Lion and Lamb

by Donna Poole

I wish I knew what Mom was like as a kid. She didn’t talk much about her childhood, other than to say her dad beat her with a razor strap, and I was too busy being a kid myself to ask her questions. I could have asked her only sibling, Uncle Tom. He was twelve years older than she was; I’m sure he could have told us stories about her. Mom was born in March; did she arrive like a lion? I imagine her being a lion. Mom died in March, and I know she died like a lamb.

The mom of my childhood years was more lion than lamb; we didn’t often see the gentle, more affectionate side of her. I used to mutter she’d make a good drill sergeant, or prosecuting attorney, or a general. Mom never cried and was proud of that and impatient with the tears of others. She was exacting in her demands that we keep the house spotless.

Mom did love us, but her love often expressed itself in anger; anger that she couldn’t find us when we got lost on our bikes, anger that we ducked when she reached out to fix for us a stray lock of hair, anger that we dared to disobey.

Mom could wield a belt with more skill than Zorro with a sword.

They say the Pharisees of Jesus’ day had 613 rules in addition to the biblical ones; Mom had at least 6,130!

And I didn’t like any of them.

We knew where we stood with Mom. She drew her lines sharp and clear, and I usually stood on the wrong side of them.

Poor Mom. She didn’t know what to do with me. When shoutings and spankings failed to achieve her desired results, she often said the one thing that sent cold chills down my little girl spine: “I wish the worst possible thing I can think of for you. I hope when you grow up you have a little girl who acts just like you do.”

Even as a child, I knew that was a curse I didn’t want fulfilled. Please God, no, not a little girl like me. We had four wonderful children, and though they weren’t the angel my husband was growing up—according to his mom—neither were they the little devil I was! See why I believe in grace and mercy?

When Mom was in her late forties and I was twenty she had a major stroke that paralyzed her right side and left her unable to speak. She regained her speech and limited use of her right leg but none of her right arm or hand.

The most striking change was Mom’s personality. Our lion became a lamb; gentle, emotional, and loving. Life was difficult for Mom for the next five years until God allowed a second major stroke to carry her home to heaven.

I’m glad I got to know both of my Moms, the lion and the lamb. We all have a bit of each, don’t we?

When March comes in like a lion and goes out like a lamb, I think of Mom. When March comes in like a lamb and goes out like a lion, I think of Mom.

Jesus is called both the Lamb of God and the Lion of the tribe of Judah. He came to earth the first time as a Lamb, meek, and willing to give His life as a sacrifice for our sins. When His feet touch the earth the second time He’ll come as a Lion, ready to conquer all evil and set up His glorious kingdom of joy and peace.

When March comes in like a lion and goes out like a lamb, I think of Jesus. When March comes in like a lamb and goes out like a lion, I think of Jesus.

Evil, hatred, and cruelty may triumph now, but their tyrannical reign is crumbling. The day is coming when right here on this earth the lion will lie down with the lamb, and a little child will be safe with all God’s creatures. –Isaiah 11:6

When Mom and I meet again, I wonder if we’ll remember her curse and laugh. Her angry lion days have already ended, and my days of defiantly standing on the wrong side of the line will end when I get where Mom is now. My breaking of her 6,130 rules will be forgotten, and there will be nothing left between us but love.