Did you ever get a wake-up call? Not like from the hotel desk, but for life? There’s one time I know I got one. It was triggered on a morning commute after having another distressing phone call with my mother. She had once again made me feel like a bad daughter. I didn’t know that no one can MAKE you feel a certain way, but I’ve since learned that we decide how to feel.

Sorry to say, Mom and I were never close, but that didn’t change my desire to please her. Close relationships between mothers and daughters are supposed to come easy, right? Or so I thought.

With a husband, two boys in middle school, a career in special education and an active membership in my church, I was already feeling overloaded. Yet I made sure mom spent time with our family; her needs were met and some of her wants. For sure, we were always together for birthdays and holidays. Often, I’d have her over for dinner or offer to take her shopping. I also ran mom to the doctors, picked up her groceries and prescriptions and made sure to help her whenever I could.

Sometimes I would stop by after work for a cup of tea and conversation before heading home to make dinner, run the boys to soccer practice, help them with their homework, fold laundry, check in with hubby and finally collapse in bed. But once again, she had me feel that I wasn’t doing enough for her.

So the conversation which we had in various forms so many times before went like this: with trepidation, I pick up the phone to call her, not knowing what kind of mood she will be in. She picks up, in a never expecting anything good, drawn out monotone, “Helloooo.” “Hi Mom, how are you?” I try to sound cheerful. Wait for it. Same tone, “Not so good.” “What’s not so good?” “It’s just hard.” “What’s hard?” “Life.” Oh, boy, I don’t feel equipped to solve that huge a problem. Perhaps if I could get some specifics as to what’s wrong, I could begin to suggest a solution. But no, I have to try to pull it out of her. I guess she prefers I read her mind.

She finally tells me her friends say if her kids are always at the church, they will never have time for her. I tell her she can come to church with me. I’ll pick her up and she can meet some new people her age. “Oh, no,” she says, “I don’t want to be with old people.” Whaat? She continues to whine and hint at what she wants like, “I never see you. You’re always so busy.” After some time with this, I become distraught and say things like, “I can’t be responsible for your happiness!” As soon as I say it, I regret it. It only feeds her fears. We say a curt goodbye and I feel miserable once again.

I called to show I care, but that’s not how it is received. Guilt and manipulation is all I hear and I should know better. Her high pitched voice in my head continues to criticize me long after we hang up. It’s difficult to fall asleep with my mind so active, but I try my best for the sake of my students who will greet me enthusiastically in a few hours.

In the morning I continue to stress about what she said and what I should have said and what she could have meant. There is no relief and there are no solutions coming to mind. I’m driving the straightaway to school when all of a sudden, “BAM!” I run right into the back of a white pickup truck. At about 40 miles an hour, I hit it hard. It shook me up, but amazingly, I wasn’t hurt. I don’t know how I didn’t see it. All I know is my mind was on my mother.

The driver got out of his vehicle, shook his head at me, then looked at his bumper, then me again. I said I was sorry, I didn’t see him, which sounded so stupid as it came out of my mouth. He just shook his head again in disgust, got back in his truck and drove on. No foul words, no cops, no insurances exchanged, nothing and it was all my fault. I thanked God that was all that happened and went on my way to school, albeit a little shaky.

As soon as the metal hit metal, I knew God was trying to get my attention, the attention that was all on my mother, not on Him and not on the road. I was so worried about what she had said and why she said it and what I could have said differently. Did she really believe I was a terrible daughter or was it just an attempt to manipulate me? I was genuinely worried about her and her feelings and at the same time, I was offended by them.

Soon after the accident, I decided to go for Christian counseling. After explaining what happened, the counselor, Anne, asked me a question, “Why are you worried about your mother?” I said, “Because I feel like if I don’t worry, it’s like I don’t care!” And she said simply, “Just because you’re not worried doesn’t mean you don’t care.”

It took a while for my mixed up brain to understand that because I thought they were one and the same. But Anne was right. She helped me grasp that I can choose to care by deciding from my heart what I want to do for my mother. Mom’s reaction to that is entirely her own. And at the same time, I can choose not to worry about her.

Worry is a waste of time, more than that, it can be detrimental to your health. I had a car accident because of worry! And an even better incentive is that worrying is a sin. Jesus commanded, “Do not let your hearts be troubled and do not be afraid.” (John 14:27) If Jesus said not to worry about anything, that includes relationships.  Now I’m learning to show I care with Christ as my guide.

“Let the peace of Christ rule in your hearts, since as members of one body you were called to peace. And be thankful.” (Colossians 3:15). We will be a lot happier and safer if we do that. Then you won’t need the tailgate of a white pick up truck on your front bumper to convince you.