The Cry of the Banshee

My momma is a wee Irish lady. I call her my "pocket mom." If you asked me to describe her the words "sweet", "kind", "patient", and "loving" would roll off my tongue. After that it would just be repeating myself.

And yet... the thing about women is that they are so wonderfully complex creatures. Men, in contrast, are so simple: feed us and pet us and we are just fine. Women, however, were enough to stump the wisest man that ever lived. Solomon warned his sons that "the ways of a woman are past finding out." And he should know! As a good scientist he had run over 700 experiments in the "getting to know women" program before declaring that even he was baffled and beaten. Women are a fantastic blend of beauty, intelligence, daring, wisdom, drive, passion, grace, gentleness, and power that we men are just in awe of them -- or should be.

A couple of examples from my wee momma. When I was about 4 years old there was a village bully that loved to terrorize me. He was 8 years old and approximately the size of a pub. He loved thumping people and I was his favorite thumpee. One day he knocked me down in my back yard and was jumping up and down on my stomach when I heard the cry of the banshee and noticed that his head had just changed shape. A millisecond later I saw the source of both phenomena. My mother had arrived wielding a broom with more skill than Braveheart ever swung his double-handed long sword. She beat that kid off me, out of the yard, and up the street. I never saw him again. Perhaps, he is still running away. When my momma came back to check on me I couldn't speak. She thought it was because that mean ol' kid had stomped me, but the fact was: I was in shock. Who knew my momma had THAT in her???

Truth: I behaved a lot better after then. I mean, I didn't want to set that beastie off and have it run at me next time, did I?

Before I was born, my mother was told that she couldn't have any other children. She'd borne two daughters but her insides were too messed up so they did a procedure on her and told her that that was it; no more kids. She kept telling the doctors, "But I must have a son. I have to have a preacher." So she prayed the prayer of Hannah, promising God that if He gave her a son, she would give him back, dedicating him to Christian service.

Yes, as hard it as might seem to imagine: I am a miracle. However, I had not been consulted on the deal my momma made with God, so I spent the first 35 or so years of my life trying to renegotiate it. I didn't want to be a minister. I didn't even want to be connected with or involved with the church! I got my degrees in science, formed my networks there, and tried to run from God... but momma was praying. And nobody stands a chance against a wee Irish momma's prayers.

So this Sunday I stood up and preached our three morning services. I praised mothers and patted children on the head. I called people to the Lord's table and we shared in communion. I answered peoples' questions about life, Bible versions, child rearing, and Ezekiel. And at the end of the day I laid in bed and thought about my mother. Her health hasn't been very good recently. At 75, she's had a hard life in mission work and her cup has been overflowing with both pain and joy.

And I prayed for momma.

You see, it's my turn, now.