d missed Him and, finally, we were reunited. Just the two
of us. And I sensed that He’d missed me, too.
Perhaps the reunion with
Momma would feel the same.
Once I finished slobbing all
over the bed’s comforter, I propped myself up on the pillows and began writing
on the makeshift journal. If memory served correctly, I hadn’t written anything
in my journal for months. And even then, my entries were short, sweet, and
guilty: God, I’m sorry I haven’t talked to you much. I’m hoping this is only
a season. -Shondra .
With nearly a full hour to do
whatever came spiritually, I popped in a praise CD and wrote to my heart’s
content, telling God how I had quit my job, telling Him about how Stelson and
Daddy didn’t see eye-to-eye about Seth, asking Him why Peaches seemed so
foreign to me now. She was still my girl and all, but the more I wrote, the
more I discovered resentment toward her, which surprised me.
I went on to discover
resentment toward a lot of things: Stelson steering me to be more domestic,
society saying I needed to lose twenty pounds, my dad acting like I owed him a
dark child.
God, what is all this in
my heart? Felt as though
I was undergoing a divine intervention.
Daddy led me to the topic
index in Stelson’s NIV Bible, where I searched for the words “bitterness” and
“resentment” and found references to plenty of scriptures that sanded down my
recently-formed heart callouses. The third citation led me to James 3:13-18.
Who is
wise and understanding among you? Let them show it by their good life, by deeds
done in the humility that comes from wisdom. But if you harbor bitter envy and
selfish ambition in your hearts, do not boast about it or deny the truth. Such
“wisdom” does not come down from heaven but is earthly, unspiritual, demonic.
For where you have envy and selfish ambition, there you find disorder and every
evil practice. But the wisdom that comes from heaven is first of all pure; then
peace-loving, considerate, submissive, full of mercy and good fruit, impartial
and sincere. Peacemakers who sow in peace reap a harvest of righteousness.
I closed my eyes, rested my
head on a pillow and let the truth of His words burrow deep into my soul. And
then a verse I’d memorized in Sunday school, circa 1980, flashed on my mind’s
screen: If any of you lack wisdom, let him ask of God. I couldn’t remember the
scripture reference, but I knew it was in there. The Lord Himself must have
written those words on my heart because they popped up like they’d been waiting
for such a time as this.
With the simplicity of a
child, I prayed aloud, “God, I don’t want the world’s wisdom. I want Your wisdom. Please give it to me.”
I received it in faith.
Verse after verse confirmed
His desire to pick up right where we’d left off. For real, God?
Proverbs 1 said: YES.
No probationary period. Just
a willing
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