An Ode to Momma

I had the great blessing of growing up in a Christian home with a mother who took me to church and often spoke to me about God, Jesus, and the Bible. I always knew God was present with me, and I cannot remember a time when I didn’t turn to Him with my worries and cares.

I clearly remember when God began calling me to Him.

I was about six years old, and it seemed that most of my neighborhood friends had already started school. Because my birthday was in October, I was almost seven before I entered first grade. In those days, kindergarten was not required, and public school began with first grade rather than pre-K or kindergarten.

Eager to go to school like the other children, I would gather my storybooks, put on a pretty dress, and walk up and down the sidewalk in front of our home in Andrews, Texas. It was safe for a little girl to do that back then. If someone asked where I was going, I would tell them I was on my way to school.

In other words, I lied.

Thanks to Momma’s teaching, I was familiar with the Ten Commandments. I knew lying was a sin, and those little lies began to weigh heavily on my conscience. At night, I would lie in bed worrying that I might go to hell because I was a liar.

After I started first grade, my daddy gave me a furry little black puppy whom I named Blackie. Oh, how I loved that dog! I played with him endlessly.

My time with Blackie was short-lived, however. He was struck and killed by a car while he was still just a pup. Even today, I remember how heartbroken I was over losing my furry little friend. I cried for days and played my little yellow record of “Where, Oh Where, Has My Little Dog Gone?” over and over again.

Finally, Momma suggested that I write a letter to God in Heaven, asking Him to take good care of Blackie and to tell my puppy how much I loved and missed him.

So, with a clumsy black crayon in my hand, I did just that. Momma helped me spell the words I did not yet know. Miraculously, I felt better afterward. Even as a seven-year-old child, that was how deeply I believed in God and Heaven.

Over the next couple of years, the awareness of my sins troubled me more and more. Guilt consumed me whenever I lied, said something unkind, used a bad word, or talked back to my parents. At night, alone in my dark bedroom, I became frightened. I was certain I would be punished for my sins.

Momma sensed that something was troubling me. One night, when I was nine years old, she sat beside me on my bed as she tucked me in. She explained that she believed Jesus was calling me to accept Him as my Lord and Savior. She told me that I did not have to live in fear because Jesus had paid the price for my sins.

That night, Momma prayed with me as I asked Jesus to come into my heart. A few weeks later, Pastor Carl Grissom baptized me at First Baptist Church in Andrews, and I became a member of that wonderful church.

I have made many poor decisions during my lifetime, but that is one decision I will never regret. Without question, accepting Jesus was the best and most important decision I have ever made.

Would I have found my way to that decision without a godly mother who raised me in a Christian home? I will never know. What I do know is that I am eternally grateful God gave me such a mother—a mother who taught me about Jesus, recognized when He was working in my young heart, and lovingly helped me answer His call.

I wish every child could have that same precious foundation.

Mothers, fathers, and grandparents, do not let the children you love grow up without knowing Jesus. Teach them His Word. Pray with them. Talk to them about their fears, their mistakes, and their questions. Most importantly, help them understand how very much He loves them.

You may never fully know the eternal difference your faithful guidance can make.