calling her blessed

I remember pressing my bushy five year old eyebrows and chubby nose against the living room window pane, watching my Moma making her rounds outside. She walked out there every evening and I'd watch her talking to her plants. Or watering them with the hose. Or snipping all the dead flowers off. And talking to those plants some more, like they were real people.I liked watching her.
And when I got a little bigger, she took my hand and walked me out there with her. She made a little game of of it.
What's the name of that purple flower, Sunny Jane? 
Does a caladium grow in the shade or the sun?
Why are the leaves on the rose bush spotted black?
Do the hummingbirds like our trumpet vine?
And I'd answer as best I knew, and she'd smile when I got it right.

And now that I'm all grown up, I'm a gardener. You know why? Because of my Moma.
Because she took my hand and walked me out there with her.
And just an hour ago, I was out there talking to my little baby dill plant, telling it to grow baby grow. And you know why? Because of my Moma.
Because I pressed my bushy eyebrows against the window pane when I was a little girl and watched her do the same thing.

When I was growing up, I knew where I'd find Moma every morning. On the living room couch, those crazy rollers in her hair, reading her Bible.
And now that I'm all grown up, I get up every morning and sit in the living room and read my Bible. And Moma sits across from me.
And you know why? Because Moma always did it, and I learned from her.

When I was growing up, Moma sang in the kitchen and we would sit on the counter tops, reading our library books and laughing.
And now that I'm all grow up, the kitchen is my favorite room in the house. Even though I do hate cooking and it makes me sweat and pray harder.
And you know why? Because the kitchen was were Moma was at, the hub of the house, and a happy room.

When I was growing up, Moma sewed stuff and forced me to do it too. I hated it then and I still hate sewing's guts now, but you know what? The other week when I wanted my throw pillows recovered, I recovered them.
Because one time, Moma forced me to learn to sew.

When I was growing up, Moma went to church rain or shine. Blizzard or no.
And now that I'm all grow up, I'm there every time the doors are open. We drive together.
And you know why? Because Moma was faithful.

Moma told me, Don't lie... and don't believe a lie either.
So I told Santa he wasn't real and some of the other kids cried and Moma had to snatch me away.
But I told the truth, and you know why? Because Moma told me to.

And when I was growing up, I watched Moma.
Watched her smile when there was nothing to smile about.
Watched her laugh.
Watched her have compassion.
Watched her serve others before herself. Always.
Watched her kindness.
Watched her sing.
Watched her cooking and scrubbing.
Watched her babysitting and teaching us school.
Watched her faithfulness.

And now that I'm all grown up, I still watch her. And she's the same as she ever was.

And so when people tell me I'm just like my Moma, I feel a burst of happiness over it.
Because I want to be like her.
Because she's the best.
Because at the very core of her is this one good thing that she's chosen and never been shaken from no matter what the ups and downs, to seek God.
And I want to be able to say, I've chosen that good thing too.

Because Moma taught me.

Love,
She Who Rises Up and Calls Her Mother Blessed