Mom Over Miami - By Annie Jones Page 0,68
of restlessness came through the line loud and clear. “As soon as Hunter comes over, we’re going to pop popcorn and watch a movie.”
“Popcorn?” She envisioned her plump stuffed frogs flatter than week-old roadkill. “What popcorn?”
“She wants to know what popcorn?” He didn’t bother to cover the mouthpiece as he shouted out and got his reply. “Payt says to tell you no beanbag frogs were harmed in the making of this snack food.”
“Very funny.”
“You want to talk to him?”
“Depends. Is he willing to talk to me?”
Sam relayed the question. “He says ‘always.’”
“Then tell him I don’t need to talk to him right now. I still have to finish my column.”
“Hey, good thing you have the Bible there. You can spend all night looking for the Book of Procrastinations.”
“Go watch your movie, Sam. Love you.”
“Yeah.” And he hung up.
Hannah exhaled and stretched her legs out on the bed. Sam had been teasing her, but he did make a good point. She could, and probably should, spend the evening in the Word. But like too often in her life, she didn’t have the time. She had to settle for a quick fix. She smoothed her fingers over the words of Hannah’s prayer and muttered, “Peace. Be…”
It is not by strength that one prevails.
The simple line jumped from the page at her, and she hurried to turn the page back to the beginning of the segment.
“Do not keep talking so proudly…”
Listen to yourself, not everything is about you.
“…or let your mouth speak such arrogance.”
“I write to communicate real problems of modern motherhood—silliness is not a part of it.”
“For the Lord is a God who knows, and by Him deeds are weighed.”
She closed the book slowly. “God knows and weighs my deeds.”
Not Payt.
Not Lauren Faison, genuinely nice Supermom.
Not nameless letter writers or self-naming decorating sister duos.
Not even her minister.
Or her family.
“It’s not my job to work for their approval but to be like Hannah who gave her beloved Samuel to the Lord. It’s my life’s work to never stop striving to become the woman God needs me to be.”
She was needed, after all. Needed to be Hannah.
Wow. It all seemed so simple. Too simple, really.
Be the woman God needed her to be.
“But who is that, Lord?”
Wife?
Mother?
Daughter?
Sister?
Writer?
Volunteer?
“All of the above,” she murmured as it dawned on her that it wasn’t the role she chose or the work she did. It was the way she loved others—the way God wanted her to love them—that counted. The way she loved them, not how much—or even if—they loved her.
Thinking that made her feel so…stupid.
And corny.
And warm.
And happy.
Happy happy.
“I’m going to write that down.”
You’ll get a snotty letter about cornball platitudes, a little voice in her head warned her.
“Ha! You think I’m scared of that? I’m Moonie Shelnutt’s daughter. What could anyone throw at me that would compare to crashing the Memorial Day Parade in Daddy’s Caddy with my sisters a couple years ago? Or grabbing my bags and running away to Miami today?”
Oh, no.
That’s when it hit her.
While Hannah’s small rebellion might have helped her separate a mother’s needs from a mother’s love for her children, there was something more beneath the surface she had yet to address.
Yes, she forgave her mother and could now say she loved her despite a lifetime of questions. But the truth was, that looking over her life and the things that drove her day by day, the issues of her mother’s depression and disappearance hardly ever came up.
Her issues had centered more on getting attention, getting approval. She had just wanted everyone to like her. Which sounded exactly like…
“Daddy!”
Daddy who acted like he didn’t care what anybody thought of him, that’s who she had struggled all her life to find in herself. Everybody liked her daddy. Even the people who wanted to wring his neck.
Hannah laughed softly.
All this time she’d grown so used to blaming her mother’s leaving for her every fear and insecurity, but now…
Now she had run away from home, a truly Moonie-Shelnutt-worthy action if she ever saw one.
And like it or not, that lone act would become a part of her personal story. The day Hannah finally flew the coop!
“Might as well make the most of it.” She took a deep breath and pulled her laptop from its case.
20
Subject: Nacho Mama’s House column
Greetings from Miami! That’s right—I’m sending out my column at the last minute, in the first hours of my preseason vacation. I tell you that, not to engender sympathy, but because I feel the need to