05/10/2026
I lost my mother 22 years ago.
She was 66.
I was 46.
I thought I was ready. I told myself I was ready. I told her I was ready. I told everyone I just wanted her out of her pain — and while that sounds good, the truth is, I was not ready.
No matter how ready you think you are, you are not ready. The minute she was gone, it all became so final.
Honestly, I’m as selfish as everyone else — I wanted my Moma.
My mother was like being in a cold room and she was the fireplace. She made everyone feel warm. She was the most selfless person I’ve ever known.
I once told her she reminded me of the story of the little red hen.
She would say, “Who wants to help make a garden?” and everyone would excitedly say, “I do! I do!”
But then she would ask: “Who wants to help plow the garden?” No one.
“Who wants to help plant it?” No one.
“Who wants to help hoe the garden?” No one.
“Who wants to help pick it?” No one.
“Who wants to help cook the vegetables?” No one.
But when she asked, “Who’s hungry?” everyone came and sat at her table — and she was happy.
That was my Moma.
I once told her I wasn’t very good at sending cards or little gifts of love. But the best thing I knew how to give her was me being just like her — being the best Christian woman, wife, mother, sister, friend, and daughter I could be.
That’s how I honor my mother.
When someone says, “You’re just like your mother,” it makes me beam with pride. Because when they say that, what I hear is that I remind them of Christ. To me, my mom was the most Christ-like person I ever knew.
That’s how I keep my Moma alive — for me and for everyone who knew her.
Be the most Christ-like version of your mother you can be, and she will know. But most of all, Christ will know. ♥️
