We had the privilege of having my mom up for Mother's Day. She's been my mom now for thirty-seven years—over twice as long as my birth mother, who died when I was fifteen. Mom came into our lives at a very difficult time for us as a family. Mamma had battled cancer for three years, fighting valiantly with an undying faith, but lost the physical battle—only to find herself breathing an ethereal air. Dad was serving a church that had gone through fifteen pastors in thirty years firing over half of them and now was being brought before the church board soon after Mamma's death so that they could fire him as well. I was floundering in an overwhelming grief pulling me ever downward as I grew more rebellious with each day.

Mom stepped into the middle of this mess of a family. Her presence wasn't easy for me, the only one still at home, nor for my brother and sister; nor was it easy for her. After I graduated from high school, Mom and Dad returned to Japan as Covenant missionaries and I began five years of extremely wild living at the University of Washington in Seattle. My philosophy of life was summed up in a quote by Jack London affixed to my refrigerator with a magnet: "I would rather be a superb meteor, every atom of me in magnificent glow, than a sleepy and permanent planet." I was determined to go out with a fiery glow.

I almost got my wish. I sustained a severe head injury, a direct result of a night of binge drinking, leaving me in the hospital unable to speak. The doctor said he didn't think that I was going to live—but if I did, I would never talk again. After a long seven days in the hospital in which the Lord Jesus met me, healed me and beckoned me home, Mom and Dad invited me to live with them in Olympia. I was broken—utterly broken by my own hand. Mom and Dad responded with sheer grace—accepting me even though I had so used them.

Later the next Spring, after returning to school at the Evergreen State College, I heard the call to ministry—to return to Japan! At the breakfast table with Mom and Dad, I shared my dream. Mom's eyes welled up with tears, and a look came over her face as if she already knew. I asked her, "Mom, did you already know?" "Yes," she replied. "Back in 1977, I was so worried about you. I was in prayer for you when the Lord spoke to me and said that he was going to draw you into his service. I've hung on to that promise all these years!"

Over the 30 years since, we've become the best of friends! She has stood by Nancy and me, loved and supported us, giving us the best of her wisdom. She is Gramma to our daughters. Sometimes people will say, "Isn't she your stepmom?" "No, she's my Mom!" I've been blessed with two wonderful mothers, neither one of whom could take the other's place! I am so thankful to Jesus that Mom stepped into the storm of our lives, being an anchor for my Dad, and eventually an anchor for the rest of us as well! Thank you, Mom! May God richly bless your life each day!

(My mother died on September 18th, 2021, at the age of ninety-six—after having lived with us for three years and nine months. She was my mother for forty-six years, over three times as long as my birth mother, Mamma. I am grateful for Mom's life—while she was with us on this earth, and now in glory, in the presence of her Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ.)