There have been many times when I was a child, I was scared of my mom. If I was in trouble; there was a storm in the house and you didn’t know if you would survive. You fear for you life sometimes. I know I did.
A mother’s wrath.
But then, there’s that same…rage…anger…wrath…that is directed to the people that threaten her children. My mom has a “don’t mess with me, I’m from Philly” mentality since she grew up on Philadelphia. And so, not many people dared cross her or her children. You mess with her kids, you messed with her.
Most of the mom’s we know had this attitude.
My mom sure did. As I grew, I always thought this mentality would fade as I hit 18. Oh sure, I was still her baby boy. But, I was a man and in charge of my own destiny. I had to fight my own battles.
Jump to July. The month I found my mother’s wrath.
Between I and my two sisters, we always knew that messing with our mom was a terrible and fatal mistake. You did it and you died. That was the end. However, we never actually seen her in action the way I did in July.
People have crossed us. It happens. And we would see our mom get upset. But, when I told her about the ushering incident and how I was treated that day…there was this…this fire. This explosion of a mix of hurt and anguish and anger.
The person that did this hurtful thing to me was about the feel the heat. I actually had to step in.
Okay, let’s walk through it. I came home from church and I told her what had happened. She was lying down on the couch. She’s a football fan so the game was on. But, she was also about to take a nap as she works the night shift as a nurse and wanted to get her rest.
Now, like I said, she was not really awake. She wasn’t quite sleep either. Still, when I told her what happened, she sat up, looked me in the eye, and said, “Don’t usher anymore” with the most cold…lifeless stare and tone I’ve ever seen from her.
Remember, I’ve been going through stuff with the ministry for quite some time. And each time something would happen to another usher, she would shake her head and say something along the lines of, “They just better not mess with you, or we’ll have a problem.” But, she also cared for the other ushers and she always agreed with me that changes needed to be made.
She doesn’t sugar coat things, not even for her kids. She agreed with me because she did. It made sense.
So, this incident was my last straw, as I said. However, before I could tell her what my reaction was, she told me to quit. So no, I wasn’t influenced by my mother to quit. I already knew I was out. Apparently though, this was as much of a last straw as it was for me.
But, her wrath went deeper than that when I actually told her who did it. She then rattled off three stories of how this same person has caused grief to others. I knew about two of them though so I was aware of this person and I already felt some kind of way.
Still, she had venom for this woman. Venom I’ve never seen before. I don’t know how long this lasted, but it was a long time. She said things about her. She even planned out her next encounter with this woman who did this to her baby boy.
I was scared. Not for me, but for that woman. That poor woman who sealed her fate in my mother’s heart as the devil. In what could be called ironic, I had to step up for my enemy because at this point, my mom was walking around being irrational. Well, not irrational. She was getting there though. I had to calm mom down. I thought she was going to get in the car and destroy this woman with it.
After the dust settled, and she went to sleep, I wrote up my initial reactions of what happened that day. However, only recently…maybe a few days ago, I started to reflect on the events of that day again.
I’m always asked when I’ll be back. Apparently, people missed me at the door. I already talked about the major role I played within the ministry. People I didn’t know, but kinda knew from the door, were wondering what happened to me. I’ve barely told anybody the story. I especially didn’t mention who did it because this person is a highly…HIGHLY respected member of the congregation so things would only get worse. Even in my hurt, I just don’t feel like bad mouthing anybody.
Not yet, anyway.
So yeah, I realized something that day. No matter how old I am, I am still in my mother’s heart. She is still looking out for her baby boy. In her eyes, she’s still going to have my back and will not stand for seeing her son abused in any way.
A mother’s wrath. It’s something fierce.
What can I say? I can tell I have that same fire in me. I’ve been using it on my sisters. I am constantly watching out for them. They’re 19 and 16 right now. I don’t care how old they are, they are my sisters and, as I was told as a little boy when the first sister came home, I am to protect and watch out for them, at least until they find that special someone.