Yesterday was the first Mother's Day for me without my mother. On November 27, 2007, she went to be with the Lord. In actuality, this Mother's Day has not been much different from the last few Mother's Days. Mom had Alzheimers and had been in a nursing home for six and a half years. I watched her slowly leave us--each week, each month and each year as she became a different person from the mother I had known.
I would like to share the following words that I spoke at the memorial service of my precious mother:
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There are many memories that I could share about my mother, but today I have chosen one that stands out more than the others.
Most of you here today know that memories from my childhood of my mother were not the most pleasant ones. But those memories were long ago wiped away by wonderful, sweet memories.
It was about 20 years about that I had the unique experience of getting to know my mother--that is, my mother as she really was. It was after Dad died and Mom was lonely. She made trips from Ft. Wayne out to Iowa 3 or 4 times a year. During that time, she would stop at our home. Sometimes she would only stay a few hours; others times a few days. During these visits she began to open up to me, telling me about her life in earlier years.
During one of these visits, I began to cry. I do not remember why, I only know that I was so touched by something that the tears began to flow. I said to Mom, "I hate it that I cry so easily." Her wise reply was, "Cindy, don't ever be ashamed of those tears. I would give anything if I could cry." It was then that I realized that she had become hard and cold because of the things that had happened in her life. I became thankful that I could cry and was no longer ashamed of those tears. I taught my own children never to be ashamed of their tears.
One day I came across a book that became my property after she went into the nursing home. It was not just a book, but a journal of sorts. Her precious, scribbled comments on some of the pages gave me a peek into my mother's heart.
The title of this book is Growing Strong in the Seasons of Life and the author is Charles Swindoll. The chapter I am going to read is titled Tears.
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When words fail, tears flow.
Tears have a language all their own, a tongue that needs no interpreter. In some mysterious way our complex inner-communication system knows when to admit its verbal limitations...and the tears come.
Eyes that flashed and sparkled only moments before are flooded from a secret reservoir. We try in vain to restrain the flow, but even strong men falter.
Tears are not self-conscious. They can spring upon us when we are speaking in public, or standing beside others who look to us for strength. Most often they appear when our soul is overwhelmed with feelings that words cannot describe.
Our tears may flow during the singing of a great, majestic hymn, or when we are alone, lost in some vivid memory or wrestling in prayer.
Did you know that God takes special notice of those tears of yours? Psalm 56:8 tells that He puts them in His bottle and enters them into the record He keeps on our lives.
David said, "The Lord has heard the voice of my weeping."
A teardrop on earth summons the King of Heaven. Rather than being ashamed or disappointed, the Lord takes note of our inner friction when hard times are oiled by tears. He turns these situations into moments of tenderness; He never forgets those crises in our lives where tears were shed.
One of the great drawbacks of our cold, sophisticated society is its reluctance to show tears. For some strange reason, men feel that tears are a sign of weakness...and many an adult feels to cry is to be immature. How silly! How unfortunate! The consequence is that we place a watchdog named "restraint" before our hearts. This animal is trained to bark, snap, and scare away any unexpected guest who seeks entrance.
The ultimate result is a well-guarded, highly respectable, uninvolved heart surrounded by heavy bars of confinement. Such a structure resembles a prison more than a home where the tender Spirit of Christ resides.
Jeremiah lived in no such dwelling. His transparent tent was so tender and sensitive he could not preach a sermon without the interruption of tears. "The weeping prophet" became his nickname and even though he didn't always have the words to describe his feelings, he was never at a loss to communicate his convictions. You could always count on Jeremiah to bury his head in his hands and sob aloud.
Strange that this man was selected by God to be His personal spokesman at the most critical time in Israel's history. Seems like an unlikely choice-unless you value tears as God does. I wonder how many tear bottles in heaven are marked with his name.
I wonder how many of them bear your intials. You'll never have many until you impound restraint and let a little tenderness run loose. You might lose a little of your polished respectability, but you'll have a lot more freedom. And a lot less pride.
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At some point, God gave Mom the tears that she so desired. In this book, she wrote the following words:
"Today, rain drops rolling down the windows looking like diamonds (the nearest to have so many); but then I look again and see some of these as tears falling off into space...and so Lord, may I give all my tears to you for you alone can cause the heart to know you care, you heal, you hear this need to touch the heart of a grandson so he will be healed from the flesh and in your care and keeping."
During those years, I grew to know Mom in a different way. I had the privilege of watching her as God truly changed her heart. And yes, I was also privileged to watch her shed tears. Sometimes I would shed them along with her as she shed tears over loved ones--with concerns about eternity. She wanted to know that all those she loved would be in heaven with her some day.
The last time I saw Mom shed tears was a few months ago. When I arrived at the nursing home, she was in a chair by the nurses' station. By that time, she could no longer sit up in a wheelchair, and she spent much of her time in bed. They had her in a recliner-like chair so that she could be propped up. I greeted her with my usual smile and "Hi Mom!" She looked up at me! I wiped the spittle draining from her mouth. She attempted to say something, but nothing came out. And then there were tears!
I am so thankful that I was able to see Mom shed tears. But now the tears are gone. God has wiped them all away. And some day, I shall see her again!
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A week ago my younger brother commented to me, "You got to know Mom in a way that I didn't. You were able to see another side of her."
The truth of the matter is that we see people as we want to see them. We can either look at their faults and remember the bad, or we can chose to forgive. When the Bible tells us that we are to forgive seventy times seven, it means to keep forgiving and keep forgiving and keep forgiving. This means that even when we think we have forgiven a person, and the thought comes back, we forgive again...and again...and again. I praise God that He forgives me again...and again...and again.
It also means understanding that hurting people hurt people. I try to remember that when someone intentionally hurts me, she or he is hurting deep inside. I've learned many lessons from my wonderful mother, but I think that is the most important one. I Corinthians 13 (the love chapter) tells us how love acts. Our relationship to God certainly shows in the way we treat people. I read this chapter often and it continually convicts me. How is my relationship to God showing in how I treat people?
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