Now we make sense of Part I and Part II…
When I came to training camp for The World Race, I still
thought I had things pretty well figured out. The teachings were interesting, but nothing was really new
to me. I already spoke in tongues and had dealings with the Holy S
pirit, and
while learning about seven different ways people relate to God was interesting,
it wasn’t life shattering. It
wasn’t until the third or fourth day when we talked about grieving that something
in me gave way.
After talking about grief and why it’s necessary to process
it, we were asked to question what hurts we hadn’t grieved yet and to go ahead
and mourn those events in our lives.
As I sat there thinking about it, I couldn’t come up with anything. Like I said, by this point I had
everything figured out and thought I had released everything. Then the Holy Spirit began to stir,
“What about your mother?” “What about my mom? I’ve forgiven her.” But as I sat there, something cracked
and as the fissure grew my defenses were not able to hold back the onslaught of
emotions. I started crying, not
really sure what about, but there was no stopping it. After a minute or two one of the women who was coaching c
ame
over and gave me a hug and told me to just cry. So I did, for at least 15 minutes. As I sat there crying on her shoulder it struck me what I
was crying about. This woman was
giving me something I never had in my life: a woman’s shoulder to cry on. My
mom wasn’t there for mom things.
She couldn’t take me shopping and I never wanted to talk to her about
boys. She was never there when I
broke up with a boyfriend, or had a fight with a friend and I certainly didn’t
trust her as an example of a woman of God and to help me walk that path. So that’s what I grieved that day: all
the life experiences a girl goes through with her mom.
During the race as God continued to reveal more of my
wounded heart, I kept coming back to this event. I had grieved what had happened in the past, but that
doesn’t mean that has to be my future.
My mom is thankfully still here and still willing to have a relationship
with me. I recognized the only
thing keeping that from happening was a little pride, and a heart that didn’t
trust her at all. Was it possible
to get past that and to start building that 
relationship?
The only time I really see my mom is Christmas. This year was no different and my mom
came to visit my brother and me in Dallas. I decided before I got off the race
that I wanted to make the effort to trust my mom, and that was going to start
with a conversation. My love
language being quality time and my mother being an avid coffee drinker I
thought what better way to start than with a cup of coffee and a sit down hang
out.
So this Christmas, we sat down at a Starbucks, her with her
Grande decaf mocha, no whipped cream, and me with my Tazo Tea.
I can’t remember
the last time we had a one-on-one conversation, I don’t know that we ever
have. But that day I began the
trusting process. The conversation
was strained at times, and I couldn’t help but notice I busied my hands tearing
napkins and ripping the label off of my second round Izze. But as we talked, my heart yielded to
her. Nothing exciting was said
during those two hours, but the transformation in my heart was monumental. She
ceased to be a stranger that I couldn’t trust and for the first time in my
life, I saw her as my mother, Joyce Connors.
