Every home-school mom at one time or another bakes bread. My mother was no exception. Hands covered in flour, faced flushed from the warm kitchen, she kneaded bread until her hands were raw. When her masterpiece was finished, she coated the warm braided loaf with butter and proudly served each a piece like a chef would serve a delicacy. Metaphorically the bread served as a symbol of the Living Bread which she labored to serve to all those around her.
When it came to teaching us the bible, a regular study wouldn’t do. Determined to make the bible come alive, she animated voices and directed her children like actors in a Broadway production. Even today I can remember sighing as she blind-folded us to fully understand the desperation of blind Bartimaeus in the book of Matthew. People desperate to instill the truth into the next generation go to the extreme… and my mother was no exception.
Every summer in a small garage on Meeker Street, she would invite neighborhood kids on Thursday afternoons to sweat on plastic chairs and learn about Jesus through characters attached by Velcro on felt boards. Most people called it the Good News Club and my mother was no exception. She would have us memorize scripture and always include an frozen Otter Pop or inexpensive candy as a reward when answering that gospel meant Good News.
My mother is no exception to pain, suffering, and trials. But in the face of poverty, disappointment, and death, she’s exceptional.
Every person thinks their mother is amazing. But does your mom serve you Bread of Life, blindfold you, hand you an Ottor Pop, and draw palm trees like Picasso? Well, my mother is alive today and can blow out birthday candles. And that dear friends, is why my mother is exceptional!
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