Between Them

Between them, they have three children, six grandchildren, and eleven great-grandkids.

Between them, they have run a business, which helped a lot of young people learn what a good work ethic looks like.

Between them, they have mentored many through coaching baseball, living their faith at work, and teaching classes and small groups at church.

Between them, they have health issues that have slowed them down.

Between them, they have also suffered through the death of parents, siblings, friends, and grandchildren.

Between them, there is the strength of over sixty years of marriage.

Between them, there is a deep abiding faith that gets them through the darkest night.

Between them is where I needed to be.

As I drove up Interstate 85 yesterday, there was a need deep inside my soul to be between them. I arrived at their church at 9:00, and my heart sank when I didn’t see their car. I called her phone, no answer. I called his phone, which she answered.

Me: Are you guys coming to church?

Her: Yes.

Me: Well you’re late.

Her: Where are you?

Me: Sitting in the parking lot outside your church! Don’t ya’ll start at 9?

Her: (With laughter in her voice) They changed it to one service during the summer and it starts at 10. Here talk to your daddy. (As she hands him the phone) She’s at the church waiting on us.

Him: Look for the guy that looks like Uncle Philip (James), and we’ll be there in about 20 minutes.

I went on in, found James and Colleen and a few other folks I used to go to church with and waited for them to arrive.

Time for church.

For those who may not know, church has been a hard spot for me since Michael died, especially worship. I love God with all my heart, but lately, we’ve not been on great speaking terms. I’m gonna stop right here and say this loud for all the people in the back…

**GOD’S NOT MAD AT ME FOR IT!**

Now that I’ve cleared that up, let’s continue.

We went in and I sat between them. Dad on my right, mom on my left. I can’t tell you the last time I sat between them in church, but I can tell you it’s probably been over 40 years. And the worship began. I knew the song, but when I try to sing, the words get stuck in my throat. And then something beautiful happened, I could hear mom on my left pouring her song to the Father and I could dad to my right pouring his song to the Father. And as they sang their worship, mine became a little easier. The weight of anger and bitterness toward well-meaning people who say well-meaning things that stab like a knife when you’re in the midst of grief, started to be lifted. The weight of anger and bitterness toward God (see ** above!), started to be lifted. As the tears flowed unabated down my cheeks, I felt a shift.

Between them, they showered me with grace.

Between them, they showed me understanding.

Between them, they poured, through their worship, a healing balm over some gaping wounds.

Between them, they are loving me back from one of the darkest places I’ve ever been.

Between them, I am loved right where I am.

Between them, I am seen.

Progression From Sister Wendow to Mama Wendy

Original post 8/5/2015

In 2006, at 40, I set out on a journey to Ethiopia with a group of about 20 people who had never done a missions trip, much less traveled to an underdeveloped country. One of my spiritual mamas, Shirley, and one of my spiritual dads, David, led the trip.

Some of the funniest moments from this trip involved Shirley and her desire to make sure that she brought all of us back home! If she counted her group once, she counted us a thousand times! Every time we moved, she counted us. When we got on the plane, she counted us. If we went to the bathroom or sneezed, she counted us. By the end of the trip, we were all saying we were going to buy her a stick like the little shepherd boys had and then she wouldn’t need to count us but could smack us on the backside to keep us together!

Anyway! Away from that rabbit trail! When we arrived at the orphanage, I became known as sister Wendow. You see, in their language, they didn’t have the “dy” sound, but a “doe” sound, so, sister Wendow it was. I liked this! I was the cool sister! Even though I was old enough to be their mom, I wanted to be the cool sister. The one that played with the kids and made silly faces. The one that didn’t have to make the grown-up decisions. It was great!

Move ahead to 2011 and my first trip to South Africa. By now I’m 45, but I still get to be the silly, lay on the ground, and pretend I’m a crocodile, sister figure. Honestly, I wanted to be the cool sister figure or the cool Auntie figure because I wasn’t “old” enough to be the mama figure. The sister and the auntie don’t have to make serious decisions and talk to you about growing up. They just get to be the one that loves you and makes you laugh. Besides, I have two children at home who call me mom, I don’t need anyone else calling me mom! (March 22, 2024…Boy was I wrong about that point!)

The next step is 2012, 46 years old, and the year that things begin to change. Thuli, the pastor’s wife in Mbonisweni, told me I reminded her of her mom, always smiling. On the way back to Joburg, we stopped halfway for the potty break that was supposed to a 10-minute stop. 10 minutes drifted into 20 minutes and we were wondering what in the world we were waiting for. Come to find out, we were waiting for Thuli and Sthembiso to meet us to say goodbye. The moment Thuli hugged me she said, “I’m going to miss you, Mom!” Oh, man!

As we climbed into the shuttle, I remember thinking, “I don’t want to be known as the mom, I want to be known as the cool auntie!” Immediately I heard the following words from the Lord, “Do not discount being called mom in this country.” This was such a sweet correction and an absolutely profound moment in my life.

Having grown up with my mom always in my life, I had no idea the depth of hurt, confusion, and pain that come with a life where no mama is there to wrap you in their arms and tell you it’s all going to be okay. No one to kiss the little, and big, boos boos that come with life. No one to role model what it’s like to be a mama. No one to ask the hard questions to. Questions like, why don’t I have a father or why do I have HIV?

With that one sweet, “I’ll miss you, Mom,” my role shifted. I realized that there is a sweetness to being called mama by those that you didn’t birth into this world. I’ve also begun to wonder how Sarah felt knowing she was going to be the mother of a nation. The weight of responsibility is staggering and yet….

God called me to be a mama.

To love unconditionally, to speak hard truths, and to make hard decisions. He has called me to kiss the broken and tell them it’s all going to be okay. He has called me to role model what being a mama is like. He’s called me to answer the hard questions. He’s called me to sit and listen to the cries of those who are adopted. He’s called me to listen to the cries of the sick and He’s called me to tell them that they have a Father that loves them so much that He sent His only Son to a cross.

God called me to be a mama!

Fast forward to March 22, 2024, and I still have those who call me Mama Wendy. They are scattered all over the world and I may not hear from them every single day, but when I do, my heart smiles when I hear them say, “Hey Mama Wendy!”

Jesus Walked

No, we are not going to talk about the song Kanye wrote. We are, however, going to talk about something my neighbor Vikkie and I talked about yesterday.

When Brett and I were looking for an apartment closer to his work, we never imagined what God had in store for us, but God knew and he gave us Vikkie and Zoe. Zoe is a young woman who is not so wrapped up in herself that she doesn’t see the ones around her and she will do anything she can for her neighbors. Zoe checked on me many times after I had my ankle surgery. When I was finally able to get around, I took my books and went to have breakfast and study. When I got home, she happened to be outside and she would not let me carry my backpack up the steps. To Zoe’s mom, you raised an incredible young lady and her neighbors are glad she lives in our building!

And now to Vikkie! God knew I would need Vikkie and she would need me. It was not long after Vikkie moved in that I saw a bougainvillea plant on her patio. When I stopped to introduce myself, I learned she had lived and taught art in Kenya. Our friendship was quickly forged with talks about our beloved Africa. Vikkie currently has her hands full taking care of her beautiful mom, Ms. Addie. As Brett and I have walked this road, we have assured her that if she needs us, we are here. As many of you will know, Brett can put anything together, and most of the time he does it in less time than the instructions say and he doesn’t read the instructions! We all laughed when Vikkie realized I wasn’t lying about his ability! She and I both said it would have taken us all day to put something together that took him 30 minutes! At this point you’re probably asking, what does this have to do with Jesus walking? Let me tell you!

Christmas Eve and Christmas Day, I went down to help Vikkie with Ms. Addie. We sang songs as we scooted her up in the bed and then Vikkie and I sat down to chat a bit. She had a National Geographic magazine opened to a map showing the areas where Jesus walked…see, I told you I’d get there! Anyway! According to the map, there were times when Jesus walked nearly eight miles to get where he needed to be. Vikkie and I took a moment to try and figure out how far eight miles would be for us. Eight miles would be from our apartment to Friendly Center…not something I would want to walk, but Jesus did it to fulfill the purpose God had given him for the day. In his walking, Jesus would have left footprints wherever he went. Vikkie said while she was looking at the map she began to wonder, “What kind of footprint am I leaving?” I have asked that question many times since 2020. Since coming home, I have often asked the Lord, “Am I making a difference?” And then it happened! The Lord used Vikkie to confirm that I am exactly where I am supposed to be, doing what I am supposed to be doing.

As often happens when we chat, our conversation spiderwebs and today it spiderwebbed to the picture above her mantel.

Remember I told you Vikkie is an artist? Y’all she is an incredible artist and although she didn’t paint this one, she did say she wanted to. I laughed and said, “Can you make baby Jesus a little darker?” And her reply brought tears to my eyes. She looked me straight in the eyes and said, “No. Because when I look at that picture I don’t see the color of the skin that Jesus is wrapped in. Just like I don’t see the color of skin you’re wrapped in. What I see when I look at that picture is you, wrapped in Jesus, making a difference in our lives. You are leaving a footprint and it is beautiful.” Cue waterworks!

As I’ve heard many a minister say, “I’m not bragging on me but on what God has done.” Well, I’m not bragging about me, but about what God has done. God has taken a group of people who are as different as night and day and brought them together as neighbors. Every single one of us looks past the skin that we are wrapped in and sees the beautiful person we are on the inside. And each of us is leaving our footprint on those around us and those in our community. We may not walk eight miles like Jesus, but we walk up and down stairs to take care of one another.