Celebrating My Mom

Today is my mama’s birthday.

A day I wish we were celebrating together with a piece of coconut cake (or two or three) at Biscotti’s rather than apart. I’m missing the everyday comfort and care I felt doing life with my best friend. I wanted to share an excerpt from one of the chapters of the book I’m writing to give you a glimpse into life with Jane Boline.

If you walked into the double doors of Apache Avenue on any given day before Spring 2019, you’d see a well-worn Bible open on the counter and a large silver Yeti cup that never seemed to empty more than halfway.  You’d hear worship music playing, an eclectic mix between Brooke Ligtertwood, Handel’s Messiah, Mac Powell, and CeCe Winans.  You’d spot a journal— or two or three— closed that you wouldn’t dare open. Because if you did, you would find two things: her intimate conversations with Jesus and random doodles all over the margins.

Jane Elizabeth Boline would sweep around the corner after grabbing a fresh bucket of ice from the garage. She would tell her sister or prayer partner, “Oh I’ve got to go!” as she hung up the phone.  She’d turn to you with a bright smile and immediately ask, “how are you?”  Depending on the guest, you would receive a few different follow up responses. 1.  Tell me about ___. 2. Should we go grab something?  3.  What’s your favorite meal recently? (Because she always felt uninspired and unenthused by the daily chore of home-cooked meals)

After a few exchanges, you’d find a spot on the couch together. Probably with a cookie or two in hand.  And somehow that Bible and those journals have found their own spot too. Before you’ve given it a second thought, you’ve unexpectedly revealed the struggle you’re currently having, you’ve laughed about the new Netflix show you found, and you’ve shared something you’re learning.

Not in an instant, but after digesting it, you would realize a few things about spending time with my mom. You experienced peace and joy. You heard encouragement rooted in the Scriptures. You felt seen, heard, and known. You left filled. Not because of the profound words that came out of my mom’s mouth, but because spending time with Jane felt like spending time with Jesus. Because of her proximity to Him in her daily devotion, you got a taste of His radical love for you.

And on June 5, 2019, she entered into His presence and was welcomed into the arms of her first love.

Now that Bible sits on the table by her side of the bed.  It’s closed, collecting dust on a piece of furniture that’s void of the typical clutter of everyday life.  Her journals don’t house any new entries.  The music doesn’t play as often or as loud.  But the presence of Christ lives on in the light that shines through the big windows downstairs and the Bible she placed in the concrete foundation when our home was built.

Many will meet their Creator in Heaven, because of the conversations and observations of my mom’s life on earth. But her life was not easy or perfect. Under her infectious, bright smile and gentle demeanor lay a fierce warrior for Christ. She, like so many of us, was wounded by the world. Through it all, she found freedom in the person and works of Jesus Christ. She spent her life serving humbly with the mission to spread the Gospel in both words and actions. My mom opened her home to let people in; she listened intently without judgment; and she always fought in prayer on her family and friends’ behalf.

So why would God take her from me?

I wrestle with that question often. But, it echoes in my head at FULL volume on a day like today. Firsts are the worst. Yet, somehow we made it through the first holidays and birthdays without her. Lately though, I’ve felt the brutality of the finality of Year Two. The novelty (which seems like too nice of a word) wears off, and the reality sets in that this is it. It’s not just the one celebration or milestone that I have to power through. This is it for the rest of my days on earth. Life without my mom.

Her legacy lives on, but today (and every day), I want her beside me. I’m realizing the thing I miss most about my mom is her friendship. The way she pursued me with thoughtful questions, prayed for me constantly, and paused whatever she was doing to help me. I’m missing being fully known yet fully loved— the way only a mom can, because I’m half her. I miss not having to explain myself, not giving a history for context, or not feeling misunderstood. 

On her birthday, that longing for her companionship makes my heart ache to the point of feeling physical pain. So as I sit here in her favorite spot with a collection of some of her favorite girls, the only thing that brings me any peace is focusing on celebrating her. I don’t have an answer as to why God chose Heaven instead of our home, but I do have a multitude of reasons why I can celebrate my mom.

Today I choose celebrating.

• Celebrating her smile— she always approached people with kindness and a compassionate heart.
• Celebrating her fight— for true freedom in Christ for her people and throughout the aggressive, intensive chemo.
• Celebrating her tenacity— regardless of her circumstances, she believed the best was yet to come.
• Celebrating her laugh— at herself, with me, and at her favorite movie she’d already seen 100 times.
• Celebrating her faith— she loved Jesus first and taught me to do the same.
• Celebrating her friendship— because I wouldn’t be standing if it weren’t for the way she loved me so well. 

In the midst of the missing, I’m celebrating that Jane Boline is my mama. Today and forever. 

xox

ellie