The Moms

I am reminded of your sincere faith, which first lived in your grandmother Lois and in your mother Eunice, and, I am persuaded now lives in you also. 2 Timothy 1:5

In June 2012 I grabbed Anne Lamott's book, Traveling Mercies off of my shelf to take on the long road trip up the California coast to say goodbye to my dear friend, Jina, as we spread her ashes in Yosemite. I had no idea that Anne's book would forever shape my memories of this trip. 

Anne had come to her faith in God as an adult, and without all the prep work of flannel graphs, and Awana's or Caravans, without a purity-culture youth group or Focus on the Family radio dramas and Amish Romance novels. So, she cusses a little. And she says some irreverent things at times. But she offers this very honest un-airbrushed account of her faith journey that I find delightful and endearing.

Despite her nonreligious childhood, she recounts some of those seeds planted early on that us Nazarenes refer to as prevenient grace. And what stood out to me the most was the role of her childhood friends' mothers in sparking her interest in the idea of "someone" out there listening and caring. Her first experience with religion happened when she was five years old, and visiting the home of a Catholic friend. The family brought her along to mass and she was fascinated by these unfamiliar practices. In a separate article on Anne, I remember reading that the warmth and maternal love she experienced from the mothers of her Christian friends continued to pique her interest throughout her formulative years. 

As a young mom myself, first reading this I wondered Am I one of those moms? But also, Who were those people for me? Because whether we're starting from scratch or building off of the foundation of a Christian upbringing, all of us who have grown into a person of faith are probably there in part due to a whole village of influences. Probably a lot of other people's moms. The research of the faith-based organization, "Sticky Faith" has captured the optimal ratio in the phrase "5:1", meaning in life-long faith formation, ideally, kids benefit by being surrounded by a team of 5 adults per kid who are committed to investing in their faith. 

I thought about this statistic as I sat in the car holding Anne's book, somewhere around Lake Havasu. I wasn't sure right away how to narrow my own list down to five, but I knew that one of the names that would be on it was Mrs. Kelsey. 

Margaret Kelsey was the mom of my high school marching band friend, Becky. Becky was one of the few friends who lived within walking distance of my house. She was likeminded in many ways and much better at math than me so I spent a lot of time over there during high school and the first part of college for some extra help on math and also to fix all the world's problems together. But I never felt like their family's Kimmy Gibbler (Full House reference). Mrs. Kelsey always engaged in conversation with me, asked questions and expressed an interest in how I was doing. Her life was built around her Catholic faith, not the other way around, and I loved hearing her talk about volunteer work she was doing or what she was thinking about different spiritual matters. It was obvious it wasn't just a piece of her life; it shaped it. It filled her with compassion and a genuine attitude of hospitality and inclusivity. 

Throughout early adulthood milestones Mrs. Kelsey remained a steady touchpoint, and that familiar welcoming face in a crowd at bridal showers, baby showers, weddings and baptisms. And then, as most friendships do once spouses and kids arrive, I saw less and less of Becky for a while and therefore less and less of her mom. The last real conversation I had with her happened a little over ten years ago, I think. Becky was pregnant with her third baby. Actually, Becky and I were pregnant at the same time, and my baby died sometime around my 16th week of pregnancy. The pain was still so fresh when I received the invitation to the baby shower. I shuffled it around piles of mail and paperwork for weeks before I could dial Mrs. Kelsey with my RSVP. 

As she answered the phone, I took a deep breath and as robotically as I could muster, I thanked her for the invitation but let her know that unfortunately I would be "unable to attend."

"Of course, Christy...I was so sorry to hear what happened..."

And with that the women who'd always made me feel welcome, welcomed me to talk about the elephant in the room. And how I must simultaneously want to be included and yet it was too painful sometimes. And I don't remember what else we talked about, but I remember that when I hung up I felt the grace wash over me. The feeling that there wasn't a "right and wrong" way to respond, and that while I might have been just fine had I gone to the shower, it was also just fine not to. I was loved. 

After seeing so little of each other for years, Becky and I now have kids in the same choir and musicals and have probably seen more of each other these past few years than we had in the ten years prior. When my dad died two and a half years ago, Becky shared with me that her mom had early onset dementia and not long after that conversation she went into memory care. A few days ago, I sat in Mrs. Kelsey's church for the first time and listened as the priest talked about her unwavering faith. In a very literal and metaphorical way he talked about how even as the end draw close and she didn't comprehend everything happening or remember the names of the people she loved most, they could tell she knew Jesus when they brought him to her, and she would reach for and receive him. And I reflected on the fact that even in her death, and even after my own salvation experience, journey in sanctifying grace, ordination and established position in my church, she was still influencing my faith development as an adult in new ways.

I guess that's why I've been so introspective this weekend. Our interactions were small but profound. What small but profound interactions do I take for granted?  God has given me the same opportunities as somebody's friends' mom. I have the same choices Mrs. Kelsey had. I can treat the friends my boys bring over like strangers who take up space, make noise and eat my snacks. Or I can model gentleness, patience, care and concern. I can be part of another mom's 5:1 village or I can forfeit the opportunity. How I use my seemingly forgettable choices to create a safe and welcoming space might matter in ways I will never really know.