15 Things I Learned From My Mom

17380_1241132102235_5613963_n[1]This time of year causes most of us to pause and think about motherhood. For me, Mother’s Day is a bittersweet time, not only because I’ve never had the privilege of being a mom, but because my own mother is in heaven. Her birthday always falls close to (and sometimes on) Mother’s Day, making May a month I find myself missing my sweet mama more intensely. But this time of year also provides a great opportunity to remember the tremendous influence she had on my life. In a spirit of celebration and gratefulness, here are fifteen things I learned from my mom.

1. Pray often. My mom believed in the power of prayer, and I am confident that her intercession helped make me who I am today.   Knowing that she continually prayed for me provided peace during many stressful moments. If I was taking a final exam, mom was praying. If I was struggling with a life decision, I knew she was joining with me in seeking God’s will.  I have no doubt her prayers for my safety kept me from many unseen calamities, and I  believe some of her requests are still being answered today.  Her example of “praying without ceasing” inspires me to do the same.

2. Value education.  As the eldest of 13 children in a farming family, my mom was forced to drop out of school in seventh grade. Even with little formal education and having to learn English as a second language, her aptitude to learn was obvious.  In her forties, she finally had the opportunity to obtain her G.E.D.  Although she never had the chance to pursue higher education, mom wanted all of her children to do so.  She was a key part of my education, teaching me to read by the time I entered kindergarten. She continued to encourage my education all the way through college, when she not only sacrificed financially, but even helped me study sometimes.  Perhaps it’s a fitting tribute to her that I work at a college today, helping others achieve their educational dreams. Continue reading

An Open Door for the Gospel

Profanity and raucous laughter shot through my bedroom floor. I prayed for relief from the noise downstairs. “Who is this neighbor, anyway?” I wondered.

The next day I sensed God nudging me to find out.  In the summer heat of southern Oregon, my neighbor had his front door open.  As I approached, the middle-aged man inside looked up from his TV set. A half-empty liquor bottle rested beside him.

“Hi,” I said cheerily through the screen door.

“Hello,” the man replied. “I’m Cole. You must be the gal who lives upstairs.”

“That’s right, I’m  Jane.  I’m working in the area this summer doing my college internship as a park ranger.”

As our conversation in the doorway progressed, Cole asked, “What do you like to read?”

“The Bible,” I ventured timidly. Cole’s eyes widened. “I want to talk with you about that sometime.”

My heart surged as I realized God was providing me with someone who was open to hearing about the good news of Jesus Christ.

But back in my apartment a cloud of doubt rushed in. I was no Biblical expert, and only three weeks remained before it was time to go back to college. How could I make a difference in such a short time? Continue reading

Oh, You Beautiful Selfie!

When I finally upgraded my cell phone, it came with a new feature: a “front-facing” camera designed to take “selfies.”   Though I’m a little embarrassed to admit it, I was kind of excited to make a few attempts, even though the smartphone only contained a minuscule 1.3 megapixel camera. Well, it turned out that my phone’s camera was not only smart, it was a little too truthful . . . especially in th7DDK8X4Fpoor lighting. I took A LOT of selfies before I could find even one I wanted to share on Facebook.

As I peruse my gallery of selfie attempts (the few that escaped the “delete” button) it’s easy to be self-critical. “I don’t like that one because it emphasizes my tall forehead.” “That one makes my jawline look too heavy.” “My hair is so thin and limp.” I find myself searching intently for a photo that magically minimizes my “problem areas” . . . like the dark under-eye circles that never go away, or the furrows between my brows that make me look unintentionally stern.   Even when I find what I consider a flattering shot, I realize there is no way to hide the reality (short of airbrushing or Photoshopping) that I’m not in my thirties . . .(or even forties) anymore.

I suspect I’m not the only one who struggles to feel beautiful. After church one day I chatted with a couple of friends who are in the same age-bracket. One shared about a new beauty product meant to perform anti-aging wonders around the eye area. Next she sang the praises of mascara. (She, like me, has invisible lashes without the help of Maybelline.) Finally, to sum it up, she said, “I’m just a hag without makeup.”   “Aren’t we all?” was my reply. Continue reading

When Dad Can’t Drive Anymore

CIMG2659The garage looked cavernous without the lumbering, maroon car parked in its usual place. Only oil spots and track marks lingered as indicators of its long-time resident.

Pangs of sadness zinged my heart as I knew dad’s car, a 1991 Lincoln Continental, was gone forever. But I wasn’t grieving the loss of the vehicle as I much as I was mourning what its absence signified.   The sale of “Mr. Lincoln,” as we affectionately called the car, meant that my dad would never drive again. Continue reading

Curling Irons and Grace

thMSC4O6C5It had been a bad hair week.  My curling iron was on the fritz and I had suffered the indignity of flat hair for several days.  Mission number one?  To buy a new hair appliance at the local drugstore.

I drove in early Saturday morning, sure to miss the crowds.  As I expected, the store was virtually empty.  I barely noticed the woman and her daughter who entered just behind me.  Making a beeline to the hair care aisle, I no sooner had began to survey the very sparse selection of curling irons when I realized the pair were on the same mission.

They sidled in from the left, and I kindly moved to my right.  But my attitude quickly changed as they began reaching for the very last curling iron in the size I wanted.  “I WAS HERE FIRST!!!”  I internally screamed.  “That curling iron should be MINE,” I seethed silently.  Thankfully, they put “my” curling iron back on its hook and moved down the aisle.  I snatched it quickly before someone else could. Continue reading