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My Mom Gave Me That

  “We are usually serving Christ most when we are least aware of it.” Mom   For the past few months, I’ve been remembering my Mom, which is weird, I know. After all, she’s not dead, not for quite sometime, Lord willing. I keep running into her though. When I load a dishwasher, plant a tree, build friendships, tackle a project, select a book to read to Meg—my Mom shows up in everything I do.   Naturally, I’m not a copycat of my Mother, but I have been heavily influenced by her. In big moments, like the way I speak to Daniel during a fight. In little moments, like how I can’t call it a real meal without at least one vegetable on the table. In the way I make friends, dress, cut my hair, pray out loud in the midst of an emergency. She’s the reason I think something matters, and something doesn’t. She shaped my morals and my oddities. She’s the reason I eat raw potatoes, with salt and vinegar. She’s the reason I speak out about my convictions.   So often when I try to explain my

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