I know. I know. I should be thrilled. It’s Mother’s Day again. And I am, to a certain extent. Oh, sure, my boys eventually get around to calling me. I raised them right. On Mother’s Day, you celebrate your mother. The woman who gave birth to you, or, in the case of two of our sons, the woman who helped raise you. But ya know, they’re boys. They don’t rush. GASP! You say. Naw, not really. I’ve never been big on Hallmark holidays or movies, for that fact.

But this is my conclusion. My lack of enthusiasm for the Hallmark holidays goes back—way back. My family lived on the other side of the tracks. Oh, before you get out your little baby violin and start to squeak it, hear me out. My parents provided well for me. Whatever I wanted to attempt a hand at, my mother found a way to help me experience it. My mom was the quintessential mom. She was a super Girl Scout leader, leading our troop to be one of the top two in the nation for twelve years. Kids came to our house because of my mother. She loved them all. Mom loved/s me. But my dad was a laborer. His pay was weak, and his savings were slim.

Here's the thing. I never knew that. Not until I was a teenager. When holidays rolled around, outside of Christmas, there was no big hoopla. I might wake up to a chocolate bunny on Easter and a few colored eggs, but I only remember one fancy, schmancy basket, and I remember it because Mom had a picture. That’s how little I was. I had beautiful clothes. My mother made every stitch of them. I didn’t have a closet full of shoes. I had a pair of patten leather Mary Janes, and a pair of tennies. At one point, I had a pair of saddle oxfords, not for cheerleading, but rather to help me stop walking on the inside of my feet. I experienced so much because my mother was such a creative Girl Scout leader. Our troop earned the money to do amazing things. And, when I wanted to learn to roller skate, I used the skates at the rink for several years before I got a pair of shoe skates for Christmas. I still have those skates, by the way.

My point is I never knew my parents didn’t have a lot of money to spare because they were creative, and they raised me to be grateful for the little things. I learned a lot about how my Father in Heaven provides NEEDS, not wants. I always had everything I needed, and my folks made a big deal about those provisions. Every one was a celebration. Homemade birthday cakes that were cut into shapes of animals or trains, and party hats that were saved from year to year were wonderful memories. Sweet clothes and the perfect amount of toys. I learned to use my imagination. IMAGINE that! I didn’t “draw an allowance.” If I needed money, I had to ask, and if it was there, I could have it. If not…well. It wasn’t there. But I never felt like I had to do without.

I was in the band, and I remember my mother purchased my clarinet “on time.” It took her two years to pay off $8 a month. I know this because when we were cleaning out her house, we found all her old checkbooks and bank statements (I know, she kept them all). Looking through them, I saw that she paid Joseph’s Music Center $8 a month. When I wanted to learn horseback riding, mom made fun frogs from scrap material and filled them with bird seed. They were so cute, but I had to sell them to earn the $3 a week it cost to take riding lessons. You see, I always had what I needed to learn and experience life.

As an adult, and a divorced adult with two babies at home, there was no extra money. I literally saved my quarters so I could buy the boys Pez for special occasions. Pez used to cost 50 cents. To this day, I still buy my boys Pez. They’re in their 40s, but it’s a fun memory of what love is. I never encouraged my kids to buy cards, flowers, or candy because I simply did not have the money as a divorced mom, for them to do so. Hallmark holidays were downplayed. So, why would I expect my boys, as adults, to lavish me with cards and gifts? A phone call warms my heart. Hearing their voices when they live far away is all I need.

Today is Mother’s Day, and I bought my mom, who will be 98 this year, a card. She lives in a tiny two-room assistive living apartment, so she doesn’t have room for junk, nor does she want it. But her walls are covered in pictures. So, I’ll print a photo and put it in her card. I guarantee that will mean more to her than any bouquet of flowers.

I was raised in gratitude. My parents provided well for me. I never did without, and I had everything I needed. I didn’t miss an overabundance of “stuff.” I had toys, but I had big refrigerator boxes that made great sleds and cool houses. I had a bicycle that took its share of beatings as I raced it, jumped it, and rode it like a wild woman down our very steep gravel driveway. I had metal skates with a key that sorta stayed on my shoes as I skated in our basement. I was raised with creativity and joy. And when I turned 16, my Dad got me a car. I found out when we cleaned out Mom’s house that he emptied the tiny savings account he and Mom had saved for me at $2 a month to buy my car. The receipt for the Grand Torino Sport was there, too. $2598.99 from Anderson Ford and the passbook from Kingsport Savings and Loan. I had to get a job to pay the gas and insurance, but jeepers, Dad got me a car at 16. It seems you need one if you’re gonna work—a means to an end. So, I worked at a restaurant three nights a week and Saturdays in between band practices and trips.

Hallmark moments aren’t much in my life—but those little things, man…the little things are cherished. One of my boys brought home a Mother’s Day bear with a Hershey Bar. One will call sometime today. Two will text. And with every response, my heart will be warmed. My kids love me, and that is all I need. Funny, isn’t it? I still have all I need.

To all my MOM friends, I wish you a joyful Mother’s Day. I pray that you will enjoy your children and if there is strife, try to make it right. Forgiveness is an amazing thing. Be grateful for the opportunity to harbor those babies in that special place, to be chosen to rear them, and to be brave enough to watch them soar. And to my Mom. I love you so much. Without you, I wouldn't be the person I am today. Happy Mother's Day.

I was recently reminded when our minister, during his sermon, sang a quick verse from Deep and Wide. You remember that song from Sunday School, don’t you? I loved it as a child, and when my kids were small, seeing who could out-scream the other while singing the song led to my current need for hearing aids. The point is, it was such a fun little song. A sweet memory.

The song has tumbled around in my head ever since. I’ve had this sinus infection/crud for almost two months, so, I’ve changed the words from Deep and Wide to Sick and Tired. You know:

 Sick and tired. Sick and tired. I’ve blown my nose until it bleeds.                                                                                               Sick and tired. Sick and tired. I’m sick and tired of this cold.

Apparently, I’m not the only one who’s fought this battle of Kleenex and over-the-counter meds, either.  Seems tons of folks are singing my revised version of Deep and Wide. Still, I keep on dragging through the day, doing what needs to be done, hacking and blowing, and occasionally dropping onto the couch for a Rip Van Winkle time.

In fact, when the Prince finally came down with the crud, I moved into the guest room, vowing not to return to my own bed until I could go a few hours without hacking or blowing my nose – and right here at Christmas.

That brings me to my point. Despite the crud, I have much to be joyful about. For example, God’s provision. The Prince’s meds are $900 a month. Quite a sum on a small retirement pension, but while we were incarcerated at the UT MED CENTER when he had that life saving surgery this summer, we met up with a sweet gal named Tabitha. Now, Tabitha came to us through UT Med so I can say our incarnation was not all bad. She took hold of Tim’s meds and said, “I’ll get these for you at no cost for the remainder of 2023.” And low and behold, SHE DID.  So, as we sat staring at the oncoming of 2024, we wondered, if this blessing was a one shot wonder.

We began to pray, Lord, provide. And what happens, but a text from Tabitha, then a phone call, and then an acceptance letter from the pharmaceutical company approving the Prince for 2024. No cost. Well, that made me cry.

Then, we got a letter from UT that said, oh, by the way, the insurance didn’t pay this final $1200. I nearly hit the floor. I sent a note to a couple of my true prayer warriors, and they began to pray. We prayed. Friday, I picked up the phone to call UT and see if we could make payments on that $1200. Here’s how the conversation went:

“Can you give me that account number again?” (computer keyboard typing sounds)

“I’m sorry, Ms. Sproles. May I put you on hold for a minute?” (never a good sign when they want to put you on hold, but I said yes.) In the meantime, I thought I’d throw up. Would they come back and say the $1200 was a mistake…it was really $12,000? Our minds always go to the worst first.

But in a few minutes, the gal came back and said, “I can’t explain this, Ms. Sproles. Did you contact the insurance company?”

“No, I just called you.”

“Well, we didn’t either. But apparently, the insurance company reopened your claim this week (notice she said, THIS WEEK), and there is a note that says, “Insurance should have paid.” They cut a check, and your amount is paid in full. It beats me.”

I burst into tears. “It doesn’t beat me,” I sobbed into the phone, “We’ve just had a THREE KINGS MOMENT. We’ve been praying that God would provide because we didn’t have that kind of cash. God has provided. God has provided.”

The girl was quiet, and then I heard her sniff. “Merry Christmas, Ms. Sproles.”

“Merry Christmas, indeed,” I said.

Twice this past week God provided.

I’ve been rewatching the first two seasons of “The Chosen,” and despite those who advocate against Dallas Jenkins in this production, I cannot personally deny how soul-touching it is for me. I watched the episode about Nathaniel. Of course, they take creative license, but their creativity is not so “out of the park” that it couldn’t have happened. And in this scene, Nathaniel fails in his dream job. The one job he’d long to do since he was a child – and he failed. He sits under a fig tree and calls out to God, “I did this for you! Do not turn your face from me at my time of need. Do you see me?”

I must admit, this scene resonated with me this past week as I cried out to God to provide. Please do not turn your face from me. Do you see me?”

In the next few minutes of this episode, Nathaniel meets Jesus and Jesus says to him, “When you were under the fig tree, I did not turn my face from you.” Nathaniel is stunned with disbelief. Jesus goes on to tell him, “I saw you, Nathaniel. I saw you.”

To say that I turned my head into my pillow and sobbed is an understatement because, at that moment, God spoke to me. “Cindy, I did not turn my face from you. I saw you.” He did hear and see me, and in His loving kindness, God provided for us.

We take so much for granted. Our worlds consist of making provisions for ourselves, and we miss the moments when the car battery didn’t turn over on the first try but did after the third. We overlook the meals we enjoyed at home with family because we couldn’t go to a restaurant or the tender, unexpected card we got in the mail when our hearts were sad. The moment we find the keys we misplaced in just the nick of time. We miss so much, and even when we do, God does not turn His face from us.

I am so far from being what He calls me to be and I’m learning that in every breath, He sees me. In every failure, He sees me. Every success, He sees me and smiles. God sees me.

Despite my ongoing cold, I’ve decided not to change the words to Sick and Tired. Instead, I will sing to the top of my lungs (my children taught me well):

Deep and wide. Deep and wide. There’s a fountain flowing deep and wide.                                                        Deep and wide. Deep and wide. There’s a fountain flowing deep and wide.

Photo 1 - Image by 12138562O from Pixabay; Photo 2 – Image by WOKANDAPIX from Pixabay; Photo 3 – Image by David Gonzalez from Pixabay; Photo 4 – The Chosen Logo, Angel Studios