When my siblings and I were young, my mom would help us to tithe. I always thought it was odd because we had no allowances, yet my mom would put a single dollar in three offering envelopes with our names on them. She would hand them to us during service and we’d put them in the plate as it came by. I can’t remember how old I was at the time – maybe 8 or 9 – but one day I followed her to the bank and she asked for brand new, crisp, $1 bills. She explained to me that she only put the most perfect bills she can find in our offering envelopes.
The first time I heard a message on Malachi 1 as a teenager, I finally understood what my mom was doing with her $1 bills. She wanted to give God the best in everything, even down to to cosmetic condition of the tiny offering her children gave, and she wanted those children to have an example of it so that they could do it themselves. There are other things my mom did that I never really noticed or appreciated at first, but now see in a different light.
She is constantly singing while working around the house. When cooking or doing dishes, a hymn is coming out of her mouth. My siblings and I realized that if we were in the kitchen while she cooked, and if we steered our conversation the right way, we could say a word or phrase that reminded her of a song and she would sing it. We still sometimes do this to her when we are at the house and share knowing grins when it works. She never once explained it in words, but in constantly singing she showed us that worshipping God isn’t just something you do twice on Sunday and once on Wednesday; it’s a constant thing that flows out of what’s in your heart.
She quoted scripture to us often. I remember anytime I would say that I was bored or tired, she would quote Proverbs 6:6-11, in this I’m-kind-of-kidding-but-I’m-dead-serious voice she does so well. She seemed to always have a verse of scripture to prove her point. It wasn’t until later that I realized that in order to know what the Bible said about something and where to find it, she needed to have been constantly in the Word. She hadn’t just read it once and filed it away; she had meditated on it.
I could go on and on about more ways she did it, but my mother practiced what she preached and preached by practicing. As Xander gets older and begins to think about the things of God, I pray that I can be the same kind of mother mine was.
Also: I miss my mommy.
