When did it happen???

I can clearly remember saying to myself in my silly little 12-year-old airheaded mind "I hope I don't wind up being too much like her when I grow up... she never has any fun!" Of course the "her" was my mother. I also clearly remember the night that it first happened. I was eighteen years old, 7 months pregnant, working as a cashier at a local supermarket. It was getting close to closing time, and we didn't have many customers. I had been standing still behind the register for awhile and needed to stretch my legs a bit, so I walked out in front of the line. About 5 feet in front of me and to my left, there was a display of sunglasses, with a narrow mirror on the side facing me. Of course, I wasn't looking at that display, I was looking down the aisle straight in front of me: the candy aisle. Just as I was thinking about getting a bag of Mr. Goodbar minis, I could swear that I saw my mother standing ahead and just to my left. I jerked my head in that direction, when I realized, with complete shock, that I had seen my mother in my reflection from that narrow mirror. Being already married and pregnant, my condition negated the fact that I was only eighteen, and I thought to myself that I was actually relieved to find that I did have some of my mother in me (although I would certainly have disowned myself if, at 12 or 13 years of age, I had known that my final verdict would be in approval of such a heresy). And now, almost exactly 10 years after that fateful night, I have found myself once again seeing my mother in me. However, she's not in my reflection now (though, to be sure, I have seen her there a few more times), but mostly in my words. I guess then, a more appropriate way of saying it is that I am "hearing" my mother in me. She mostly comes out when I'm having one of two specific types of discussions with my kids. The first (and most frequent, sadly) is when I'm discussing teenage drama with my teenager. Her questions and issues are so complicated, sometimes I don't even want to get into it. But somewhere along her third or fourth sentence, a sudden rush of inspiration will come over me, and it's like I can see clearly through all the emotion to the core of the issue, and I can ping it every time. There usually is no joy in that moment, however, because neither do I think it's pleasant to confront her on those issues, nor do I really know what to say to help her or give her a more appropriate perspective on things. But somewhere around my second or third sentence in response, I get this sudden rush of perspective, and it's like I can see how to approach it in an understandable, yet gentle way. And then, somewhere around the sixth or seventh sentence of my response, I start to hear her, and I realize that it's not even me speaking. Somehow unbeknownst to me, she finds her way into my head, and all the things she used to say to me find their way back to my mind, and that's what spills forth out of my mouth. Now, on the one side, I'm rather disappointed about this, because just once, I'd really like to come up with something original to be helpful to my daughter. But then, on the other hand, I think that if I was made to say something completely original and was somehow supernaturally prevented from drawing on anything that my mother ever said to me, I would be at a complete loss, and wind up saying to my poor daughter, after she had poured out her heart and all of it's confused loneliness to me, something like, "Yes, well... ahem. I think then, that the best, uh... the best thing to do is, um, .... ahem .... probably just to ... um, go and uh.... go thou... yes, go thou and sin... um... sin no more. And, um... and that will probably take care of it." So I guess hearing her is a bittersweet thing to have in this case. It always gives me just the right words to say, while making it painfully clear that I have no imagination of my own. After reflecting on this for awhile, I can only say, "Oh, well.... it is what it is."

The second (and much more pleasant) conversation that I always find her in is when we're discussing a Bible passage. When her words spring forth from my voice on these matters, I'm always extremely happy because I can hardly wait for the "her" that's coming out of my mouth to stop talking long enough to go tell the real "her" that I have learned and remembered all of her lessons from my childhood. I had the unique privilege of being able to call both my classroom teacher and my Sunday School teacher "Mom". As most of you know, I was homeschooled, and we always had "Bible" as part of our curriculum. When I was 12, my mom began teaching my Sunday School class at church, which she continued to do until after I got too old for that class and began to go to Youth Group with the "Big Kids". Many times, we would continue discussions on the way home of spiritual matters, and if nothing else, I always trusted that if it was anywhere in the Bible, my mother had it memorized, and if it wasn't to be found in any of the 66 books, the footnotes, the concordance, the dictionary, or the little maps in the back, no one could fool her into believing it was there. I learned so much from her. And now, when my own kids ask me a question, and I begin to explain it to them, I always know it's her speaking, because as I'm watching the light of understanding dawn on their faces, I'm feeling it dawn in my own mind as well. Now, lest you think I've gone and lost my mind, let me explain, although it is a bit difficult to explain properly. Even if I do not understand something, if I begin to "teach" it to someone else, it all becomes clear. I guess you could say it's a gift that I've always had. That's how I finally came to understand Algebra - when I taught it to my daughter. That's also the way I got through both of my Anatomy and Physiology courses in college with a 4.0 GPA. When I didn't understand a single word of what I was reading in my textbook, I would begin to read it aloud to my three year old, but I didn't stop there. I also undertook to put it into more simple words, as if I was really trying to teach her college A&P. As I did so, understanding would begin to dawn on me, and I would finally understand what was before me (I cannot say the same thing about my three year old - she continued to be ignorant of the text). Now, that explanation works for something like anatomy and physiology, but when it comes to spiritual issues and child-rearing issues, I maintain that they are my mother's words finding their way out of my mouth. Perhaps this is just one thing that God is doing for me so that, many years from now, God willing, when she is called to go Home, I'll be comforted knowing that a part of her voice will live on through me.