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The Heart of a Mother - Introduction

I don’t remember when I didn’t love Jesus,” Shirley Murphey said to her Sunday school class. “From the day I was born my mother talked to me constantly about the Savior. The first word I ever spoke was Jesus. But it was more than her talking about him or teaching me. My mother lived the kind of life that made me want to love Jesus.”

Some mothers are like that.

Not surprisingly, godly mothers are a major force in the spiritual development of their children. They take their children to church. They sing songs about God’s love. They spend time in prayer. Most important, they demonstrate a life of faith.

Mothers lift us up when we are down. They cheer us on when we are discouraged. They pitch in and help whenever they see a need.

If we want to understand God’s heart, and find ways of drawing close to him, a good place to look would be at the lives of mothers who have given us glimpses of God’s love by their everyday deeds of service.

Abraham Lincoln once said, “No one is poor who had a godly mother.”

These true stories are about mothers who have made our world a richer place.

The Faith of a Mother's Prayer

Tracie Peterson
from The Eyes of the Heart

When I was about eight years old, we moved to Dallas, Texas, so that my father could attend computer school for two years. We had never had a lot of money, but moving robbed my folks of what little comfort they’d had. My father’s paycheck was much less than it had been, while the bills were every bit as high. On top of this, my folks had acquired new expenses with the move. The budget was tight. The margin for error was zero.

I remember my folks trying to figure out how to make it all come together. We rented a run-down house in a poorer section of town. My mother often joked that the cockroaches helped us move in. My dad said the bugs were big enough to saddle and ride. My sister and I were fairly oblivious to the worries they suffered, because our folks did a good job of hiding their worry from us.

We made soup out of ketchup and called it fun. We bought five-cent bags of week-old bread and considered it a prized find. We filled the deep-fat fryer with water in order to heat a can of black-eyed peas, because my folks couldn’t afford both electricity and gas, and the stove was gas operated. I didn’t know we had it all that bad, until we went to bed one Saturday evening, and I heard my mother crying from the other room.

Nothing strikes fear in the heart of a child so easily as hearing a parent cry. When parents cry, you know that something really bad has happened. When parents cry, children cry too. And I did.

The next day we ate what was left of the old, dry bread, feeling blessed by the fact that we could toast it. Feeling like kings, because my dad had brought home packets of jelly from work. We went to church not with full bellies, but not empty ones either. Coming home, however, we knew the truth. There was nothing left. There was no food in the house, and payday was five days away.

Eating and playing were my only real concerns at that age. Now one of the major components of my security was missing. The cupboards were bare.

I don’t know if this has ever happened to you, but let me tell you, it’s a fearful thing. I remember wondering why we couldn’t just go to the store and get some food. It seemed very logical to my eight-year-old mind. Never mind the money part.

I was a fairly astute child and saw the worry in my parents’ expressions. I’d heard my mother cry the night before. I knew things weren’t good, but I didn’t know how to help. I asked my mother what we were going to do, and she said, “Pray.”

I had known my mother to be a woman of prayer since my first memories of her. She believed in the power of prayer and had great faith that God would see us through. Her faith became food to my soul.

As she began to pray, I felt my spirit calm. I heard her pray for our meal—the meal that wasn’t even there. I heard her thank God for the food He would provide. Then she closed the prayer and looked to each of us. “What do we do now?” I asked.

"We wait for God,” she told me.

It was only a few minutes later that someone knocked on our front door. In anticipation of answered prayer, I followed my mother and father to the door. Outside, on the front porch, were several of the new friends we’d made at church. Their arms were full with sacks and bundles of food. Not just cans and packages of unprepared food, but also a hot meal, ready for our consumption. Loaves and fishes. Ravens bringing bread and meat.

We are sharing a meal of answered prayer,” my mother told us.

The thought intrigued me and forever changed my life. Suddenly every Bible story miracle was visible on my table. God sending manna to the Israelites. The boy with his fish and bread lunch being multiplied to thousands. Elijah being fed by the ravens. Every single time God had heard the prayers of the destitute was evidenced in that meal. And even at eight years old, I knew the truth of the power of prayer.

The Birthday Surprise
Diane H. Pitts

The year was 1961. The air was electrified with the crispness of fall, and excitement whirled about me. As I skipped to Edgewood School, I was sure everyone could see that today I was eight years old. My red-checkered dress rustled in the breeze and a shiny gold locket reflected the morning sun.

I thought back over the summer, when I had hinted several times for one of two birthday surprises—a horse, or a watch. My friend Deborah who lived across the dirt road in our little southern town had a beautiful Tennessee Walker. She allowed me to ride him anytime, but I wanted my own horse.

I clutched my books tightly as I neared the school and imagined owning a horse instead of borrowing Deborah’s. My birthday horse didn’t need to be a thoroughbred; a pony would do.

Just then a thought struck like a boulder. What if I didn’t get a horse? Hope began to disintegrate with the impact. My chest felt heavy and my throat constricted. Well, I gulped, there was always the watch. Maybe that would be all right. I quickened my steps and smiled slowly. My best friend and I would giggle and compare our watches at recess. Mine would be gold to match my locket, and oh, how it would shine! Thoughts about the watch scattered like the sun’s rays as I saw children flooding into the school doors and realized I might be late. Just another good reason I needed that watch!

All through the day I watched the clock creep toward 2:30. I whispered to the air, “Soon.” With the first vibrations of the dismissal bell, I was hurtling out the door like a horse from the starting gate. I raced to our brown Ford and climbed in the back, but quickly reined in my giddiness.

“Hi, Mama,” I said breathlessly as I laid my books on the seat beside me and waited.

My mother was generally quiet and reserved, but she loved giving surprises. Easter, Christmas, and birthdays were always special at our house, and I could sense that today would be no different. She turned and looked over her shoulder and replied with a small grin.

“How is the birthday girl? Wonder what birthday surprise is waiting?”

I propped my arms over the front seat and looked out the window. “Very soon,” I murmured. We drove slowly through town. Would we stop on the outskirts at a farm, or would we go to Hick’s Jewelers? I was so busy daydreaming I hardly noticed when we bumped into the curb that skirted an unfamiliar house.

“Well, here we are,” my mother said softly.

I didn’t see a farm, and this didn’t look like a jewelry store. Maybe she already has the watch, I reasoned and searched for the concealed package. I grabbed faintly at the hope that I was missing something. My mother must have seen the confusion on my face because she brightened and explained, “Your daddy and I wanted to give you something very special. This is your first day of piano lessons.” She looked at me expectantly. “We even found an upright piano that’s being delivered today.”

I fought the urge to cry. Swallowing disappointment, I smiled back. I hadn’t considered music. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad; it was just unexpected.

“That’s great, Mama. It sure is a surprise.”

She got out of the old car first. I followed her up the stairs, away from a horse and a watch and toward a significant door in my life. Oh, Mama, I thought dejectedly, how could you?

We walked into a chilly room warmed by a space heater, and I sat down on the creaking piano bench. Over the next thirty minutes, Mrs. Adams, the piano teacher, introduced me to the world of music. Unhurriedly, she drew me in with the melodies, and the chill in my spirit melted away. My mother had chosen a gift that unlocked my soul.

Forty years later, I marvel at my mother’s wise decision and financial sacrifice in giving me those piano lessons. Numerous doors opened over the decades. When I was too shy to speak, music spoke for me. I traveled to Europe to perform in an international choral festival. I served as a church musician for over thirty years, and even taught piano when I needed money to attend school. Music has allowed me to make friends easily, and serve God as well.

Today there are moments I find myself questioning God or the things he allows, and I lash out, “God, how could you?” Then I recall another place in time, a mother’s heart I did not understand, and a birthday surprise I almost failed to accept. Similarly, the mother-heart of God makes wise decisions when he leads me away from unnecessary things and through doors I don’t always understand—long years of singleness, a debilitating illness, and even the death of a child. On numerous occasions I have been blind to the benefits of his choices, yet he makes them. Trusting his wisdom has not been easy, but it has been right.

My mother’s desire was to give me a birthday surprise that would reap lasting results, and that is God’s heart as well.

Excerpted from:
The Heart of a Mother compiled by Wayne Holmes
Copyright © 2003, Wayne Holmes
ISBN 0764228056
Published by Bethany House Publishers
Used by permission. Unauthorized duplication prohibited.