My Life: #6 A Mama's Boy

The price was my siblings grew to reject me because I was a “mamma’s boy.” In the end, I became a Joseph figure, which was predicted by my mother.

Like Paul, who witnessed Christ to the world during Christianity’s formative years, Dr. Phinney is a gifted writer and a student of God’s Word.  He presents Biblical Truth with clarity and passion sculpted from his personal trials and the blessings born through those trials. 

Gale Ethridge, Kansas

A MAMA’S BOY

I wish I could say that my “Leave It to Beaver” relationship with my mother was all good, but it was not – it came with a price.  The price was my siblings grew to reject me because of being a “mama’s boy.”  I am blessed to say that the Lord has reconciled each sibling relationship outside of two of my siblings.  It’s my hope that the remaining two siblings will respond to the Lord’s reconciliation.  Being in the field of counseling my entire adult life, I know these kinds of sibling animosities usually take years to reconcile!  Little did I realize growing up that this was God’s method of healing – embracing pain without placing the blame onto others.

Due to the absence of my father, I functioned as a helper to my mother.  One obvious being since my mother didn’t drive, I became her chauffeur to any and all her events.  This gave my mother and me hundreds of hours of talking, going out to eat together, working at the same factory, and me hanging out with her friends. 

I found great delight in making my mother laugh – I always felt she needed more of that.  This put me in a position of doing some pretty crazy things when we were out, like putting one straw into another until it reached the ceiling of the restaurant.  Things I do to this very day. 

The problem was I became the “class clown,” and my mother never stopped supporting me - even when I was in the wrong. I believe that this kind of “mama’s boy” overprotection developed a “spoiled child syndrome” or “the boy who cried wolf” lifestyle.  Just as much as I protected my mother, she protected me.  This method of madness pretty much stayed in my relationship with her until she died.  I am now learning that my siblings don’t know a fraction of these stories because my mother made me agree not to speak of them, but I think they figured it out anyway.  I believe my mother loved all her children equally, but her relationship with each had its own bent.  The bent with me just happens to be the “mama’s boy” stuff.  Denial, deceit, putting on your poker face, and humor were all modes of survival taught to us growing up, and my parents were the main teachers. 

Here is a poem my mother wrote about me before she died – it will reveal much of what I am sharing:

Stephen was born in Texas, 1955

A sweet little bundle, but ever so sick.

Weeks slowly went by, as the doctors diagnosed

Steve had allergies from his head to his toe’s.

During the months ahead, as he lay sick in his crib

I was sometimes scared to go to bed.

His illness followed him through the years

There were Victories, Joys, and sometimes Tears.

How doubtful of us, as I recall,

As God was there to take care of us all.

Steve had many favorite games, I recall,

Besides teasing girls and playing ball.

One of his favorite pastimes, you see,

Was playing house high up in the trees.

The kids made a tree house and were right on the ball,

They made weird sounds like the Tarzan Call.

One evening as we had settled down for the day,

The children decided to go out to play.

To the tree house, Steve did run,

He jumped on a rope that wasn’t tied on.

He ran to the house. I was much alarmed.

When he said, “Mom! I’ve broken both of my arms.”

Poor Steve was troubled and down in the dumps,

As he had to wear casts for many months.

I remember another episode when Steve took a flight,

You see, he and his friends made a glider kite.

With material, patience, and very much care,

The boy’s found themselves way up in the air.

A friend said to Steve you better jump,

But Steve held on tight and went down with a thump.

With an injured ankle and a very bruised pad,

Steve waddled back home to tell his Mom & Dad.

Steve was honored to attend Boys State Camp that spring,

We wrapped up his ankle. It was still blue and green.

His tour was successful, and he played quite a roll,

He was selected to work with the Highway Patrol.

Other highlights were music and art.

He took part in plays and played quite a good part.

His talents were many, he toured with a band,

He also became my right-hand man.

He was always close by when I needed things done.

These are memories treasured, I have of my son.

Steve’s life was like Jacob’s most of the time,

It was like one step forward and three steps behind.

Something wonderful happened to our son one day,

As he was frantically trying to find his way.

The Lord took him gently by the hand,

And showed him the right way, to become a real man.

His searching was over, his life had begun,

God sent Christ Jesus to lead our son.
Christ picked up the pieces and put them in place,

Today God be the Glory; our son was now safe.

Steve’s call was to work at the Village in Sheldon.

His talents were used to serve God’s special Children.

There he became acquainted with Jane,

God’s plan was to give her the Phinney name.

Their love for each other, in Christ, grew as one.

We’re pleased to have Jane exchange vows with our son.

“Mom” | Lelah M. Phinney

My mother had a 6th-grade education.  One of my discoveries later in life was her ability to write.  Like her illiterate son, she pressed forward to write despite her weakness.  Before she passed, she gave me writings she had tucked away for years.  As I read these entries, I realized another shared trait - my love and devotion to writing.    

I received Jesus’ indwelling Life, salvation, at 16 years of age.  Shortly after my salvation, I was compelled to share my faith with all that would listen – the primary being my mother.  With great delight, one sunny Saturday afternoon, my mother received Jesus as her indwelling savior.  Through all my victories and awards in life, this was my highest honor to see my mama find His Indwelling Life.

My mother’s spiritual gifts include evangelism, exhortation, and service. Her outreach, through Christ, has covered some of the most remote parts of the earth through her quilting ministry. Her prayer ministry has blessed the lives of the brokenhearted throughout the world, as well as her love and devotion to the ministries her children have been involved with.

My eldest daughter, Abby, and I had the privilege to travel to Kenya through an International child sponsor organization to deliver one of her blankets to our adopted daughter, who lived in the “bush.”  As we watched our adopted daughter lay this blanket on a grouping of sticks (her bed), we were reminded of the impact my mother was having in some of the remote parts of the world.    

One of the things I miss the most about my mother is her devotion and support to the ministries of her children.  She not only financially supported IOM America on a shoestring budget, but she prayed daily for the success and outpouring of the Holy Spirit in all that we did.

My mother was a spirited woman. Anyone who knew her certainly understood this was not a cowardly woman. While she was respectful of most, if she was fronted with lies, she stood her ground. Not only did I inherit this trait, but I also have a deep respect for “spunky” women. This Eskimo lady is on my top ten list of heroes.

Before she passed, she made me commit, which didn’t take much arm-twisting, to write the family’s story through the eyes of my soul.  She is the primary reason and motive behind this project.  I have 12 advisers in my life today, and most of them pretty much mandated me to keep my commitment to my mother and write our family story in and around the 12 principles of life I teach in the Identity Matters materials. I endeavor to do just that.