by Joanne Valiando, Beaverton, OR
I had plenty I could say. Not usually at a loss for words, I was stymied and reduced to tears. My son is a master of logic and he knew just the right words that would shut me up.
Granted, living conditions were sparse at the moment, but it was a roof and hot meals. Two years before, my marriage had nose-dived in an ugly episode of domestic violence.
In a protective mode, I separated myself and my teenage son from the situation as I sought the Lord for answers. Five months later, I was in nursing school in a private, accelerated program.
Now, at forty-three years old, this late bloomer had a better way of providing for my household. All those years as a nurses’ aide and the preparatory sciences had paid off.
We left Southern California for a smaller community and my son was okay with that decision, I thought.
As a night nurse, one of the dilemmas I faced was sleep deprivation. This was my emotional state when my son came into the house, awakening me mid-afternoon. Harsh words were exchanged.
In a terse voice, John’s words caught me totally off-guard. “And what has God ever done for you, Mom?”