A Momma's Love

It's that time of year. Graduations. End of the school session for another year. College plans. Summer camps. Yikes. This is it. I've got one more year with my oldest before she graduates from high school and heads off to college (she has no choice in that - whether she likes it or not). We went to our bestus friends' oldest daughter's graduation today and it just brought out so many memories of Mallory. Not only of her but also how I felt at the time. Not so much baby memories but recent, hard-to-grow-through memories. I don't think I have mentioned it as of yet. It still feels awkward for someone who likes to promote faith in God. At one point I was verbally shamed for my apparent "lack of faith", but thankfully a woman of wisdom set that straight...

It was almost two years ago now. At the dinner table, in the middle of Falls Creek church camp in southern Oklahoma, speaking with another sponsor. "I just don't think I could do what you are doing." Melinda looked at me with a smile. I kept talking. "I mean God and I would just have to have a long old talk about Mallory going on the mission field." You see, Melinda was putting her oldest child on a plane at the end of that particular week, with a group of supervised teenagers, and letting him fly. Across the ocean. Without her. London is not one of those first places you think of when you think "mission field". Usually most people think - Africa. China. Russia. But London, England? God needs His name taken everywhere, right? Even "civilized" places. It was hard enough for me to let Mallory go to the next county without me, much less even THINK about another country. Well, I was going to talk to God about that. Long and hard for the next year.

Two mornings after that conversation with Melinda (pictured above), Mallory came to me - tears welled up in her eyes. "Honey, what's wrong?" She looked at me with those big blue eyes, her bottom lip quivering a little. "Mom, I think God is calling me to go to London next summer." I was dumbfounded. Okay, Lord. Did she just say what I think I heard? That can't be. She's not old enough. "Are you sure? I mean, there are lots of places near home." I wiped tears from her face. "Yes. I've been praying about this since the first night we got here. I know I'm supposed to go." With a broken heart I told her, "Well, then we'll do what it takes. God will provide everything you need if this is His will." We hugged and cried together. And prayed. Oh, how we prayed.

God was true to His calling and to His promise to provide. He provided every last dime that she needed to go on that trip. And how that year flew. We got her passport. She got new luggage. New clothes. Adapters for hair appliances. New iPod. Then started the packing. We also had a week of church camp before she left for 10 days to London. Church camp went by so quickly - but God was speaking - loud and clear to me anyway. All week long, the same question. "Do you trust Me?" My reply everytime was, "Yes, Lord, I trust You." Easy to say - hard to do.

The day I had been dreading arrived. The registration process was basically at the same camp that we had been at all week but we were required to leave for a few hours so the camp officials could be better prepared. The student missionaries would go through three days of extensive training before going overseas. As we arrived back at camp, we were greeted by the same camp staffers only this time they were all sporting British accents and driving their golf carts on the wrong side of the road. We checked in and headed to a room full of other parents fixing to ship their kids off to a foreign country. Was I the only one who felt scared to death? What in the world was I thinking? All the other parents seemed so -- composed. I felt just minutes from a complete boo-hoo breakdown. My skin was the only thing keeping me intact. The people in charge were speaking - blah blah blah - rules and this - regulations and that - blah blah blah. I was only aware of how tiny Mallory seemed next to me and her Daddy. Her sweet disposition and kindness. Her warm hand in mine. Lord, help me get through this. Then - this exquisite moment that I can't even think of without a lump in my throat. "Parents, please gather a few students together. Form a circle around them and pray over your students." What?? My composure is that of a cat - thinking about throwing her baby kitten on a hot tin roof. I am barely holding it together. Oh yes, the dads -the strong ones- prayed. Thank God. My prayer would have been vocally offered but for the boulder in my throat. But wait... "Now, students, form a circle around your parents and pray for them while you are gone." Yes. I lost it. Quietly the barrier holding back the great flood of tears broke. Brief silence. Then a delicate squeeze of my hand... My heart busted with pride as Mallory was the first student to lift her parents and little brothers to God. All choked up, she managed to pray over us with an earnest love and gentleness that touched us deeply.

Then it was over. Kiss. Hug. The students were whisked away. One more prayer. And that was that. No more contact for 10 days. Students were not allowed to take cell phones. If there was an emergency you could call the people in charge. There would be daily updates posted on a blog once they reached their destinations. I don't know that I even felt my legs as I walked from the building. I was already mentally spent from a week at camp (little sleep, long hot hours, bunk beds, girls with issues that were heartbreaking, etc). And now, there was no lingering to tell her how much I loved her or give her one more hug. Driving away, we made it as far as the camp entrance and I had Scott pull over. I told her I would get a picture of the waterfalls by camp and I did... but I couldn't make myself leave. Scott kept saying it was time to go. We had to get home to the boys. I kept dragging my feet. Reluctantly, I climbed in the car and proceeded to leave the campgrounds in a heap of tears. Two weeks before her departure, we watched the news as a French airliner went missing off the coast of Brazil. All my fears exploded in the minivan. I wailed. I wept. I was a sloppy mess. I remember crying to Scott. "Go back and get her. I've changed my mind!" I was not kidding. There was no humor in that statement. I fully expected him to turn that van around and go get our daughter. "Honey, you've got to pull yourself together. Remember what you've heard all week? Do you trust God?" With tear-stained cheeks I turned to him and bawled, "Not anymore! You go back and get her right now!" With tender compassion and tears in his eyes, Scott grabbed my hand and replied. "Babe, we believe that our lives are Father-filtered. Nothing comes to us that hasn't gone through Him first." I screamed at him. "I know that! He just watched a plane full of 228 people crash into the Atlantic ocean! And He was okay with that!" The first two hours of our four hour trip home was spent sobbing. Can I be the only mom that felt this way?

What got me through the next couple of days was knowing that she was just four hours away. Mallory was on her "mission trip". I could still go get her. Everything was fine. Stay busy, Stephanie. She's fine. And then the fateful flight day. The students were taking a chartered bus to the Dallas/Fort Worth Airport. DFW?? My baby at DFW? The time came when I knew she was on the plane. Oh, I stayed busy alright. I spent the day doing yard work at my parent's home. I couldn't go in the house and let someone talk to me because I would fall apart. So I wept as I pulled weeds in the vegetable garden. I cried as I trimmed the hedges. I put on my praise music and whimpered quietly with the sound of the mower. I was a total basket case. Where was my faith? I headed home exhausted and proceeded to check the status of the flight all evening. Still in the air - what was taking so long? I just took my heart out of my body, let it get on a plane to fly across the ocean. Why hasn't it landed? The time came and went for the estimated arrival of the flight at Heathrow. Fifteen minutes. Nothing. Thirty minutes. Nothing. I am losing my mind. Finally, forty-five minutes late, at 3:30AM my time, I knew my precious baby girl was safe on the ground. Emotionally bankrupt - I surrendered to sleep.

I woke up the next day with new determination. Okay. She was there. It's all good. She's smart. She's got a good head on her shoulders. The adults in her group knew that or she never would have been chosen to go. Being a little more fit to be around human company - I went to our church's softball game that night. I was telling a mother on the team what had transpired until three-thirty the previous morning. Before she could reply, a man popped up and told me that I should be ashamed of myself. Shame on me for not trusting God. If he would have known that I was doing that he would have called me and told me shame on me. Wow. Where did that come from? Did I really need to be ashamed? I had spent the last couple of days on my knees, pouring my heart out to God - He knew what I had been through. He knew the level of strength and growth that would come from this time but shame?... My friend, new to our church at the time, looked at me with compassion as she whispered, "I would have done the same thing."

Days seemed to drag. How much I wanted to hear her voice and tell her that I loved her. How proud I was of her. That stinking cell phone rule! Then came the morning shortly after the "shame" incident, I sleepily grabbed the phone as it rang. Normally, if I don't know the number, I don't answer it. But I responded to that unknown number with the press of a button. "Hello?" There was a slight pause. "Momma?" I drew in a quick breath. "Hi baby!" Daddy sat straight up in bed. The two of us, heads pressed together against each side of the phone, hanging on her words. She said she was fine. She missed us. She was running out of coins for the phone but she wanted us to know she was doing okay."I love you Mom!" Like water to a thirsting man - God knew exactly what I needed. Deliverance from the prison of speculation. Peace. 

And yet I was still so torn. Shame? By the time Sunday rolled around I didn't know where I stood. Confused, I went to drop off Nolan in the nursery. Ann, my woman of wisdom - asked me (really asked me) how I was doing with Mallory being gone on her trip. I told her of the evening at the ball field and she sat there, her mouth hanging open in disbelief. "Oh, phooey. That's not a lack of faith, girl. That's love. That's a momma's love." Yes. That was it. That immense love that God gave mothers had reared it's ugly head. That fierce love came screaming out that long drive home from camp. Her sweet words, spoken with the true passion of a seasoned mother, soothed my ravaged soul like a salve. They still do. Mallory's flight home for me was not nearly as traumatic as the flight over. I couldn't check the status of the flight because I was traveling to go pick her up. I knew I had faith. God knew. He knew I had it in me all along. I didn't expect that I would be questioning it but He did.

 

  Anticipation swallowed me as I was watching each child get off the campus-police escorted bus. Waiting and waiting and then there she was! Glowing and vibrant. Beautiful and beloved. Tired and skinnier than when she had left. But home. In my arms. In Daddy's arms. Great sighs of relief.

 God used her. God grew me. I know that whatever comes her way, God has her in the palm of His hand. I just wish He'd fill me in on the details... but if I knew the details, there would be no reason to trust Him. So I look forward to this next year (that's going to fly by). I know I can say, "Yes, Lord, I trust You." and mean it. With faith, without shame and with a momma's love. "My grace is enough; it's all you need. My strength comes into its own in your weakness." 2 Cor. 12:9 (MSG)