5/23/2000
One of the first things God did for me in 1998 was to give me a much greater ability to love and appreciate people—all people.  And the first place He used it was on my parents.  (Hmm. . . the Ultimate Parent first makes sure that I appreciate my parents and see all that they've done for me.  Do you think He was up to something here?)   My parents aren't perfect, but there are an awful lot of good things in them that I'm proud of.  I'm certainly far from perfect as a parent myself, and with two little boys, I'm laughing as I say things like this to my parents:  "NOW  I understand why you did that" ...  or
THAT's why this drove you absolutely crazy when my sister and I did this!" 

I think the first change I noticed, which showed me what kind of work God had begun doing in me, is this—when people tell me that "You're just like your Mom (or Dad)!" I now automatically take it as a compliment.  "Yeah, they really can be pretty neat, can't they?"  So let me tell you about my mom, Gloria Harmer Cox; here's something I wrote for her a month after God "got ahold of me" (yes, there's one for my dad, too):

When I remember Mommy ... I see her eating half an onion every night on the side of her bed before going to sleep (uh, I was a bit confused by an onion-shaped nose-spray bottle).  I hear her singing Harry Belafonte's "Turn Around" to a very little Lauri and making me cry instead of sleep!  (As a mom myself now, it still makes me cry—it's a lot like Bob Carlisle's "Butterfly Kisses"!)  I hear her saying, "Ohhhhhh!" when she realized my request for her to sing "Can He Be?" meant I wanted "Oh, Where, Oh, Where, Has My Little Dog Gone?"  

I see her painting my first-grade lunchbox light blue with purple flowers to make it feminine.  (Was this after she stuck the "mod" 1960s flower stickers on a hideous gray boy's raincoat to "feminize" it?)  I see her hands holding mine while she clips my fingernails, and I see them again every time I watch my own hands clip my little boys' nails.  I hear her playing "Clare de Lune," "Moonlight Sonata," and "Fur Elise" ("the spider song") on the piano and thinking her hands look like a dancing spider.  I see the birthday party she arranged for me at school like most of the other first graders had—since I would feel left out with a summertime birthday.  I hear her saying, "Well, I think that's what I'll do from now on, too," after I chose cheesecake for all my future birthday cakes at age 12.  

I watch her making our house beautiful on a budget by decopaging driftwood and putting artificial flowers in them.  I don't see her sacrificing good times for a clean house.  I look at all those wonderful pictures of my childhood that she took, and I read the stories in her 1967-1968 journal—both full of the everyday, often hilarious stories that keep the memories strong of a place that doesn't even exist anymore (our ranch is under Lake Ray Roberts now):  

(paraphrased from Mom's journal) Mommy says, "Do you know what's fixing to happen now?" when my then two-year-old sister, Julie, has another bowel movement in her diaper, and Julie answers, "A sonic boom?" 

Mommy writes—"Lauri was in a good humor this evening, so we all had a nice time."  (Ouch!  Was I really that bad?) 

Lauri says, "Well, we just wasted some good toothpaste!" after finding out after she'd brushed her teeth that ice and snow had closed school that day. 

Mommy writes on June 6, 1968—"Sometime after 3 a.m. this morning, I woke up with a start and the thought that first came into my mind was, 'He's dead'—referring to Robert Kennedy.  Sure enough, when we turned on the TV this morning they were reporting his death—at 3:44 a.m. (so my awakening was a little premature). 

I hear her voice reading Luke's Christmas story with the severely-scratched Percy Faith Christmas album playing in the background.  I see, hear, feel, and smell 26 outside cats; 13 outside dogs; and bottle feeding tiny kittens.  I hear her talk about "Zillaboy Creek" ... which I had trouble finding it on a map as an adult until I realized that Mommy was being funny and that I should actually look for "Isle du Bois" Creek.  (People must have thought I was an idiot when I pronounced it for YEARS as "Zillaboy"!  Thanks, Mom!)  I see her building our house along with Dad and Paw Paw.  I see painted buntings through binoculars; fishing-worm raising and rabbit raising; sling shots; and kittens playing in Mommy's zinnias.  I feel the humid air around the lakes and rivers she taught us to fish in.  I still feel the excitement and awe of watching Apollo launches and moon landings—a major family event. 

When I remember Mom . . . I taste the best cole slaw in the world, watermelon rind preserves, and oatmeal-date cookies—since I hated raisins.  I see her driving from our ranch into town (Paris, Texas) to get my 15-year-old, first boyfriend, driving him to our house, driving him home, and driving herself home again (30 minutes each way) so that we could have a "date" one summer evening when I was 14.  I hear her saying the unbelievable words that she and Dad were going to give me the brown Honda Civic (nicknamed "the cow pile") so that I could have a car when I left home for college!  

I feel the ability to finally push my BIG firstborn baby out of me when Mom lets me brace my foot against her arm during his birth.  I see the beautiful, priceless pictures I have of the births of my two boys, because she was there to take them.  I hear her saying during my younger son's birth that it looked "just like one of our little calves coming out" back on our ranch; she thought it was silly and was embarrassed that she'd said it, but it gave me the perfect picture of what I couldn't see from my "position"!  I see the way she holds my two boys—they know Grandma Gloria loves them, because they've felt it since the day they were born.  

I never see her butting in—with my marriage, job, kids, or anything (I actually wouldn't mind a little advice now and then).  I see the "running away money" she gives me that bought me a good haircut and dug up some much-needed self esteem to go with my slowly improving new-mom body after my second child was born!  I see my one-year-old younger son giving her the honor of being the first person he walked to with his arms outstretched.  I re-live some of my best times when I read my own pregnancy-baby-kid journals, which Mom's journals inspired me to write.  I hear us laughing so hard that we cry as we stay up way too late talking when we visit. 

When I look at Gloria, I see . . . 

... a knowledge of many things and curiosity about everything—that some people don't understand because they just don't know what to do with someone who is that smart yet humble enough to keep on learning. 

... a sparkling sense of humor that she doesn't let loose often enough for fear people will misunderstand or tease her. 

... rare student-teacher relationships—her 8th-grade students are never just a bunch of unruly kids that make her life miserable (although she said one class made her understand why God threatened to "smite" people several times).  Each student is a real, individual, valuable person made by God with something to offer.  (You know she's done something right when big, rough-looking teenage boys of all colors pick her up and swing her around to give her a big hug!)

... a quiet, calm, gentle nature that can turn into teeth-snapping, snarling fire when someone messes with her kids (her own children or her students) or is being cruel. 

... someone who does the right thing even if others aren't ... or might laugh at her. 

... one of the smartest people I know. 

... someone I'm proud of, I brag on, and teach my children about. 

... someone who should put this letter where she can see it every day. 

Just thought you'd like to know more about my mom.  (May 15, 1998)