Momma Went Home With a Rock Star

There's no two ways about it; my Mom was beautiful. Her smile lit up any room, she was highly intelligent, witty, silly, sweet, fun, and above all, hard working. She was a chef and dietician, considered "the best cook in the family". 

  True, she had her bad days, but don't we all. Putting up with "us kids", my brother, sister and me was a regular riot, not knowing what to expect next with us guys. I'm thinking maybe it was me who unexpectedly threw her for a loop the most. One nice evening, when I was about three years old, she had tucked my brother and me into bed...he was still a baby; a year  younger than I. She and my dad, having gotten a babysitter, were going out for a nice quiet evening of dinner and dancing. My brother's and my shared bedroom was on the second floor, where they had left the window open with a light breeze coming in the screen window. Before they left the house, I started pitching a fit, screaming that I didn't want them to go. Mom kept putting me back into bed and finally, maybe even popped my bottom to shut me up. With the babysitter downstairs, I heard our old car start up through the screened window and started screaming out the window. They kept a-going, leaving me to the babysitter, who must have been deaf. 

   I guess I'd never screamed before, so I guess I kind of liked it. I kept it up and kept it up for quite a while. Just standing there screaming at the top of my lungs out the window into the dark night. Suddenly there was a light shining in my face from down in the yard. A police officer was shining a flashlight all over the house. There ended up being two police officers who had been called by the neighbors. My Momma and Daddy's nice evening out ruined. Like the time the little boy who lived right across the street from us held my hand and walked me around the block when I was two years old without telling either of our mothers where we were going. They were both in tears, panicked, about ready to phone the police when we turned the corner, still hand-in-hand. Or the time I was three years old and helped my two year old brother up the coal gravel hill to play with the pretty stones on the railroad tracks. 

More seriously, when I was four years old, having a fun visit at my mother's parents' house while my mom was at work, my dress caught fire and I was so badly burned that the doctors left me to die in peace in a back hall of the old town hospital in Port Allegany, Pennsylvania. I actually did die and went to be with Jesus for a little while. When He sent me back, with me bawling that I didn't want to go back, I saw my body below in the hospital bed with a pale yellow blanket over me. Sitting down there on the bed next to me, near dawn was my poor exhausted Mom bent over almost asleep, praying. Suddenly I found myself back in the bed with a jolt that gave her a start...she hadn't even known I'd been 'gone'. 

   It's a wonder my mother's hair hadn't turned snow white in her twenties. 

Then, there were the teen years. My oh my, didn't I give her a run for her money then. Even though I had been raised with my bottom sitting in a church pew, I went through the mouthy, yelly, know-it-all stage. Still, I couldn't get away with anything...somehow she always found out and gave me the dickens for it...well deserved. One day I went riding in a car with a boy...I guess he was 19 and I was about 15. It was a beautiful day; perfect for a long drive way out in the sunny, hilly farm country. I think he just wanted an excuse for me to sit closer to him, so he offered to let me steer the car. I scooched over and grabbed the steering wheel, thinking I was doing a pretty good job, easily avoiding the one car that we passed coming toward us. No problem. The rest of the afternoon was pleasant and uneventful when he dropped me off at my door. Inside Mom was waiting for me, hands on hips, tapping one foot and glowering. That one car that had whizzed by had been driven by her best friend, Emma. Now how in the world had she seen me? Who looks at other people in oncoming cars? Well, Emma, obviously...20 miles out of town, yet.

Poor Mom...trying to find some peace and solace, one Sunday evening at church with her mom where they were having an enjoyable mother/daughter time with each other, so rare what with Mom having to work so hard and having very little down time. In the middle of a beautiful song, Mom's smile was interrupted with the shocking news that I had been in a bad car accident and was being transported to the hospital. I had been riding with some boys...friends of my brothers. We were at their house way out in the country for a picnic, when the older "kid", 21, decided to show off in a jalopy with no top that he had made. Racing up and down the dirt road with me sandwiched in the middle with my feet propped up on the dashboard, we crunched over a sluice pipe, severing the brake line, headed down toward the "devil's elbow" curve at 70 mph! Trying to avoid that scenario, he tried to steer into a field, but hit a 20 foot tall tree head on. Because my feet were on the dash, I was catapulted up and over the tree. Strange thing happened. With time slowed down, I remembered reading about drunks surviving crashes because they were all relaxed. Looking down into the branches of the tree, I let all my muscles go, and the next thing I knew, I was somersaulting end over end over end in the middle of the dirt road. I was in the hospital for a month with a crushed vertebrae and a few broken ribs. My brother said that him, sitting in their yard, watching me sail over the top of that tree was the worst thing he had ever seen in his life. (The other two in the jalopy, the driver and his brother both dove out into the grass just before we hit the tree. They were uninjured.) Sitting with me all night in the hospital once again, crying and praying, was Mom. 

When I was eighteen I married into a very bad situation and began having children right away. My mom was the best grandmother ever. I don't remember my kids giving me as many fits and worries as I had given her over all those many years. Just when I thought I was making progress as a responsible adult and not creating stress for her, she and I were at a baby shower together at church listening to the usual stories about how much trouble toddlers could be. Some mothers were saying, "Hah, you think two years old is bad, wait 'til they are four." Trying to be a wise guy, as usual, I piped, "Hah, you think four is bad; wait 'til they are in their teens." Mom put in, "Hah, you think teens are bad," smirking at me, she added, "Wait 'til they're in their forties." Well, true. She had come to take care of the house and kids and me, because of the many health issues that seemed to inundate my life in my adulthood, which we surmise had to do with the residual deep burn scars, etc. In '95 I almost died from celiac disease. After getting out of the hospital, she stayed with us and nursed me back to, which took ~18 months before I felt as though I might actually live. Her care, knowledge, wisdom, humor, prayers and tears pulled me through, once again.

When I was finally strong enough, Mom decided that we should attend a women's retreat at Elim Bible Institute and College. A good way to thank the Lord for my recovery and maybe keep me out of trouble, if only for one week of fun and relaxation in the company of godly women. 

We were loaded into a large van with a bunch of our friends from church for the hour long drive. The whole way there, Mom was making everybody laugh with all her wisecracks. A sign along the road advertised, "LOTS for sale." Mom said, "Boy, I don't know what they're selling, but they've got plenty of 'em!" That night in our small shared dorm room, she kept us (one of our friends and me) awake until midnight giggling out of control. One of the students, whose room we were assigned had left a political poster on the wall, "Free Jews Worldwide". Mom chortled, "I'll take anything as long as it's free!"

The next morning, our pastor's wife "tsk'd" to Mom, "Did those girls keep you awake?" (HAH! She was the ringleader.)

We slept well that night and quietly so. 

The next morning I was so sick! I was vomiting and feeling terrible, so I spent the day in bed while the other girls AND my Mom went and had a ball! So many activities and fun. I insisted Mom go with them, so she did, and I was so happy for her. She deserved to have fun for a change, of course, tho', in the back of her mind she had to be thinking, "Oh NO...not again!" 

By the next morning I was feeling fine. After breakfast, we filed into the massive auditorium for songs, worship and some kind of message. 

I don't know how many seats that auditorium holds, but it seemed like thousands. The place was packed, and I cannot describe the music that filled the room. Heavenly is the only word that I can think of. After each song, the women each and all began singing lilting praises of their own, which intertwined with one another, almost visually colorful. Gorgeous...no one melody, but a glorious, living embodiment of beautiful music offered up to God! And, as the Scripture promises, "The Lord dwells in the praises of His people", He showed up. His Presence was so Sweet and REAL! Just Heavenly. 

   The next part of the program dealt with testimonies of what The Lord had done in people's lives. Ladies were welcomed to come up on stage and speak about what the Lord had done for them, or if they had a word from the Lord for the audience. "Oh, that's nice," I thought.

    Then my heart started racing.

    "Why is my heart racing?"

    I was suddenly strongly impressed with the Scripture, "Out of your belly shall flow rivers of living water". 

     "Oh, that's nice," I thought again.

     One lady went up one of the long aisles, climbed the stairs, went right to the microphone and began speaking great and wonderful things.

     My heart was racing hard and I kept 'hearing', "Out of your belly shall flow rivers of living water."   

     "Uh oh" I thought,...I remember this happening at church when I was called on to say something to the congregation, like something that the Lord had done that week...or give a small announcement or do a reading.

    One after another ladies went to the microphone and gave wonderful testimonies, but I couldn't much hear what they were saying with my heart racing and now my body shaking and the phrase, "Out of your belly shall flow rivers of living water."

    I thought, "Lord, I CAN'T....I can't go up there...I've got nothing!"

     "Out of your belly shall flow rivers of living water!" I kept 'hearing' loudly. 

   I twisted in my seat..."Nope...not gonna happen."

    The pressure was so strong now. 

    Someone from the podium was asking, "Is there anyone else? Anyone?" 

     "Nope!" I told myself and hoped the Lord heard my thought, too.

       "Alright," I thought, looking to the right at the row of ladies sitting there, my Mom beside me. I thought I'd get up, get along in front of the women seated there, get to the aisle...make the Holy Spirit THINK I was going to go up there, but make a bee-line to the back of the church to the ladies room. 

   Shaking, I did that...I got up, apparently startling Mom, "Where you going?!" she whispered harshly,  "Where you going?"

   I delicately pointed my pinky finger toward the back of the church and inched my way along toward the aisle, where I think I made it!

   Standing now, staring up at a big round silver microphone, I saw my hand reach up and pull it down to where my mouth could speak into it. There was a huge dark audience out there, my Mom probably thinking, "Oh no...NOW what's she up to?"

   I think my heart was calm, but I was thinking, "I've got NOTHING to say...how did I get up here??" Then remembering, I recited, "The Bible says,' Out of your belly shall flow rivers of living water...." My voice became clear and decisive, "But first, let your praise come up out of your being, flowing up to the Living God and He will Flow down and through you, enlivening you, teaching and growing you, then...THEN, shall your have rivers of living water flow out of you to nourish and feed others who desperately need the living water to live and grow, too. Do not stop praising Him, lest it be that the living water will be like a block of ice in your throat, stopping the flow. Praise Him, Thank Him, the Lord Most High...." perhaps more...maybe.

    I remember hearing my Mom's voice go, "Hmm!" in approval. 

    And then I was finished and trying to find my way back off the stage and safely back to Mom. Where was she anyway...okay, five rows back on the right...seven women across. Carefully stepping down the stairs that I had absolutely NO memory of climbing up, walking up the carpeted aisle that I don't know how I got to the stairs on, sidling in, in front of the seven ladies who were smiling into my face, I thought, "Don't smile at me, I had nothing to do with it...God pulled fast one...it wasn't me."

   I sat down next to Mom, drained. She squeezed my hand. 

   They moved on to the next agenda while I sat there dumbfounded...how did I get up there? I tried to pull a fast one on the Lord, but He ended up grabbing me and plunking me up there without me knowing it, 'til, there I wuz. But, ya know, what came out of my mouth, I really needed to hear that.

   And to think it was "Mom approved"...well, icing on the cake.

   Over the next few years I tried not to shock her with my crazy goings ons. She was my best friend. We took long drives and as usual, she sang me the old standards, which I still love and comfort me, remembering how she'd harmonize with them. She was so smart, that one. She'd give the Jeopardy answers before the contestants. I kept trying to talk her into going on that tv show, but she kept telling me "No". And the Lord never plunked her up and PUT her there, either. 

    Then it was time for me to take care of her and nurse her back to health. It was as though I was in a tug-of-war game with the Lord. She had moved three hours away, so when she became ill, I'd go pray with her and she'd revive. I'd drive home, she'd become ill, so back, I'd go. Sometimes I'd spend nights in the hospital twisted like a pretzel in the half couches. I was making myself ill with no sleep. She'd get better, then I'd drive home, some nights in blinding snow for the three hours. Back at the hospital in a day or two, she began calling, "Mama!" and was terrified to fall asleep. I told her I'd sit and watch her sleep, so she could sleep. I sat in a hard straight back chair 'watching' her. She angrily growled, waking me up! I was exhausted, eating potatoes that I microwaved in the hospital cafeteria because of celiac and fear of getting even more ill, if I'd gotten ahold of wheat or gluten. I was getting weaker, losing ground in the tug-of-war with the Lord. He was kind to me, in my tears, crying, "Please don't take her, please don't take her." He let me gracefully, gradually begin to lose, "I love her, too, please let me take her" was His gentle plea.

   He is our Strength...He is our Rock....He is the Bright and Morning Star. He made Mom...she was sweet, she loved Him back.

    May 27th 1998, I had just barely made it home from the long 3 hour drive, managing not falling asleep, when my daughter called, who was sitting with Mom...her Grandma. She said that Grandma had taken a bad turn for the worse that afternoon and didn't think she'd make it through the night, that I'd better start back immediately. I said weakly, "I can't...I just can't...I'll need a couple of hours of sleep first." 

   I started back that night around one o'clock in the dead of night. The sky was crisp and clear. I sang, I talked to the Lord...I had no cell phone. I just wanted to get there and pray for my Momma to revive some more and maybe be healed for good this time. Totally alone on dark and winding roads way out in the country of Pennsylvania.

   Suddenly from the direction I was headed came a shot of light that flung itself toward the northeast, like a rubber band that had snapped and "I LOVE YOU, MOMMA" bellowed out of my throat before the light was out of my sight...gone. I knew it was her going. I looked at the clock...3 a.m. sharp. 

   The lonely drive to the hospital, knowing she'd already gone was fraught with anguish and tears...I should have been there.

   Arriving at the hospital, I learned that, yes, they had 'called it' at 3 a.m. sharp. 

    The tug-of-war was over. 

   I hope she is THERE, dancing and singing. She taught me how to dance in the kitchen when I was 9. How she loved music. I'm sure she still does. 

   So, yep, Momma went Home with The Rock Star, and I got to see her go!