Honor's reward

By May Olusola

When the Bible says, "Honor thy father and thy mother: that thy days may be long upon the land which the LORD thy God giveth thee," it is not joking.

Imagine for a second that your father and mother had not come together and produced a precious soul like you. No matter what the circumstances, thank God for your parents, respect them, and definitely give them their flowers while they are alive and not when they are about to be lowered six feet under.

I've walked in the shoes of what I'm preaching about, and that's why I confidently encourage others not to make the same mistake. Having lost both parents, I know what I'm talking about.

The month of May is famous for honoring mothers, and the month of June comes shortly after and fathers are honored. My question to you is how many times do you honor your parents? Once a year? On Mother's Day or Father's Day?

Twice a year, every day of his or her life, or, still worse, at his or her funeral?

My prayer is that after reading my story, the Lord will place it in your heart to do much more than you could ever have dreamed of by way of honoring your parents.

My father could not hurt a fly, and I mean it. He was gentle to a fault. The only problem I had with him is that he was young at heart. At home, he loved to dress like a young man with his T-shirts, jeans, and tennis shoes to match. I teased him a lot and sometimes sulked for hours if he refused to give me a piece of his clothing that I wanted, because it was "cool." Unlike my mother, who was the disciplinarian in the family, I got away with a lot of things with my dad. We were good friends.

The last time I saw him was in 1991, when I was getting ready to travel overseas to America. He was cracking me up with his usual jokes, and I can still hear myself laughing uncontrollably. He saw me off to the airport, and I promised to be back in a few months to see him. Do you think if I knew it was the last time we would be together in the flesh, I would not have given him the tightest hug ever? What is so painful is I was always too shy to kiss my dad. That would have been the ideal time to show him the affection I had hidden for years.

While I was here in America, I used to send him his favorite Lagerfeld and Arrmani colognes and some shirts here and there. Then I decided that instead of sending it bit by bit I would start filling a suitcase and send a lot at once. For some months he didn’t get anything from me but an assurance that I would surprise him in due time. That "due time" never came, because my dad unexpectedly went to be with the Lord.

I had the privilege of buying the suit he was buried in. It was the first and only suit from me, and he wore it to the grave.

The truth is I could have afforded to buy him a suit every other month, but it never occurred to me. "Daddy is going to be around for a long time," I thought, innocently taking for granted his time on earth. After his death, I was tormented and regretted not doing more for my beloved father, since he deserved nothing but the best. I promised myself that I would never let the same thing happen again and warned others about falling into the pit of guilt that only years of prayer brought me out of.

I can still hear my mother cracking the biggest joke ever (as far as I was concerned) that "very soon you will have your own children and they will make you yell the way you are making me yell." I think I was about 10 when she started sounding that warning, which I blatantly refused to accept.

What did she mean by "very soon?" In my young mind, that phrase was interpreted as many, many light years to come.

Time proved the authenticity of that statement. Twenty flew by so fast, then after the birth of my son at the age of 30, my mother's statement couldn't wait to welcome me to the reality of parenting. I found myself doing the same yelling and scolding as my mother. It was then I understood what I was doing to her back then.

Funny thing is, when I was 11, I wrote my mother a special poem about how much she meant to me and pinned it on the door of her room. She was very touched after reading it, and I was glad to see her so proud of me. About two weeks later, I can't remember exactly what I did, but she gave me the scolding of my life. I am sure you can imagine what my displeased mind did. I yanked the poem I had written with
'so much love" from her door, tore it to pieces, and deliberately left it on a table by the door to her bedroom. When my mother saw it, she scolded me, and to make matters worse, told me "I did not even like that piece of nonsense you call a poem." I was hurt, but I did not realize my mother was hurt as well. It was later on she told me how bad she felt when she saw the shredded bits of paper that professed my love and admiration for her.

Toward the end of her life, she stayed with me in Dallas and we loved and fought hard. I hear it is a common syndrome between first daughters and their mothers. Although I gave those last days a good shot, I know in my heart that I could have done better. I hid under the umbrella of pregnancy to avoid doing some things I could have done for her. I wish I'd carved out more time to take her places, to push her in her wheelchair in the park, to give her a manicure and pedicure myself and even to brush her hair. I wish I'd taken the time to discover where to buy the best mozzarella and prosciutto for her. (She was a huge fan of Italian food.) I know I could have done much more. She left the world before my sister and I were able to get to her bedside. The guilt plagued me for a long season, but I have released it to the Lord and watched His peace fill the void her absence created.

What is that thing your parents like or want to do that you are not creating the time for? Do you only honor them on Mother's and Father's Day? If so, this is an opportunity to rewrite the story of your relationship with your parents with the pen of love, affection, and attention. After reading this message, call your parents, go and see them if you can, or e-mail them to let them know you love them.

Email: molusola@mannaexpressonline.com