Like Mom

I've been told I am like my mom twice.

The first time I took it as a compliment.  My mom was organized, efficient, a super multitasker, and loving.  That woman could make a list and get it done like nobody's business.  And at the end of the day, despite any butting of heads, I knew she loved me; she told me so.

The second time, I stopped in my tracks.  Maybe this was not a compliment after all.  My mom had trouble pushing past the dark.  She had an addictive personality.  She was rigid and needed things done her way and in her time.  {Someone I love calls that putting the process before the people.}  She yelled when she was angry or frustrated.  She hated asking for help or appearing weak.
 

The hard thing is I am like her.  I am rigid.  I love a list.  I have trouble with the dark.  I yell.  I ...

But the better thing is I have something she didn't.  I recognize my weakness but I'm not afraid to call out for help.  The help I seek is eternal.  I continually go back to the worn pages of Philippians and Joshua and the Psalms.  The help I seek is rooted in promises centuries old from one who has never broken a promise.

Being like Mom doesn't have to be a compliment or an attack.  But, for me, it has to be something I consider as I go to my Father seeking wisdom and growth; mercy and grace.