In my kitchen, I have a sign that says, “Sometimes when I open my mouth my mother comes out.” It probably wouldn’t be so funny if it weren’t so true. The older I get, the more I find I sound like her. The older she gets the more she looks like her own mother.

“Mama guess what happened today while we were at Grandmother’s!”

My brain began to imagine all manner of scenarios and possibilities, an infinite number swirled through my head. Last time I had heard that statement they’d found a rodent skull and brought it to me for my approval. Like Carter and Carnarvon uncovering King Tut’s tomb, their exciting archaeological find was destined to change the world. At least that’s how they’d acted. So, when asked, all I could honestly say was, “I have no earthly idea. What?” Maggie, unable to contain her excitement and wait until I’d finished taking dinner from the oven spilled out a sentence that forced me to give a puzzled glance toward Mama. As I slipped off my oven mitts and carried on with the tasks of dinner prep, I learned that apparently not only did Mama’s small-town Alabama have a garden club, and in a somewhat stalkerish-like manner they combed the streets looking for yards to win their beautification award, but also, I was standing in the presence of their latest winner.

“It’s really informal,” Mama said.

I giggled and Maggie proceeded to give, in detail, an account of how they’d been going about the day when the doorbell rang, and Mama had been presented with the award. I’m still a bit foggy on some parts of the ordeal, but it is perfectly clear to me why she won.

She loves the dirt. She likes to be outside. On any given occasion she can be found, sans shoes, clothed in overalls meandering about her yard with any number of garden implements. Her summer zinnias are breathtakingly beautiful. She will be the first to say being in the outside air is healing. I used to not believe or understand such a phenomenon until she proved me wrong.

Once I had the bad pneumonia. The can’t-shake-it-despite-big-meds-and-a-week-in-bed pneumonia. My kids were little and if it weren’t for an army of help I’m not sure they’d’ve survived my infirmity. I was ordered home to convalesce. It was January and it was cold out. Every day I talked to Mama and every day she’d said for me to go outside and get some fresh air. Every day I said ok and when we’d hang up I would roll over and go back to sleep. That was until she grew tired of my apathy and said: “Give the phone to Scott.” As I rolled over I heard him say, “Yes ma’am” and “ok bye” followed by dragging sounds indicative of moving stuff, opening and closing doors, dings of a microwave, and before I could say a word of protest he was dragging my pajama-clad self out to the front yard. He wrapped me in a quilt, shoved some warm hot toddy beverage in my hands and explained that I was to stay there “Cause your Mom said so.” By the end of the day, I’d taken a turn. I was finally on the road to recovery and the end of sickness could be seen. All because by proxy of my Husband I had obeyed her.

Now when I am sick, she doesn’t even have to ask, she knows I make my way to the outside to absorb and take in the healing of the sunshine and air. She’s often right, in fact, I’ve not really ever known her to be wrong that much. She’d beg to differ though because that’s just how she is. She is humble and kind, caring and loves unconditionally. She is easy to talk to and has an amazing sense of humor. She is artistic and talented, but again she’d beg to differ because she’s just like that. I have never known another quite like her and I hope and pray that there will come a time I am given the compliment that I act like my Mama.

I want to know Christ—yes, to know the power of his resurrection and participation in his sufferings, becoming like him in his death. Philippians 3:10