Janice Crow

Reflections - May 09

I can’t believe I didn’t notice him until he got up to leave the restaurant.He was dining alone at one of my favorite lunchtime haunts.He wore heavy, oversized sport shoes, the kind with those ridiculous “springs” on the sole.His jeans were normal enough, though quite frayed along the hem.His white, button-down shirt was barely visible under a long, black western duster, straight off the cover of Tombstone, and his light brown hair peeked out from under a doo-rag.Over the doo-rag and cocked to one side was, not a cowboy hat, but a stiff, glossy white ventilated straw hat that resembled the type a farmer might have worn out in the cornfield years ago.

As I approached the cash stand behind him, I noticed two large hoop earrings in the left ear and Bluetooth over the right.He paid his check and our eyes followed him as he crossed the parking lot to a decades old rusty white conversion van….not what I was expecting.I have no idea who this fashion plate was, but I do know this:He was a poster child for “identity crisis”.

Was he an ordinary Joe? An athlete? Was he a business man? Was he a cowboy or a pirate? Was he a farmer or a techno savvy urbanite? Or none of the above.Your guess is as good as mine.

As a teenager, I heard time and again about young people who needed to “find” themselves.For all the apparent turmoil around me in that era, I was oblivious to the whole concept of “finding” one’s self.I suppose at times I felt out of the loop, because I couldn’t relate to all the identity issues that seemed to plague my generation.I couldn’t understand what made them search for themselves in a bottle of pills or in a vial of serum.I couldn’t relate to the social rebellion or the promiscuity of the “free love” generation, and I’m glad that I couldn’t.For that, I have my mother to thank.

My mother began to tell me who I was from the time I could first understand her words.She told me that I am a child of God; that I ama citizen of Heaven and that I am only passing through this world.She taught me that I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me.She taught me to respect my body as it was the temple of God.She told me that I was valuable to God and that He cared so much for me that first He made me and then He bought me.She always made sure I knew I was loved and accepted.

I won’t say there weren’t times while growing up that it was convenient to ignore who I was or try to put on airs, but always in my heart I knew the truth and I couldn’t pass off my pretense as “searching”.

I’ve heard the story passed down through the family, how my uncle, trying desperately to make his place in the music world, walked away from the church and everything grandma taught him.He traveled around with his music buddies “searching” for happiness in worldly amusement, but to no avail.He told my mother at one point, “I cain’t have no fun, ’cause there’s always that ole feelin’....you hadn’t ought to be here.” He could pretend, but he knew who he really was, for his mother had taught him, just like mine taught me.And eventually he came back into the fold where he belonged.

My sweet mother is 95 years old, and I am so thankful for her Godly wisdom and guidance through the years, and for teaching me that I am who GOD says I am, and that no one else’s opinion matters.

Happy Mother’s Day, ladies!

Janice