Mothers Day 2018

As a child, my mother would take my siblings and I to our grandmother's house before church on Mother's Day. We would go not to stay, but to cut roses from her rose bushes. The red roses were for my siblings and I, but my grandmother would cut a white rose. Mom explained the purpose behind this tradition and it honestly didn't mean much to me until this Mother's Day when I was given a white rose.

Before any holiday I am faced with the decision of exactly how to spend the occasion. Do I go out of town? Do I keep my normal routine? This year, I did something a little different. I returned to Hillsborough where I preached in the very place Mom and I preached together a few Mother's Days' ago. On that particular Mother's Day, we did a sermonette- Mommy did the first 15 minutes and then I closed.

Returning to this particular church to preach was a first since Mom and Dad passed. As I sat in the pulpit, I noticed the empty space where Mom would have sat. I glanced at the Deacon's corner where Dad used to be. As the choir stood  to give the pre-sermonic song, I noticed something even more familiar than the empty seats. The pianist started playing the song "Going Up Yonder." Mind you, that's the same song that was sung as my mother's body pushed from the alter to the cemetery.  Everything within me wanted to crumble; I wanted to lose it; I wanted to ball up in the fetal position. Yet, none of that happened. My worst fears did not manifest. Instead, I wiped my tears and took the song as a beautiful reminder of my parents' presence with me on that Mother's Day.