"My Mom Is..."

We frequently listen to K-LOVE, a Christian radio station relatively new to Pittsburgh.  This week, they were holding a contest.  Listeners called in and completed the sentence "My mother is..." and the winner was randomly selected to take her mom to lunch with Dr. Dobson and his daughter in Colorado!  I tried calling a few times, but never got through.

No matter.  A blog is longer-lasting than a few seconds' worth of radio fame, and my mom deserves better than a sound clip anyway.

My mom is a picture of God's grace and compassion.  Although she is not my biological mother, she is so much more to me than 'my dad's second wife'.   Deana and my father were married fifteen years ago.  It was an ugly thing at first, the way I saw it.  I was a sixteen-year-old girl who was both deeply angry at and deeply jealous of my father, who had initiated the divorce with my mother.  He was choosing to marry an attractive young woman with a very young child who was practically already calling my father "Daddy".  I hated it.  What was wrong with my mother?  What was wrong with my sister and me that my dad needed another one to spoil? 

Deana was, for her relatively young age, a very wise woman.  Never once did she try to take my mother's place; in fact, she never took on traditional 'motherly' role at all.  She never lectured or nagged - which was great...but unfortunately at the time her cooking was not as good as my mom's, so I guess things evened out (she has since greatly expanded her repertoire and I am now using some of her recipes to feed my own man).  I don't think Deana ever stopped praying for me.  She waited patiently for me to return her love as I was wrestling with teenage hormones, my parents' split, college decisions, loneliness, job possibilities, sibling rivalry, self-esteem issues, and God.  For a long time, I returned that love and compassion with listlessness, impatience, apathy and anger.  Even when I broke down and chose civility over neglect, poor Deana was still the odd man out.  I was Dad's firstborn and that was never going to change, so I was used to getting my way.  Jules was the baby, and had very different needs than her teenage step-sisters, so she often got what she wanted, too.  My dad was the only man in the household, so he took priority, too.  Only Deana was the one to wait her turn, the sacrifice, to hold her tongue.  What a lesson in humility!  Even during family arguments, Deana was the rational one, the one who never, ever lost her head (especially over the stupid things Dad and I tended to argue about).

As I went away to college, it was Deana who sent silly little letters and care packages.  Deana was the one who picked out birthday cards and Christmas gifts.  Deana was the one who continued to be the voice of patience and reason in an often temperamental household.  Deana was the one who spent hours on family photo albums, scrap-booking pictures of children from a life she'd never even played a part in.  Deana was the one who (with how many other faithful women, I will never know) prayed fervently for my future husband, and it was Deana who was among the first to recognize and accept Ross Godlove as that very man.  

It was Deana who stepped in as Mother of the Bride on my wedding day. 

For those of you who do not know, my own mother keeps a low profile.  She has a lot of physical ailments that keep her from social events - and from spending time with people at all.  I keep in touch with her regularly, but cell service is very sketchy where she lives (hint: it's not Pennsylvania).  When I received the RSVP card from her and there was an X next to "cannot attend", my heart just broke.  I knew it was coming, but to know that, without a doubt, my own mother would not be at my wedding was a very heavy burden to bear.  Even now, sometimes, when I think about it, my heart aches.

Deana had already been planning my bridal shower, which was a blast thanks to the amazing McCaffrey clan (who opened their home and their hearts on a very very cold December night).  When I told her about my mom, she simply hugged me.  She didn't offer anything but comfort, but I knew then and there that she'd be the one to light the unity candle on my wedding day...even if my own mother did show up.  I told her so.  She smiled, but said that if my mom was able to make it, she would absolutely defer to her.

I knew she wouldn't need to.

Several years before I met Ross, I received a beautiful prophecy from Cathy Lechner, a dear friend of the Moder family.  She spoke of the desires of my heart: marriage and a husband who would serve God willingly.  The small group of leaders cheered as I wept gratefully; this was something that everyone else desired for me, too, since they'd seen my unsuccessful relationships in the past.  Cathy laughed as she spoke more about the wedding itself and how our families would love each other and fit together "like peanut butter and jelly", as she put it.  Then Cathy turned to Deana and said, clear as day, "Her wedding will be a day of healing for you."

I didn't understand at the time, but a few weeks after my wedding, I realized that all Deana had ever wanted from me was to be loved and accepted.  I never needed to choose her over my mom, I never needed to defer to her ideas or opinions - in fact, we still disagree about shoe-styles, and about what tastes good on a fish sandwich.  What I needed was to treat her with respect and compassion, as she treated me.  When she got to stand in as my mom - when I began to introduce her as my mom - when I realized that she was the only "mom" of mine that Ross had met, I understood that the circumstances surrounding my wedding were a gift from God to my stepmother!  He allowed her that honored position because of all the love she'd poured out over my family.

Now, Ross and I call her "MomDee".  I had never actually called Deana "Mom" before.  I never wanted to dishonor my own mother.  And even now, I know that I am not.  I love my mother very much.  She has many traits that I admire and I pray that she recovers from her illness and fulfills the plans God has made for her.  In many ways, I do hope to be like my mother: tenacious, protective, selfless, hard-working.  In many ways, though, I want to be like my stepmother: wise, compassionate, good-hearted and patient.

I got the best of both worlds.  God split the Proverbs 31 woman into two souls, and both mentored and guided me to adulthood.

I love you, MomDee.  Thank you for marrying my dad and for being a picture of God's grace and compassion in my life, in the lives of countless Berean children, and in the life of my wonderful husband.

We're not ready to give you grand-kids just yet, but you'll be the first to hold them when they're born.