"Be Nicer To Your Mom."

“Be nicer to your mom.”

It was a gentle whisper from the Lord that, broke me, and brought me to tears.

“God help me.”

I had just driven my mom four hours to Corpus Christi for a recovery conference, and it wasn’t until we arrived that I realized we were camping out on the beach.

While I love camping, I wasn’t prepared. I thought we’d be staying at a hotel, so I packed for a hotel.

I wasn’t supposed to be driving my mom, but last minute, she asked if I’d go with her. I didn’t ask questions. I just called in for work and headed out with Mom.

Once we arrived and I realized I was stuck on a beach, the not-so-holy parts of me came out.

“Wait? What? I didn’t know I signed up for this! Mom, you didn’t tell me we’d be staying on the beach!”

She replied, “Well, I told you it was Recovery by the Sea.”

Yes, Mom. There are hotels by the sea. Resorts by the sea.

The disappointment was all over my face and body language.

In the middle of my grown-up tantrum, I started praying. Breathing and praying.

Now that I write this out, I realize this is much of my life — reacting when things are beyond my control and then asking God to help me after I’ve worn myself out. Ha!

Okay, back to the story.

 I had an open wound on my knee, so I couldn’t enjoy the water. I didn’t know anyone at this conference, and I couldn’t pull out my laptop to get work done.

“God, what am I doing here?”

So kindly and gently, He pressed it on my heart.

Serve.

I looked up and saw the hospitality tent. A few men were there grilling meat and making sandwiches.

I said, “Mom, I’m going to go ask if they need any help.”

I walked up.

“Hi, can I help with anything?” They looked at me with smiles.

“Sure!”

“We’re making 300 sandwiches. You can help Jay.”

Jay looked young and strong. As we laid out the slices of white bread and layered the meat and cheese, we talked.

This was a Narcotics Anonymous conference, and Jay shared with me that he was a neuroscientist. He had his master’s degree — more education than me.

 

 

Wow, I thought.

“I’m putting my research on hold for a bit because I know the stress will likely throw me back into addiction.”

So here he was, this highly educated man, making 300 ham-and-cheese sandwiches.

“How long have you been clean?” he asked.

“Uh, I’m actually here with my mom.” I felt the energy shift a bit.

Kind of like, Oh, so you’re not one of us.

We finished making the sandwiches, and then I went to the front of the tent to help pass out the food.

Everyone who walked up was a person doing their best to stay clean just one more day. Some people walked up with missing teeth, black eyes, some looked like professionals you’d never expect would be in recovery, some walked up with children.

 But they were all so happy to be there.

 And then I saw my mom in the crowd with her friend. She looked happy.

And at the same time, I realized she wasn’t one of the young ones anymore.

While my mom is still a firecracker and full of life, there I noticed her age.

And seeing her there took me right back to those meetings when I was a kid.

 

When I was a little girl I was a taken to meetings with my mom, and I hated it.

But my mom was young and vibrant, and she was there doing her best to get her life together. 

She was the beautiful woman with the red lipstick who showed up with rambunctious children who couldn’t sit still.

 We were the reason a sign went up that said something like, “Parents, control your kids!”

I remember one of those meetings, while my mom was inside my brother and I found ourselves outside having the time of our lives in the rain, standing underneath a rain gutter that was pushing out a never-ending fountain of water.

By the time the meeting was over, we were soaked.

But oh man, we were over joyed. 

My mom wasn’t.

Her meeting friends laughed and said, “Kids will be kids.”

She wrapped my brother and me in towels, we loaded up in whatever clunker we had at the time, and we went home.

Back then, I only saw the boring meetings.I didn’t see the sacrifice, the struggle, and the superhero my mom was. 

 

At 26 years old, my mom got sober to take care of my brother and I after CPS took us away.

And now, 35 years later, here we were at this “by the sea” conference.

 

 

The same woman who once showed up to meetings with a couple of wild kids was now standing in a crowd with her adult children in toe. And to make it that much better my brother joined us at the beach too. 

 

 

What I thought would be a disaster turned out to be a God ordained appointment.

I served.

I listened to the speakers.

I even joined in on karaoke night.

On the final night, a man started sharing a bit of his story with me.

He was once homeless and now has a job at a meat processing plant.

“I take the bus every day, I hold the door for people, smile and tell everyone good morning.”

The joy on his face was undeniable.

And then he said something that I’ll never forget.

“I’m so thankful God loves me enough to change me.”

 

Same, friend. Same. 

God is still changing me.

I’ve not arrived.

I’m continually in process. And yes, sometimes that means I even need to be challenged to be nicer. Not because I’m bad, but because I’m human.

Maybe God is still working on something in you, too. Maybe you’re still learning to forgive, let go, not react, or become the person you know God’s calling you to be. 

I’m glad that instead of spending the weekend in a grown up tantrum I let God use this trip to help me slow down. To serve. To see my mom differently. To see people differently. And maybe, most of all, to see how much work He is still doing in me.

 

If you’re still in process, same, friend. Same.

And guess what? We’re okay. We’re better than okay, we’re right where God wants us. 

I love this Bible verse.

Philippians 1:6 (NIV) — “He who began a good work in you will carry it on to completion until the day of Christ Jesus.”

So if you’re still becoming, keep going. Give yourself grace, and give God room to keep changing you.

 

With Love,

Your friend,

Reyna Reyna