Steel Magnolia—now that’s a clever oxymoron coined by a writer and a film maker who saw the creativity. And they made lots of money. But anyone who knows anything about magnolias knows even though they’re a large flower, they are tender and subject to bruising with the slightest touch.
During this time of year, when they’re in full blossom, the heavy fragrance clings to every breeze. So where does the steel part of this picture come from?
My mama—just like the mother in the movie—is the poster mom for a strong, southern, steel magnolia. And I bet your mom is too.
Before my mama was out of her teen years, a dysfunctional home, twelve siblings, and a mother who didn’t fit the picture of Mom of the Year and her numerous husbands, inflicted emotional bruises too numerous to know or name. Her teen years were spent at the Parental Home for Girls in Jacksonville, Florida, and was probably the only stabilizing factor in Mama’s life.
But like Jeremiah 29:11 says:
“For I know the plans I have for you, ‘Declares the Lord,’ plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.”
I’m sure as a teen Mama never heard this verse, and raised during the depression, walking with her mom and siblings from south Georgia to Jacksonville, Florida, to find a place to live, probably never had the slightest inclination God had a plan for her life—but He did!
Through the love and testimony of a neighbor and her husband, my mama and daddy came to trust Jesus while I was still a young girl. And Mama determined my brother and I would have the home and family she never had. She was equally determined her children would be raised knowing the Word of God. And God worked in real time tempering this steel magnolia mom.
Mama and Daddy were married well over fifty years when she developed Alzheimer’s, and as sad as it was for all of us, she was probably happier than any other time in her life during the early years of that disease. Before she went home, she had forgotten who Daddy was, who I was, but she never forgot the old hymns of her faith.
One evening toward the end of her life, I phoned the charge nurse who reported Mama was groaning. I asked her to go back and lean close and listen. With tears she returned and said, “Your mom is singing Amazing Grace.”
A week never passes without my spending time pondering the strength and courage of my steel magnolia mama. Excuses or blame never fell from her lips—unlike women today who choose to blame their parents for the mess they’ve made of their own lives. And Mama wouldn’t tolerate whining or blame from me either.
My dad was a clown—always the one with a sense of humor. My brother was a brat—as all little brothers are apt to be. And me? Of course, I was the perfect child—unless I wasn’t.
Mama never learned to drive. Raised two kids who participated in school activities and never turned into a chauffeur.
One Spring morning a group of my friends and I decided it would be much more fun to skip school and hang out at one of the teens’ house, who just happened to have a pool. Never thinking the bus driver might not think it odd eight or nine kids at a particular bus stop all be sick—she reported our absence to the principal.
We were splashing and whooping up a good time when one of the boys looked through the knot hole in the fence and gasped, “It’s your mama, DiAne. And boy does she look mad.” You coulda heard a drop of water splat in that pool.
Mama marched down the street with her armor of steel, ready to bruise our party. And she delivered all of us back to the school authorities (how I don’t remember), with the promise that a worse fate awaited each one of us after school.
Yes, Mama and Daddy believed in corporal punishment, and the weapon of choice might be anything from a switch, to a belt, to the back of her hand, aptly applied to my fanny.
The rule at our house was if you were stupid enough to get in trouble at school—well, those of you who are older know the rest of the story—and it wasn’t a pleasant afternoon of time-out in your room.
Mama believed in hard labor. Every spring and fall this bruised, steel-tempered flower had a load of top soil delivered—waiting for the first kid to break the rules. The punishment entailed spreading wheel-barrels-full of dirt on the lawn. Mama never had a yard guy. My brother and I were the hands of choice. Or silver-polishing hands, or baseboard scrubbing hands. Or weed pulling hands. Or—
And those chores and applied disciplines didn’t handicap or destroy me. On the contrary, Mama’s steely character instilled in me a good work ethic. And moral principles. She taught me to be a mother. And modeled how to love God and those friends and neighbors He places in my path.
I miss you, Mama, and am so grateful for your courage and your faith. I thank you for the cooking genes and recipes, and I thank you for being that strong, southern, steel magnolia—making difficult choices so Andy and I, Daddy, and the grandchildren could live in the light of your legacy.
I long for the time when we will all be together again. With Jesus. Forever.
HAPPY MOTHER’S DAY, MAMA! I LOVE YOU~
MOVING THE ANCIENT BOUNDARIES 