THE LOST ART OF RELATIONSHIP
What I do remember is that because of the progression of the two pivotal points mentioned earlier, my mom and I had started to argue…a lot. Between the age of twelve and just about fourteen, my rebelliousness had risen to new heights. It was difficult for my mom to control. In fact, she just couldn’t.
We were in the heat of an argument (subject unknown). I had targeted my mother with rebellion. Maybe because she was four feet eleven and ¾ inches and I was growing to five feet and a half —I’m not sure. At the height of the argument, my mom said these powerful words…
“If you don’t stop this bad behavior, you will never amount to anything!” I don’t know if you have ever been affected by a comment your mother or father made to you, but this comment has stuck with me for almost thirty years. Little did she know it would change me for the rest of my life. How I decided (and currently decide) to allow it to change me are entirely different. More on that later. This event, a momentary lapse in judgment and her saying something that scarred me for a long time, taught me so much about the need and impor- tance for reconciliation in relationships.
You see, I had allowed this comment to become the focus of my life. I wanted to prove her wrong. That I would make something of my life. Any time anyone would even allude to the fact that I could not do something, it became my mission to prove them wrong. Sure, I accomplished things, but my motive was in error. T.S. Elliot wrote in Murder in the Cathedral , “The last act is the greatest treason. To do the right deed for the wrong reason.”³
My relationship with my mother was wounded, and when I became an adult, we only talked when it was necessary. When I left home, I had no intention of going back to Baltimore. I moved to Pennsylvania for college, was recruited to inner-city New Jersey for work and ministry, met my wife and moved to Califor- nia, got married with an instant family (my wife had our oldest daughter before we met), and my wife and I had a baby together in 2000.
Life was passing by, but my relationship with my mom remained wounded. The scab had crusted over, but never fully healed. I’m confident that all of my other relationships were affected by the lack of reconciliation in my relationship with mom.
From Rift to Reconciliation
It was September 11, 2001. We lived in Los Angeles, CA, in the UCLA family housing on the corner of Sawtelle and National Boulevards. My mom and dad came for a week-long visit with us, and dad flew back home on September 9 because he had to get back to work. Mom stayed a couple of extra days.