“She opens her mouth with wisdom,
and the teaching of kindness is on her tongue..
Her children rise up and call her happy.”
Proverbs 31:26, 28a
This post appears on Mother’s Day. On the subject of moms–biological and relational–I am a particularly blessed man.
Everyday Lori, our daughter, and daughter-in-law inspire me with their love and patience, creativity and devotion toward their children and our grandchildren. My 95-year-old stepmother’s bright mind and wit are an ongoing gift to my siblings and me. And I was blessed by an amazing mother-in-law whose spirit and love has been a source of joy in all the years since I joined her family. Any of those women could have been the subject of this post, but on this day, I want to speak about my own mother.
Certainly, there is much that could be said about the woman who gave me life and taught me so many things. Yet I decided to share with you an article that I submitted to a denominational magazine after my last one-on-one adventure with her in 2018. Since the magazine rejected the story, I don’t need their permission to pass it on to you. It’s a bit longer than what I usually offer as a post, yet I found it difficult to edit any further. I hope it causes you to remember and celebrate the special women in your life.
It was a trip for Mom.
In planning a sabbatical from the congregation I have served for fifteen years, I had the idea of taking my mother on an ecclesiastical journey of her own. My father had been a PCUS pastor and during my growing-up years served three congregations—two in Georgia and one in North Carolina. Mom loved her time as a pastor’s spouse and thus I wondered about our visiting those places again. Dad has been gone for more than thirty years so certainly there wouldn’t be many people left in those communities who remembered him.
Still, Mom’s 87 years had begun to catch up with her and I suspected that soon this kind of trip would not be possible. When I suggested the idea, she quickly agreed, so I contacted the congregations we would visit on weekdays to confirm office hours. I made arrangements to stay with family for much of our journey and one night with Lib, a friend of hers for over 50 years.
On the morning our August adventure began, I arrived at Mom’s retirement community a few minutes late. She was sitting in the lobby with luggage all around her. I soon learned she had awakened at 1 a.m. and come down to the front door then. Thankfully, a staff person had encouraged her to go back to her room until closer to the time. Mom consented, but I suspect she did not go back to sleep. Still, her energy remained high that day and throughout the trip.
Over our miles together, we saw the baptismal font where the waters of life were sprinkled on my newborn head by a great uncle and the church where, as an 8 year-old, I skipped worship to finish building a raft with my friend Jimmy. That wooden structure never saw a drop of water and for days afterwards I didn’t see the outside of my home either. We saw the steps to the manse where, as a toddler, I hit my head and created a scar that is still visible…the house where my third grade soul preached a two-minute sermon to our family in the living room and the pulpit where as a high school senior I delivered a homily on Youth Sunday…Along the way, we had these chance and planned encounters with special people from her past.
Our journey wasn’t all roses. The congregations served by Dad reflect the recent history of the PCUSA as one has joined the Evangelical Presbyterian Church and another is struggling to stay open. The third went through a split with half of the membership following its pastor to start another church in the same town, ironically called Grace. Still, the most emotion-laden part of the trip for me came on our visit to Columbus, Georgia.
My father served as pastor of First Church in the late 1960s. A gifted preacher and pastor, the congregation had more than 1000 members when we arrived and it grew under his leadership. Yet one day three years in, Mom gathered my siblings and the 7th grade version of me into their bedroom to tell us they were getting a divorce. “You’ve probably noticed that things haven’t been going well for your father and me,” she began. I was stunned. “But ministers don’t get divorced,” I blurted out. We soon learned that wasn’t true and began a transformative journey. Looking back, that moment launched my mother’s most inspiring decade.
While trained as an educator, Mom had not worked outside the home during their marriage, but now needed a job. Acquiring an emergency certificate, she found a position teaching 10th grade English at the same school my older brothers attended. We had always lived in church-owned housing, but now she had to find a house for us. Mom took classes in the evening and on Saturdays, earning a Master’s degree. And perhaps most impressive of all, on the Sunday after my father’s resignation she led us back to worship at our pew four rows from the front fully aware that whispers reverberated around the congregation.
Through all the days and years that followed, the five Willingham children were sustained by her love and encouragement. We never missed a meal and I can’t recall a time she wasn’t present for one of our sporting events or concerts or award ceremonies. We each learned how to stretch a dollar and all of us would complete a college education. Mostly, she embodied an incredible strength.
I knew all of that before our trip of course, but as Mom slowed down in recent years she has become less verbal and sure of herself. I will confess to times when those changes made me less patient with her than I should have been. I grieved the toll of time on her, yet her strength remained evident to others. Her granddaughter Kate affectionately described Mom as “a bad-ass woman.” Lib put it in more genteel terms. “Your mother was a survivor,” she said.
During one of the long drives on our trip, I asked how she had been able to keep moving ahead during those years after the divorce. Mom’s response was clear. “It was God,” she said. “The way a job opened up just when I needed it, finding a house I could afford that kept the five of you in the same schools, and even that neighbor who offered to bring your six-year-old brother to my classroom every day. All of that could not have been a coincidence.”
Given our limited travel schedule, we worshiped in only one of our former congregations. The pastor welcomed Mom from the pulpit, referring to her as a former First Lady. Everyone clapped. Memories swirled as I saw childhood friends serving in leadership roles and members determined to rebuild. As we came to the final verse of the closing hymn, Lib reached over and took Mom’s hand. My singing ceased as that holy moment filled my heart and eyes.
The next day we visited with a former pastor of Mom’s who had gone through a divorce herself at a time when her children were young adults and out of the house. At one point during lunch she said, “When the divorce was unfolding I thought of you, Pat, and how you had gone through the same thing with five children at home. You were an inspiration to me all these years later as I remembered the grace and strength you showed.” Mom quietly took it all in as did I.
Soon thereafter our journey ended as I dropped her off at her community and drove back to Pennsylvania, yet the memories of that experience continue to reverberate for both of us. Several times since Mom has said to me, “I can’t believe you picked me for this trip.” I feel the same, only in reverse.
The six-day journey was designed for her and in many ways was the blessing I hoped for as she saw, perhaps for the last time, meaningful people and bodies of faith that had sustained her. Yet what I had not anticipated and ultimately became the richest part of the trip for me was to see my mother again through the eyes of others; to witness their appreciation for her and to hear of the impact she had upon each of them, too.
A gift for which I can only say “Thanks, Mom, for picking me for this journey!”
Holy One, thank you for the women in my life who have loved and guided me, forgiven and encouraged me, corrected and laughed with me. Lead me this day to share the same gift with one of your children. Amen.
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