My mother

One of the strongest, most determined women I know. And funny. My mother. 

A devoted follower of Christ. And gifted teacher. Mom and grandmother (Nani).

Countless are the ways her life impacts mine. And every time I try to put it down on paper, I fall short of words. 

But we’re celebrating her 90^th birthday this week.

So, here goes. Some personal thoughts and memories. 

O give thanks to the Lord, Mom. Great things He has done!

Artist

Over the years, I hear my mother claim she’s not an artist. “I can’t even draw stick figures.” But she sees like an artist. Noticing the world around her. 

She marvels at God’s creation. Explores the details. Notes extravagant color. 

Talks to the flowering plants. And that bird singing his heart out from the topmost branch of the tree. 

She’s taught me to see.

A scene from my childhood stands out in my memory. One day, we’re out in the front yard. Mom looks up. “Oh! I think Jesus might come back, walking in on a cloud like that!”

So I look up at the sky. See the sun’s brilliant, straight rays. Coming from behind light-defined edges of a radiant cloud.

I can see it now. 

Storyteller

Mom is the storyteller of the family. While growing up, we heard stories from her childhood and beyond. This often took place during dinner or supper (she’s quite particular about which is which). 

We hung onto every word. Even when we knew the punchline or the glorious ending. 

There was that one about the time Mom and her sisters sang a trio at a revival service. They sat on the front row during the sermon. And Mom’s foot fell asleep. 

At the invitation, the preacher asked everyone to rise and sing, “Just as I Am.” Mom rose and fell full length at his feet. “Just as I was,” she quipped. 

Oh, how we laughed. And begged for more.

Teacher

An engraved brick is installed at the Playground for All Children in historic Delano Park of Decatur, Alabama. The inscription reads: “In Honor of Glenn Green Ingouf, Decatur Schools 1st Special Ed Teacher, 1953.”  

After graduating from University of Montevallo and going for special training at Illinois State University, my mother started the first class in Morgan County for children with physical disabilities.  

Her students that first year ranged from ages 6 to 26. None had ever been to school before.  In this day and age, it’s hard to imagine–but these children were often hidden from society at the time.

Mom loved them. And helped others see the importance of these children and young adults.  

Seminary

In 1955, she headed to New Orleans Baptist Theological Seminary. And one day, met a handsome fellow student who also had already sensed God’s call to the nations. My dad. They were soon engaged.

After the wedding, my parents continued their seminary studies. Mom was only a few weeks from finishing her Masters in Religious Education degree, when she gave birth prematurely to my older brother.  He lived one day.  

In the recovery and grief that followed, she was unable to complete her classes. And never received a diploma. 

But that never stopped her from living out her calling here and on the other side of the world.

Crossing cultures

My parents served faithfully in Indonesia for 29 years. Learning the language and culture well to communicate the truth of the gospel. (They spent ten more years at the home office of the International Mission Board before retiring.)

Mom discipled women. Teaching them the Word of God and helping them learn how to teach others.

She taught English in one of the neighborhoods where we lived, meeting in an Indonesian believer’s home. And using a simple translation of the Bible as a textbook. This provided a way for both of them to connect with the lost and share Good News. 

When theological education by extension courses were offered in various places across Indonesia, Mom taught some courses in our city.  

Over the years, she mentored others who came to serve. Always depended on prayer partners. And kept friends and family in the US informed about our lives through weekly letters.

Family

Raising a family cross-culturally isn’t easy. But I remember a childhood full of adventure. Marked by music and reading and outdoor play.

We celebrated American history and traditions while learning Indonesian history, art, and culture.

Music filled our home. From reel-to-reel tapes, then audio cassettes.  And Mom. Always singing. She still has a song on her lips. 

On Sundays we worshiped and studied the Bible in Indonesian at our church. On Mondays, Mom started “Monday School” in the afternoon. With Bible stories and activities in English for us and a few other children. 

Every year our family took a vacation to the beach or the mountains. This required more than the average planning and preparation by my parents (see Feeling sand between my toes). 

Learning

In a day when homeschooling was rare and resources limited, Mom taught her children. She planned curriculum. Ordered textbooks. Set up a classroom. And kept us anticipating that first day of school. 

She made learning important. Something to treasure. 

We pulled a quilt outside to gaze up at the stars and learn different constellations. Planted butterbeans and okra in the backyard. Watching them grow quickly in the rich Java soil. 

When we captured two praying mantises in the garden, we put them in a box. In my dad’s small office. 

One day, surprise! We walked in to find the room filled. With hundreds of tiny praying mantises. Hundreds. Covering everything. The bookshelves, the desk, the floor. Amazing.

The praying mantises were sent back outside. 

There were art lessons with a local artist. Balinese dance, swimming, and piano lessons. And reading. Always, reading.

Today, Mom is still continually curious and observant. Interested in everything. She influences me with a hunger to keep growing and learning.

Valleys

In her 90 years, she’s known great sorrow. 

She lost her mother when she was only 16. Then her firstborn. And in 1972, my 11-year-old sister Ann (see Loss). After Ann passed away, Mom wrote a booklet in Indonesian. Using her grief experience to help others who go through such a loss.

In later years, her journey with depression took us all by surprise. And taught us more about hope in the dark. 

I think of those valleys when I read Isaiah 50:10.

“Who among you fears the Lord
and listens to His servant? 
Who among you walks in darkness,
and has no light?
Let him trust in the name of the Lord;
let him lean on his God.” 

She kept trusting. In the dark.

Today

Mom and Dad are pacing themselves these days. (Though their exercise regimen puts me to shame.) 

They continue seeking the Lord. Reaching out to encourage others.  Daily praying for family and unreached people groups and missionaries around the world. 

Mom participates in a community Bible study. And will soon start a Bible study for women in their senior living complex. 

Every evening my parents sit together and review passages they read in their morning quiet times. What they saw. What they learned. Then they pray. 

On my visits, it’s a privilege to join them in this practice.

My mother

Over several decades, I’ve continued to meet people who share the impact my parents have had on their lives.  

Ever pointing them to the Lord. His Word. Prayer.

And my mother? She’s still teaching me to see.

Related posts

The long obedience – Keeping a sense of humor – Take the time – Loss – Feeling sand between my toes – Secret place – Rushing past – Healing hurts and counting stars – Wells along the way – Sorting memories –