Wednesday, May 14, 2014
This Mother's Day was especially difficult for me. You see, my precious momma has Alzheimers. She may or may not know I came to see her. Picking out a card for my mom has never been a difficult task because she really is all that this holiday stands for. This year was different. As I began looking through and reading all the beautiful cards, the tears began to fall. I began to question why God would allow such a precious soul to be plagued with this cruel disease.
My mom has fought many battles in her life. I so admire her strength and faith. I remember at the age of 10 when my dad sat us down and told us that my mom was struggling to breathe due to her asthma, and may not make it through the night. I remember him praying with us. God answered our prayers.
When I was expecting my first child, my mom was diagnosed with uterine cancer. I was working at a Christian publishing house at the time and I was at work when I received the call. I was so blessed to be surrounded by fellow Christians who immediately began praying. Again, God healed her.
Two years ago, my mom was diagnosed with Alzheimers. I remember sitting in the neurologist's office as he talked to us with my mom listening to his every word. I watched her intently as he spoke. I wondered how she would react to this devastating news. Once again, my mom's faith amazed me. She told him that the Great Physician was in control of her life and she trusted Him.
Some days I find myself asking God, "Why my mom?". There are so many mothers who don't even care about their children or grandchildren. Some have even cast their own children away. Why not one of them? My mom would give up everything for her family.Her grandchildren and great-grandchildren are her world. There is no other woman in this world that loves her family like my mom does. but then I remember my Momma's faith and what she taught us.I know where her hope is. I do know that God has a plan and I trust Him too.
My life is but a weaving
Between my Lord and me,
I cannot choose the colors
He worketh lovingly.
Sometimes He weaves in sorrow,
And I in foolish pride
Forget He sees the finished work
And I, the underside.
Not till the loom in silent
And the shuttles cease to fly
Shall God unroll the tapestry
And explain the reason why.
The dark threads are as needful
In the Weaver's skillful hand
As the threads of gold and silver
In the pattern He has planned.