My Mom was a Praying Woman…But not Like You Think

By Mike Glenn

Photo by Ray Shrewsberry on Unsplash

I’ve always enjoyed the story of the wedding at Cana - mainly because I love the interaction between Jesus and His mother. You’ll remember the story. Jesus and His disciples show up for a wedding in the village of Cana. In the middle of the celebration, it’s brought to Mary’s attention that the wedding is about to run out of wine. This would have been a serious social miscalculation on the part of the host family.

Mary then tells Jesus, who responds by telling His mother. “It’s not my time yet.” She turns away from Jesus and tells the servants to do whatever Jesus tells them to do. In other words, “I’ve told Jesus the problem. He’s going to fix it. Do whatever He says.” Mary had given Jesus the problem and she expected Him to fix it.

My mother would have been a good friend to Mary. Both of them had high expectations for Jesus.

To understand my mother, you have to know she had no adolescence. Her mother died when she was twelve and overnight, my mother became an adult. She had three younger sisters, and she felt it became her responsibility to raise them. My mom started driving when she was fourteen. She didn’t go get a license. She just started driving. The sheriff pulled her over once and told her to get a license, but he didn’t give her a ticket. My mom kept driving.

For my mom, the world was a hard place and there was no time for complaining, whining, or blaming others. Nothing would set my mom off any faster than blaming someone for our failure. Lose a ball game and blame the ump? My mom would remind me the ump had nothing to do with our loss. My job was to hit the ball. Did I hit the ball? No? Well, then the loss was my fault. It wasn’t the ump’s job to make sure I got a hit. It wasn’t the pitcher’s job to throw me a nice pitch to hit. It was my job to hit the ball and if I didn’t do my job, I should stop blaming everyone else.

For my mom, it was just this simple. Work hard, do right and trust God with the rest. Do our part and God would do His. We, however, have to do our part and then, trust God with the rest.

When Mom didn’t think God was doing His part, things got interesting. One time when my dad was in surgery having a heart procedure done, the doctor came and talked to us. “Things were worse than we thought,” he said. “I don’t know if John is going to make it.” After the doctor left, my mom and I sat in silence. After a few moments of eternity, I finally said, “Mom, if I was with anyone else, I’d offer to pray right now. Do you want me to pray?” Hurriedly wiping the tears from her face, she grabbed my hand, and she got ready to pray. I bowed my head, but before I started to pray, Mom pulled her hand out of mine and hit me on the shoulder. She hit me hard. She wanted me to know she was serious in what she was about to say.

“I don’t want you to pray for God’s will. You tell Jesus we want Daddy back.” Yes, I know the theology of prayer. I understand our place before God in prayer. At that moment, however, I didn’t think my mom wanted to talk about any of that. So, I prayed that God, in the same power that raised Jesus from the grave, would bring my daddy back from the brink and give him back to us.

Daddy did come back. The surgeon was amazed. I was relieved. My mom wasn’t surprised. She had made her “request known to God” and trusted God would do what was right. According to my mom, God and her went way back. She had known God when she was a child. Her mother had taught her how to pray. Her mother had taught her how to sing. In those moments when she was so alone, she knew God was with her. She had learned to trust God with her honesty and fears. She had learned to pray bluntly. “He knows anyway,” she had told me. “Why lie to God and try to make it different than it is?”

Hearing my mom pray was like walking into a family discussion around the kitchen table. She would laugh, remember old stories, she would fuss and tell God she had expected more. She would throw up her hands in surrender and tell God she didn’t think His way would work.

But in the end, she would always trust. Jesus told a story about two sons. One said he would work the field but didn’t, and the other said he wouldn’t work the field but did. “Who was the faithful son,” Jesus would ask. The son who worked, of course. That was my mom. She would complain to God. She would tell God what she thought He needed to do.

And she would do this every day. Then, she would go to battle fighting the good fight and trust God with the rest. When Alzheimer’s took away her words, she would sit at the piano and let the old gospel songs pray for her. One of the last songs I heard her play was, “Pass Me Not, O Gentle Savior.”

This Mother’s Day, I’ll bow my head and thank God for a mother who taught me how to fight and pray. I’ll thank God for a mom who taught me to trust God with the rest. In His time, she taught me, God will answer every prayer and make good on every promise. Until then, remember it’s a hard world. There’s no time for complaining or whining. We’re either fighting or praying and most of the time, we’re doing both at the same time.