I knew a lady who was never invited to the White House, and she would have never been on the top ten list of Who's Who or a guest on Oprah. To most people who happened to pass by her, she would have been considered nothing more than another poor person from the sticks. She was a woman who devoted her life to staying home and raising her children. She was not a modern day sex symbol and would never be nominated as a poster child for the women's lib movement. She had only known one man, one marriage, and she was true to her husband. She pieced scraps of clothing together that others had discarded, and from those strips she made quilts, curtains, clothes and coverings. She saved old pieces of pants to patch other pants when they became holey. She didn't own a matching set of silverware and never owned a set of china. Her plates, saucers, cups and bowls were cracked and chipped, and the place settings for each of her twelve children had a different design. She walked most of her life on plank floors and dusty roads in poorly clad feet or barefooted. She raised a garden each year in ground that had been broken through the tools of the bended, aching backbone and human toil and sweat. She learned how to use scraps from every type of food in order to feed her family. Then, with the scraps from her scraps, she fed God's little creatures. She was godly, honest, humble and wise, but to many she was simply insignificant. After seeing her children raised and living a long fruitful life, her heavenly Father called her home to a just eternal reward. I still remember that time just like it was yesterday. As the people gathered around her casket and later at the home place, they all had stories to tell of how this little insignificant mountain woman had made an impact on their lives. They came from near and far, each one sharing what a blessing this little woman had been to them. They told stories of how she shared food and gave clothing; many of the things given bore the fingerprints of her precious hands and the love of her heart. They told of how she had prayed for them and given them advice on everything from cooking and planting to how to keep love and romance in their marriage. Yes, to many she was just a little insignificant woman, unnoticed on earth, but I believe greatly recognized in heaven. That same little woman prayed for me as a child; she taught me God's Word and sang to me songs of her sweet Jesus. Sometimes people will praise me for some little thing I have done for them and they look at me as a person with strong morals and convictions, a man of honor and dedication. Oh, I am thankful for the compliments, and I would never take them for granted. But I have often reflected on why it is that I turned out like I did. I believe this little insignificant woman is the one mostly responsible for the good that others have discovered in me. Heaven only knows how much she was loved and has been missed. I loved her as well and told her so often while I had the opportunity, but still did not tell her or show it as much as she deserved. I owe so much to this little mountain woman and I am so thankful that God chose to place me in her life. Today, as I thought about mothers, she naturally came to my mind. That woman that some may have thought of as insignificant was very significant to me... you see, that woman was my mom.
© Loyd C. Taylor
AN INSIGNIFICANT SIGNIFICANT WOMAN