If you have ever met my mother, you likely very quickly picked up on our similarities. We are both outgoing, gregarious, loud (obnoxious) and totally fun. However, while I was a teenager and not yet comfortable with myself, there simply was not room for the two of us. We rubbed each other wrong most days and she had to deal with a great deal of my disrespect. Quite honestly, my own difficulty as a teenage girl trying to gel with my mom made me fearful of having my own daughter.One summer it got particularly bad. i was married and she and I took a trip to Missouri together for me to sing. We had such a butting of our proverbial heads that we barely spoke on the 10 hour ride home. She left for Europe for a few weeks and I had plenty of time to think about the chronic tension between us.I got before God one day and asked Him to speak to me about it. I wanted to get along with my mom. I was willing to take responsibility for my part in it and grow up. I picked up my guitar and out came I Repent. Like in ten minutes. And I meant every word of it. As complicated as all of the issues between people can become in 22 years, the bottom line was that I needed to repent. So, I wrote her a letter and we began the restoration process. It has definitely been a process and I am certain she would say the same. I wrote Balm of Gilead for her Christmas present that year as another offering of peace between us.Just to cap off the story, let me tell you what she means to me right now. She has nursed me through chronic illness, held me at the loss of my first baby, watched each of my four babies be born, sacrificed, prayed, agonized and celebrated with me. I have watched her as she graciously bore her brother, mother and father onto eternity. Every year I clue in a little more to how phenomenal she is. Every year I see more of her I want to be. She is in her fifties and is still changing and learning. Every year more petty offenses fall away between us. She is my biggest fan and I am hers. One month ago, I was given the task of introducing her at a women's retreat. She was two weeks away from breast cancer surgery and my feelings for her were swollen and tender. I chose to introduce her by reading "Balm of Gilead". A teary introduction it was. And delivered with even more conviction now than when it was written, to be sure.