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What a summer. Debbie and I experienced our 27th anniversary. Our baby graduated from high school. Our middle and oldest sons sat beside us, leaving us wondering how so many years passed so quickly.

These events are occurring in an interesting place, too. After living in Orlando, Florida, for many years, we moved to Georgia two years ago as I said yes to a career change. Georgia: Her hills, her seasons, her country cooking, her friendly atmosphere, her southern accent. Georgia. A place I grew up, a place I never planned to call home again. Georgia. The place my mother taught me life.

I often ride by the two houses we lived in during my early days. The house in Elberton, Georgia – the granite capital of the world – is a house where I learned how to live. Mama made breakfast every morning. Those scrambled eggs did not cause us to worry about cholesterol. She covered them in grits and sat the sausage and toast beside them, placing the orange juice nearby. For so many years, I ate so many calories and loved each one.

But she added more to the atmosphere than the smell of breakfast. She sang. She smiled. She laughed. She told truth through the telling of stories. She spoke words of encouragement. She cheered for the Braves. Through her, I learned so much. She did not just prepare a meal for my taste buds to enjoy. She cooked life principles, served them with ingredients of kindness and humility and compassion, and kept their flavor fresh.

I also visit the house in Franklin Springs – the place of miracle water. I drive by, slow down, stop, stare. Mama’s not there. The flowers she planted, the basketball goal where I would shoot and hear my mother’s applause from her kitchen window, our walkways, our stereo, our laughter: Gone. All gone.

She died when I was 19. But her life lives on – the laughter she taught me, the prayers she prayed, the Scripture she believed, the joy she held, the hope she carried. She is not in the old home in Elberton. The solid granite truth she taught me is still stable, though; I cannot forget I was made in the image of God, He loved me enough to send His Son, sins are forgiven, and laughter does good like a medicine. She is not in the home of my teenage years. The living water surges on, though; her servant leadership continues flowing like streams directed by God.

I miss her. I want her here. But she is where she needs to be.

What can I carry on? How can my grow-up-too-quickly sons benefit from the grandmother they never met? I can seek to carry on the love to our sons that she gave to me. Every morning at the table, every afternoon, every game, every nighttime prayer. Every meal, every conversation, every mistake.

When my emotions and desires and struggles could have lured me in dangerous directions, she was a solid foundation in a culture of indecisiveness. Fickle lifestyles miss out on the glory and grace of consistency and stability. I was fortunate to have a mama speaking to me through her Georgia words, but also through her character, her steadiness, her honest faith. Like secure granite embedded deep into the ground of life, Mama never wavered – cancer did not destroy her faith; death did not defeat her legacy. She was steadfast, unmovable, always abounding in the words of the Lord (1 Corinthians 15:58).

She was also a mother who lived like living water. Many years ago, people visited Franklin Springs, Georgia, from all over the world. They hoped a sip, a shower, or a soaking from the springs might heal them. Healthy water can do that. It washes the body clean. It serves as cleansing sustenance when swallowed. Mama’s words had a way of doing that also. Like a river flowing in motion, her gentle correction, consistent kindness and appropriate laughter moved the currents from family conflict to understanding, from relational tension to calmness. She had a way to surge like streams of living water.

Remembering her reminds me of her character. Seeing the places where we ate together, watched games together and prayed together reminds me of her consistency. As my mama and my spiritual coach, she mentored me toward victory.

She helped me become who I needed to be. And now, living on the old home front, I pray I do it. Especially at times like this.

Chris Maxwell serves as campus pastor and director of spiritual life at Emmanuel College after pastoring a congregation in Orlando, Florida, for 19 years. He is the author of two books: Beggars Can Be Chosen and Changing My Mind. He also writes Faith Cafe curriculum, has written more than 1,000 articles, and speaks often for the Epilepsy Advocates, churches, colleges, writers’ conferences and spiritual formation retreats. Chris and his wife, Debbie, have three sons: Taylor, Aaron and Graham. Visit his website at www.chrismaxwellweb.com.

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