I wasn’t a Christian then. I was just a lost teenager longing to be loved. It was my first year of college and I was half the Pacific Ocean away from my family. For nine months our only communication had to be by letters (“snail mail” now). I was so homesick.
My boyfriend lived locally–which was why I had chosen that college–but our relationship was becoming complicated and confusing. I wanted my mother, her presence, her wisdom, and comfort.
One night I went to bed in my solitary dorm room with my little radio playing softly by my ear. I cried myself to sleep to current hits (not oldies then!) like Elvis Presley’s “Are You Lonesome Tonight?” and Little Anthony’s “Tears on my Pillow.”
In the middle of the troubled night music woke me. On my radio were the beautiful, soothing sounds of “Ave Maria.” It was like having a mother close by me. I listened, entranced, all the way to the end and felt such peace. I slipped quietly back to sleep.
I didn’t know what to make of that experience as an unbeliever and I didn’t know what to make of it after I received Jesus Christ as my Savior two years later. I actually wrote that scene into one of my novels (now out of print), changing the music to “Just as I Am.”
But through the years, especially after my mother went to heaven in 1990, I have felt that same sense that something is missing, as if having access to the Father and the Son are inestimable privileges but I wish I had a mother to talk to.
I know we aren’t supposed to talk to the dead but I also know my mother–and Jesus’ mother–are very much alive. I do not want to worship them or pray to them. But sometimes I think wistfully I would like to pour out my heart to one of them.
Instead I pour it out to Jesus and ask Him to heal that ache. Sometimes He comforts me directly. Sometimes he sends a female friend into my life. But I am not averse to His letting His mother sometimes comfort me with music in the night.