“I’m proud of you. I know your mother – but anyway – I’m proud of you.”
Those words brought tears to my eyes. At our church, we call the older women “Mother.” Mother Pollard gave me that compliment. I sat with her today. Pastor – last week – challenged us to meet our neighbor. I was the only one that did this. Actually, I invited my neighbor to dinner – why not, he’s a divorced, single dad, pilot for Alaska Airlines. It didn’t happen, but I tried.
Still, her words left me speechless, and choked up. Tears immediately flooded my eyes, but I dared not let them fall. I could tell that she was uncomfortable saying the words. I am certain that she was completely unaware of the effect that they had on me. No, my mother probably is not proud of me, probably has never been proud of me, and probably will never be proud of me. I didn’t think such small words would leave such a large impact on me. Even over 12 hours later, I am still filled with tears as I replay it in my mind.
I sincerely thank her for her kind words. My heart is full. My heart is heavy. My heart is empty. My heart is broken. My heart is confused. My heart is trying to survive. I thank God for the people has put in my life. They don’t know the tears I cry. They don’t know the battles I face.