“But Jesus said, ‘Let the little children come to Me, and do not forbid them; for of such is the kingdom of heaven,’” (Matthew 19:14).

I remember that day like it was yesterday. It was a cold January day, 51 years ago. While I was only in the second grade, I also knew a lot more about what was going on than they thought I did.

As I looked across the school playground, I saw one of my mama’s best friends talking to my teacher. I just stood there, frozen in my steps. Even though they were out of earshot, I knew exactly what they talking about. She was telling her that my mama had just died.

How did I know? That’s easy. You see it was only a couple of days earlier that I heard her tell my dad how scared she was about being put to sleep.

“I just know I going to die on that operating table,” I heard her tell him, not knowing I was eavesdropping.

I’m ashamed to admit it, but I remember feeling sort of relief when I realized she had died. I had broken one of her favorite vases while she was in the hospital and was told by my father, “You just wait ’til your mother gets home. She’s going to tan your hide.”

I knew they were right about that. In fact, when my family went to visit her in the hospital the night before her surgery, I refused to go. I wasn’t about to get within a city block of her.

“Uh-Uh,” I told my dad, “She’ll wear me out.”

I wish my dad had made me go. It’s one of my greatest regrets. I didn’t know that I would never see her again. What a way to end a relationship!

I can’t tell you how many times I asked God “why”? Her death radically changed my childhood. I remember how much hurt I was when I saw my friends give their moms a hug. I also remember how embarrassed I was every Mother’s Day when I was the only boy at church with a white carnation on his lapel. (All the other kids at the time wore red carnations for their living mothers.)

God works in strange ways because my mama had a lot to do with my salvation, even though salvation wouldn’t come my way for another 31 years.

I can’t tell you how many times I remember being dragged by the hand as we hurried off to a revival to see the likes of the Rev. Billy Graham or the Rev. Oliver B. Greene. She loved those old-fashioned crusades under the big tent.

I’ll tell you something else my mama loved: dressing my little sister and me up for church. That white shirt wasn’t so white by the time I got home. I also didn’t have so much as a clue as to where my bow tie went while I was at church. But you should have seen us when we hit the front porch on those Sunday mornings. We were dressed to kill.

My mama was first one who taught me to respect God’s word, even if it would take over 31 years before I would be able to understand what it said.

“Every time you drop your Bible,” she said, “pick it up and kiss it. It’s a precious book.”

Boy, was she ever right about that.

Christ gave me peace about my mother’s death. I’m just sorry it took 31 years to get it. But I realize now that my mother wasn’t a mean woman who found pleasure in spanking me. She was just doing the same thing that any other mother of her day would have done with a mischievous child: applying the board of education to the seat of knowledge. Both of my adult children remember me saying the same thing when I disciplined them as children.

I didn’t know my mother for very long, but I’ll know the Lord forever because of the seeds that she planted early in my life. And you know what? I’m going to get to see her again when I get to heaven. You’ll recognize me when you get there. I’ll be sitting in her lap, catching up on old times.

Write to Mike Ruffin at mike.ruffin@devotions.com. His website is devotions.com.