Growing up, and even today, I would tell you that my mother is nothing, if not a professional.
She‚??s a professional doctor. She‚??s a professional lawyer. She‚??s a professional chef, and she‚??s a professional minister.
I never realized there were people outside our front door to whom others would run to have the patches in their lives repaired. We always got that done at home, where my mom held court.
Got a throat so sore you can barely swallow? Mix salt with warm water, gargle, take an aspirin and rest. Cured.
Fall down and cut yourself? Wash off the cut, grab the Mercurochrome or Bactine, apply liberally. Cover with a Band-Aid. Repeat the procedure the next day and perhaps the next, depending on how quickly the mother-doctor determined healing to be happening.
Upset to the point you can keep no food down? Mom would hand out a bottle of aspirin. Take two every four hours as needed. And quit worrying. Things have a way of working themselves out.
Territorial problems with the neighbor kids? Mom could determine boundary lines by squinting one eye and drawing a line with her finger in the air. Suddenly, we all knew exactly where we stood with the problem.
Territorial problems with the neighbor kids‚?? parents? Mom made more diplomatic runs than Hillary Clinton to make certain that her children were being treated properly. And, more importantly that her children were treating the neighborhood parents with respect.
Problems with homework? She knew just where to seat you at the kitchen table until the answers came to you. That normally coincided with the time your rear-end tired from sitting on that hard kitchen chair.
Birthday party? She baked the best birthday cakes ever. Always chocolate because that‚??s what flavor most of her kids preferred. If it was a sheet cake, she was home free. A layered cake sometimes needed toothpicks to hold the layers together, but that never took away from the good taste. We all thought she could have worked for a bakery.
And it wasn‚??t just baking. She could cook food worthy of the President of the United States. A pinch of this and a dash of that and she could concoct a wonderful dinner every evening. Sometimes it was just soup and a sandwich, but it was always good.
I think perhaps what made the dinner so tasty was that each offering was served with love. No person was exempt from coming to the dinner table when the professional chef cooked a meal. And it was there, that the love of my mother shone.
We would talk about anything and everything. No subjects were taboo as we would discuss everything from who talked to us on the school bus to what we didn‚??t understand about the Great Depression. Sometimes she would listen, sometimes she would talk, but no matter the topic, she normally had the last word.
And that‚??s when the professional minister portion of her job came front and center.
We never needed to wear those bracelets reminding us of What Would Jesus Do. My mother could tell us what he would do. In every situation.
She knew him well enough to know that. And for years, I thought she had him on retainer just to watch over her children.
Looking back, everything she did was a comfort as she molded our lives.
In fact, she was our world for many years. As we got older, enough of what she taught us permeated our lives that we can still hear her voice come through as we raise our own children. ‚??You sound just like Mom,‚?Ě is a compliment of the highest sort.
And hopefully, my children will someday say that they too had a professional mother. In the best sense of the word.