If July was a Mother
a little prose from me to you
“Mom,” you’d say, “What spiritual gift do you have?”
She’d put down the pitcher of iced tea, smile, and come sit next to you on the couch. Thunder pounding away outside, rain hitting the windows in loud splashes.
“What a good question,” she’d say. And as the minutes went by you’d listen to her tell stories of prophecy, every time she knew something was going to happen and when it did, scary stories of the spiritual realm, angels and demons, how it used to terrify her, how the Lord equipped her, how she fought in spiritual warfare, how she pled the blood of Christ over you to keep you safe.
“Mom,” you’d say, “why do some people feel convicted about things and others don’t?”
“What was stopping you from feeling convicted about the way you lived your life for so many years?”
You’d pause and ponder, adjusting the blanket over your legs, your mother adjusting it more to make sure you’re completely covered. “Well, I’m not sure. The enemy perhaps. But sometimes, I did know better. I just didn’t listen. I didn’t understand how much God loved me yet. I didn’t know how much I was breaking His heart, that He was grieving over my sin.1 And I didn’t believe that the things of this world could be so harmful, invite so much of the demonic in. I learned the hard way.”
“The Lord can reveal so much more with a soft heart and humility,” she’d say.
“Mom,” you’d say, “I don’t want something bad to happen to my husband and my baby. I worry.”
“Me too,” she’d say with a soft smile.
“Is this what it means to be a wife and mother?”
“Yes.”
A comfortable silence would fall between you, rain pitter patter filling the gap, the faint voices of a husband and a baby playing somewhere in the home.
“If we feel that way, can you imagine how the Lord must feel?” she’d say. “Our bridegroom, our Father. How much He must long for us to know Him, to invite Him in to walk alongside us in life, to sanctify us so we are fit for Heaven. Jehovah Raah, our Shepherd, who leads us, loves us, and keeps us safe.”2
You’d reach for the iced tea, squeezing some fresh cut lemon slices into it that your mother brought over because she knows that’s how you like it.
“Mom,” you’d say, settling back into the couch and wrapping your arms around her.
“Yes, baby?”
“Nothing,” you’d say, feeling a little sleepy, feeling a lot of love. Thanking Jesus for rainy summer days, for mothers who love Him, for Him loving you.
Katie Donohue Tona
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“The Lord saw how great man’s wickedness on the earth had become, and that every inclination of the thoughts of his heart was only evil at the time. The Lord was grieved that He had made man on the earth, and his heart was filled with pain.” Genesis 6: 5-6
Psalm 23
What a beautifully written and deeply touching post. The spiritual wisdom and love shared between you and your mom is truly inspiring. Thank you for sharing such an intimate moment with us.
Reading this was like getting a warm hug. Love it 😭 Thank you for sharing it!