A True Champion

I’d like to introduce you to my hero. She’s a woman who grew up in poverty, lost her mother when she was just a child, lived through years in an abusive marriage, suffered the pain of divorce and endured too long at a job she didn’t like to pay the bills and raise her only child alone. She exemplified mercy and grace in a racially divided town where opportunities were small and the people were smaller. In her lifetime she’s buried her mother, sister, father and granddaughter. She wasn’t brought up to think very highly of herself and spent most of her life in the shadows of past regrets. She’s never been regarded highly by this world but she never lost faith in the God who regards her much higher than this world. She’s the one who introduced me to Him when I was a child and established my heritage. I'm here to tell you, if Lifetime made original movies about people who love Jesus, my mother would be a shoe-in. Since they don't, it's up to me to tell her story.

If you were to ask her if she’s ever done anything extraordinary she’d roll her eyes, scoff under her breath and say “of course not!” And she’d absolutely believe it to be true. But I beg to differ. I could write a book about all the ways she is my hero and maybe one day I will. But for now, I’ll just let you in on a few of her most remarkable accomplishments.

I was raised in Selma, Alabama. It's a town where racism is as common as rain. It’s where the civil rights movement was born in the 1960’s and the bitterness on both sides over what occurred there have to this day never been forgotten. Even in the churches in the 70's, segregation was the written rule. I vividly remember during one Sunday night service watching a friend of mine and his family enter our sanctuary. His name was Carl and we were in the 5th grade together. I tried to wave as he passed by but he never looked at me. He walked straight to the front row with is mom and sister. Just as they were seated I watched several of our deacons approach them, take them by the arm and lead them out. You see, our church had a “closed door” policy. No blacks aloud. Ever. And we weren’t the only ones. Most churches in town had the same rules. But it made me sad and angry. You know why? Because race was never an issue in our home. I simply never saw a difference because my mom didn’t allow me to. She would tell me in no uncertain terms that what our church was teaching was wrong. She did the same when we would hear people use disparaging words in everyday conversation. One word in particular that to this day makes my skin crawl and blood boil. Racism wasn’t taught in our home the way it was to so many of my friends. As a matter of fact, my best friend in school was a sweet girl named Brenda. She was black and I was white and that fact never even occurred to me. My mother managed to raise me in Selma, AL without an ounce of bigotry or hatred. It’s kind of like today’s equivalent of raising a kid in Hollywood without a drug addiction. Simply unheard of.

I’ve made no secret of my relationship with my dad and his struggles with alcoholism. I remember hearing at a very young age that his “disease” was genetic and being terrified of it. It would be easy to believe that fear is what kept me from following his path but I know better. My mom couldn’t shield me from the effects of my father’s behavior so she did the only thing she could do, which was the best thing. She prayed. She prayed for me and the man that I would one day marry. She prayed that alcohol would have no place in my family. And God was faithful. I have no doubt that the family I’ve been blessed with is a direct result of my mother’s faithfulness to intercede for me when I didn’t even know I needed it. Today she has a wonderful husband in my step-father but the effects of my father's mistakes still linger. I have no doubt her prayers are now on behalf of Lydia and I am forever grateful.

Mom never had a cheerleader in her life. There was no one to make her feel special growing up. Most people tend to take what they’ve been given and pass it on to their kids, so you’d think she would have carried on the lineage of discouragement but she didn’t. There wasn’t a day of my life my mom didn’t tell me how special I was. I didn’t necessarily believe it but I knew she believed it. There was barely enough money most of the time to pay the bills and buy groceries so looking back I have no idea how she gave me all that she did. I had Barbie dolls, records, books, piano lessons, voice lessons, majorette costumes, pageant gowns and 4 years at a Christian college. She’s given me every opportunity in life she never had. I haven’t always been appreciative or gracious but that never stopped her. In many ways I am living out the life my mother desired and deserved. I remember her telling me as a child that God gave me to her so she'd finally have somebody who loved her. I am honored He chose me.

There’s nobody on earth I respect more than my mom. Today is her birthday and knowing that money is tight, she made me promise I wouldn’t buy her a gift. I decided instead to honor her here today and finally give her a blog name. (It is, after all, the gift that keeps on giving.) Her maiden name was Champion and I’ve always thought that was fantastically appropriate so I’ve decided to call her “Champ”. Hopefully when she sees it here she’ll be reminded that she really is a winner. She’s faithfully prayed for me every day of my life, loved me at my most unlovely moments and passed a legacy of faith and courage down to me that has seen me through my darkest days. It is my nature to write things better than I can say them out loud. Mom, I hope you've heard me loud and clear. Happy Birthday Champ! I love you. (Philippians 3:13-14)