My mama knew tough times.
Childhood poverty, the Great Depression, and World War II taught her as surely as my grandma's hand rocked the cradle. Together they formed her moral compass.
Even now, bits and pieces of her story are etched in my memory. How she swept their family's dirt floor, an end of day chore; how her feet ached in a big brother's hand-me-down shoes, the soles lined with cardboard inside where holes peeked through; how a dress from flour sack cloth was a grateful step-up from overalls, the faded denim worn by a string of brothers.
My mama knew tough times.
Childhood poverty, the Great Depression, and WWII taught her as surely as my grandma's hand rocked the cradle. Together they formed her moral compass.
Even now, bits and pieces of her story are etched in my memory. How she swept their family's dirt floor, an end of day chore; how her feet ached in a big brother's hand-me-down shoes, the soles lined inside with cardboard where holes peeked through; how a dress from flour sack cloth was a grateful step-up from overalls, the faded denim worn by a string of brothers.
My mama knew lack growing up when strength of character wasn't scarce. She hoped to instill the latter in me.
Strict as a teacher with a wooden ruler, my mother expected good behavior, wise choices. (The afternoon my little neighbor friend and I tap danced all over her 78-RPM records spread like a black shiny floor, wasn't one of them.) But as I grew out of patent leather Mary Jane's and into trendy high heels, Mama was my example, my guide.
Even now, my late mother's compass still points the way. I call it my WWMD moments ("What Would Mama Do?"). Those sticky times when I can choose to do the right thing or just say "it's okay", no one the wiser.
Like the day not too long ago, when two bright yellow canisters of sanitizing wipes stood together on an otherwise barren shelf. My impulse was to hoard them both.
But then the question slipped into view ... WWMD.
Or the time a receipt showed a total for only one meal when there had actually been two. Undercharged, temptation hovered.
But then the whisper ... WWMD.
My mama believed in doing the right thing, even when it wasn't easy.
One story still tugs at my heart, the weight of her choice so apparent.
It was when the Great Depression caught up to her in a young marriage, taking its toll. Single again and with a meager income stretched thin, a tiny boy on her hip, my mother was faced with a distressing decision. When she opened her sealed payroll envelope, she found not one $5 dollar bill, but two stuck tightly together. A week's pay doubled by mistake. And no one knew.
But my mama knew.
This was her WWJD moment. Not what her mother would do, or someone else would do, but "What Would Jesus Do?"
It was her spiritual compass that pointed her to a godly path, even when it hurt.
Now, it's our tough times, our "new normal", and we're all faced with choices. With each one, I hope to pause and ask like my mama used to do.
"WWJD?"
I know my mother would choose to walk by faith.
