Billie Lynn Wilson

Today would not only be my parents 65th wedding anniversary, it is the anniversary of my mother’s death, March 17, 2002. As is often the case, mom was waiting for a specific day to let go and move on!

My mother was always a wonder to me. She married dad, who was about 4 years older than she, when she was 14. (Or was it 13? So as to help alleviate some of the shock that would occur at her age, she added a year, and only remembered doing so when she applied for a duplicate of her birth certificate so as to apply for some Social Security benefits.) Being the only child left living at home, her sisters were keen on getting her away from an abusive alcoholic father, so had no problem signing on the dotted line, giving her permission to marry. Against all odds, only death parted them—dad having died at age 61, in 1988.

And the odds were against them, especially since dad was reared in a very masculine environment (oldest of 5 sons) and had no clue as to how to relate to a woman. He would often come home from a long hard day of working for his dad, wanting to wrestle. No, “wrestling” was not a euphemism for romance! He wanted to literally wrestle, as he often did with his brothers. Problem was that he usually walked away ticked off because she was such a girl. Go Figure.

Do you know how mom got him to stop? She waited behind a door with weapon in hand. Inspector Clouseau-like, dad comes through the house looking for Mom. (“Cato … Caaaaatooooo?”) WHACK. She hits him up the side of the head with a frying pan! I once asked him if this was apocryphal. “Nope. She laid me out. I was on the floor dazed a good 5 minutes.” Way to go, mom! Not long after this, Dad wisely agreed to marriage counseling. This was in the early 50s when few married couples did such things.

Being married so young, mom only had an 8th grade education. But this didn’t stop her from becoming a highly regarded and sought after bookkeeper. I once had a friend who was a CPA tell me that she knew more about reading financial statements than many of the CPAs he knew.

Mom was also one of the greatest Bible teachers I ever knew. When she told the stories of the Bible it was as if it were happening right then. I use to skip out of my Sunday School class and sit in the back of the one she was teaching.

For mom, the Bible wasn’t merely a book of exciting stories: It was God’s living Word. Her faith was simple, and by that I mean profound. There are sufferings unique to being a pastor’s wife and the mother of four children that she walked through with incredible aplomb and peace.

The attribute I most admired in my mother was her wisdom. Her life-skills were off the charts. There was nothing I couldn’t share with her, nothing I didn’t talk to her about—and some of those things would have scared most mothers to the point of giving them a stroke. Rather than screaming or castigating me, she would always offer faith, hope, love … and very practical advice.

I think one of the reasons she never fainted over any of my confessions was that she believed in me, as she did all of her children. Whenever I was at my lowest, there she was with her belief in who I was, and what I could accomplish in life. She always made me want to be a better man. And she did this, not through ridiculing what I was doing, but by holding up the image she had of me and reminding me of who and what God created me to be and do.

I think the greatest gift a parent can give their children is inexorable love and faith. My parents did this for me, and for that I will ever be grateful.

Copyright, Monte E Wilson, 2010