The Woman I Call "Mom"

Barely five feet tall, she has a face that is perpetually freckled and laugh wrinkles that crinkle into a dozen creases around her hazel eyes. 

She possesses a crazy sense of humor that finds the bright side of any situation and a heart that is big enough to wrap around the entire world. Seriously. 

She is also one of the few people I know who can be in the bathroom of a rest stop McDonald's and within minutes, an absolute stranger will be pouring out her life story and crying a river.  

She loves to do laundry, cannot sign a birthday card without filling both sides, and is a procrastinating go-getter. (no, that is not an oxymoron). 

She is the woman who is looked up to as a mother figure by many,
but to me, she is "Mom." 

We celebrated her birthday the other day. And with all due respect, I will not mention which birthday it was. In her birthday card (which somehow filled both sides), I told her that the older I get, the more I wonder how I came to be so blessed to be the daughter of such an incredible woman.
I feel so unworthy of that gift.

Her life has not been an easy path. Many times she has had to do the hard thing, to choose a road less traveled and to take it alone. Yet she would be the very first person to tell you that she has so much to be thankful for and that God is so good to her. She will even tell you that through her tears... 

In many ways, I am my mother's daughter. As a phlebotomist for the past 25 years, she stirred in me an early interest in the medical field that eventually led to my going to nursing school. We both love coffee and cannot stand clutter. My terrible sense of direction must have come from her, and we are both notorious for getting into awkward situations and trying to politely talk our way out of them.  She often knows what I am thinking before I ever say anything, and I can finish her sentences even when she has the habit of starting to say something and never finishing. Oh, and the random snort that embarrassingly happens when I am laughing really, really hard? That is one of her trademarks
which must have been genetic. 

Beyond the fact that we share the same color eyes or our night-owlish habits, my mom passed down an example of genuine love for people. She didn't have to tell my sister and I while growing up that it is our Christian duty to love others. She lived and breathed compassion towards others and her gift of mercy was such that she would literally give away the last roast in her freezer to the young couple who was struggling to make ends meet. There was never any pretense in the way she freely loved others, because it was just an natural overflow of the Love of the Savior she had accepted into her own heart as a young college graduate. 

I still remember her telling me about one patient she had drawn blood on in the hospital. The woman was off the streets, a known prostitute and one whose veins betrayed her addiction of shooting up. A lot of the other staff just dismissed her as a pathetic drug seeker, but I remember Mom coming home from work and telling me how much her heart goes out to that girl. She said, "Katelyn, I just wish that I could start 

a home for girls like that." 

Was it in that moment? I don't know. But I wonder if God used that incident and the example of my mother's response to stir in my own heart a passion to work with women whose lives have been broken by abuse and shame and who believe that they are worth no more than selling their body to the next john, looking for love in all the wrong places.

If it wasn't for my mother's influence and the grace of God, I could be one of those girls that society shuns and that even Christian communities write off as an impossible case. 

No, I'm dead serious. It's true. 

I know she's not perfect. But I see my mother's life as a ripple of influence whose ever-widening circle has touched many lives and will continue doing so as long as Time goes on. Only Heaven will fully reveal the rewards of her life well-lived in being poured out to Jesus and
given to others.

Mom, you have had the greatest influence in showing me how to light my candle and go light the world. Even when doing so means releasing your daughter to God's call to move to the other side of the world, you are still my biggest cheerleader.

I love you.