A Mother's Love

This is what I read at my mother's funeral. Thought I would share it.

Good morning. People who know me are always a little afraid when I get behind a microphone because they never know exactly what I am going to say.

My name is Ken. I stopped using the name Kenneth because that was the name used by mom when I was in trouble. And that was pretty often. I’m the middle kid. I want to share with you what I think a mother’s love means. If you are at all familiar with Jacob in the Bible or the Prodigal son – well, they would describe me. Jacob was known as “Jacob the Deceiver” and I am pretty sure I have the same personality type as the Prodigal son. Trust me, that does NOT make me super spiritual.

I think before I was born mom prayed for patience and God answered her prayers by giving her me. I’m the one who kept mom on her knees in prayer. I’m not saying she didn’t pray for my brother and sister. She did.

But I tended to see how long I could get away with something, usually bad, before getting caught. If there was something I knew I wasn’t supposed to say or do I looked at it as a challenge to see if I could break, or at least bend it. I figured I could either deny it or talk my way out of it. Mom and dad were great teachers. I was just a horrible student. My dad worked for the prison. You would think that would have restrained me from some of the things I did.

Some examples:
I’m the one who stole the lunch money from the Mason jar hidden in the chest of drawers thinking I would never get caught. I did. But once I confessed mom never mentioned it again. But she did remove the temptation by changing the hiding place regularly.

I’m the one who, after getting a wood burning set for Christmas, decided to burn holes in mom’s wax fruit and turning it around so she wouldn’t find it. She did. That was the last time I ever used a wood burning set.

Every two years we would take a summer vacation up to Kentucky and Ohio to visit relatives. Once, when we stopped for lunch I ordered a glass of milk with my meal. I’m the one who after taking a big gulp declared rather loudly (with the waitress waiting to take our order), “Mom, this milk is a LOT better than what we get in prison!”
I’m the one who ran around the prison rodeo stands in a white T-shirt and white jeans just like the inmates wear. I was usually carrying a toy gun. The guards would send me home and mom would tell me to stop doing that. Of course I didn’t.

I’m the one who wrote a bank draft for $1.00 and dropped it in the offering plate at the First United Methodist Church in Huntsville. I felt so proud of myself giving my allowance to God. The next day the bank president called my parents and told them they had to come down and cover that $1.00 bank draft because I didn’t have a bank account. Mom just sighed and shook her head.

I’m the one who asked for a needle and some ink because one of the inmates wanted to give me a tattoo. I think I was 10 at the time. I don’t know what happened to him after that incident but I’m pretty sure mom had something to do with his disappearance.

I’m the one who was in the truck with the guy who was driving way too fast on a wet street and we collided into a telephone pole next to the old hospital. And I had to call mom to tell her what happened and that I was okay.
I’m the one who hid whiskey bottles and bags of marijuana in my closet thinking mom would never find them. She did but she never confronted me because she was afraid I would run away. That was a hard lesson to learn but I knew she loved me and would rather keep quiet rather than confront me and risk losing me.

I thought I could drive a motorcycle after drinking way too much (root) beer. I couldn’t. I couldn’t drive one sober much less intoxicated. I had a horrible accident when I ran into and flipped over the back of my dad’s car and I had to tell mom that I had broken my leg. She took care of me and she never mentioned the incident.

I’m the one who had to call her from Waco to say I had spent the night in jail for stealing a Christmas tree.
Fortunately I had the money to post bail because there was no way I was going to ask her for that. But she probably would have given it to me. I knew I had disappointed her again; but once I had confessed what I did, she never brought it back up.

I remember mom staying up all night with me next to my bed because I had a high fever from the measles; or the mumps.

I took philosophy classes in college and tried to convince mom that there was no God. She just smiled and let me rant. It’s hard to argue with someone who won’t argue back.

Every family should have a kid like me. I am sure mom prayed to God that He would either change me or take me. He changed me.

Thirty years ago next month I became a Christian. When I told mom what happened I think she gave a big sigh of relief and whispered a big thank you to God. I still had a long way to go but she at least knew that there was hope for me. I also think she believed I was now more God’s problem than hers.

I used to think Carol and David never got in trouble with mom. I think they got away with a lot more than I did because I was the one who always got caught. I wasn’t her favorite because she didn’t have favorites. Even though I know I broke her heart many, many times I know she loved me and she always forgave me. I don’t think she had a hateful bone in her body and I never heard her say a negative word about anyone.

I was visiting her one day in the nursing home. I knew the end was near. She was whispering something to me. I leaned over to hear what she was trying to say. It was frustrating because I wanted to understand her but couldn’t. Pam and Carol told me to say to her, ‘Okay I understand; I’ll take care of it; I’ll do it; I promise it will be taken care of; don’t worry about it.”

I think I figured out what mom was trying to tell me. You see, she did not like my long hair and she hated my pony tail. Everytime I visited her at Carriage Inn she always asked when I was going to cut my hair. She even offered to pay for it.

One of these days I am going to see mom again. And I will ask her what she was so passionately trying to tell me. I think she is going to tell me, “I TOLD you to get a haircut so you would be clean cut for my funeral. You promised me you would but you didn’t.” I think I am going to be in trouble one more time with mom and not even Jesus will be able to save me. But that’s how much she loved me.

I love you, mom. I’ll see you soon and I promise I will get my hair cut.