“Her children rise up and call her blessed.”
— Proverbs 31:28 (NKJV)
I imagine a lot of us failed to recognize the impact our mothers had on us while we were growing up. And those of us blessed with a loving and devoted mothers failed to fully appreciate what made them special until we become adults and had children of our own. I know that was true of me.
This post is my tribute to the incredible woman who raised me and influenced the woman I am today. It was not only the lessons she taught me—but examples she lived out in front of me that I treasure. If someone were to tell me, “You are just like your mother”—there could not be a more incredible compliment.
Yona DeVille Malone grew up during the years of the Great Depression as one of eighteen children. Her father was not only a sharecropper—but a circuit preacher. She was shaped in an environment marked by hardship, faith, and family. Those roots shaped the mother she would become.
Lessons of Faith
Mother and Daddy took us to church—they didn’t just drop us off. They saw we were involved in children’s church activities such as Busy Bees and Sunday School, where stories from the Bible—Moses parting the Red Sea, Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego in the fiery furnace, and so many more—were illustrated by colorful images on a flannel board. Even as children, we heard hundreds of sermons from the pulpit focused on faith—that God hears and answers prayers.
Those early years created a head-knowledge of who God is—but it was my mother who began to show me what it personally meant to truly trust Him. She lived it out before me. I can still remember hearing her cry out to God—praying for me. A mother’s prayers are powerful.
Mother led me to my first personal example of faith when I was five years old. When I asked if she could buy me a pretty dress for Easter, she gently told me there was no money. But instead of leaving it there, she instructed me to ask Jesus.
I did just that—I knelt down and asked Jesus for a pretty dress for Easter.
When an unexpected package arrived in the mail from grandparents who had never sent anything like that before, I was convinced Jesus had answered my prayer. The seeds of faith were planted in this little five-year-old girl.
Lessons Through Music
My mother is the reason I am an accomplished, professional musician today. Oh, she couldn’t carry a tune in a paper bag—but she recognized a talent in her little girl and nurtured it.
When I was five years old, she pushed a shy and unconfident little girl to sing on a radio show for the first time. Our church had a weekly program on KSKY, and Saturdays were set aside for the children in Busy Bees. With Mother’s gentle prodding, I sang “Where the Roses Never Fade.”
A few years later, she sent me to the Stamps Singing School. It was an incredible week. An all-night singing was held at the end of the school, where students were encouraged to perform—during a live radio broadcast. Mother encouraged me to sing with another girl, and though I cannot remember the title of the song, I have never forgotten that moment.
Her commitment extended beyond singing.
When I was eight, I began taking accordion lessons. Two years later, she bought a piano—and paid for piano lessons. That was no small thing. She saw something in her little girl and was willing to sacrifice money I know my parents did not have so that I could grow and blossom musically.
This continued to grow when I joined the Duncanville High School Band when I was in the 6th grade. I may have been shy and unsure of myself, but those musical experiences gave me something to feel proud of—and I excelled.
I always knew that wherever I performed—whether it was a halftime show, a piano recital, a band concert, or something else—there would be at least one person in the audience looking just for me… and beaming with pride.
But her influence in my life went far beyond music.
Lessons in Unconditional Love
One of the greatest lessons my mother taught me was through the unconditional love she showed me—when I broke her heart and crushed her dreams for me. Over the years, I know I did things that disappointed and hurt her. But the worst came in November of 1965.
I enrolled in college that Fall on a music scholarship. She was proud that her little girl had grown up and was headed for a promising future. All the sacrifices she had made were bearing fruit.
Then our world came crashing down.
After one date with a football player, I discovered I was pregnant. I was frantic. How was I going to tell my mother—the one who had tried so hard to protect me?
Through what I can only describe as discernment, she already knew—sparing me the ordeal of telling her.
Mother had always been concerned about “what will people think?” And in those days, society’s judgment of an unwed mother and her child was harsh. Yet in the midst of that, she gave me a choice—to keep the baby or place the child for adoption.
I made the decision to go to an unwed mother’s home. I could not bear the shame, nor the way my family—and my innocent baby—might be treated. In January of 1966, I went away… to hide… and to give away my baby.
To my shame, I did not recognize the depth of my mother’s pain. I was so consumed with my own. I didn’t fully grasp that I was giving away her first grandchild.
But through it all—she never left me. She never lashed out. She simply loved me. Even in the pain I caused.
Lessons in Pursuing Dreams
My mother was an incredible salesperson—she could “sell ice to Eskimos.” She was a star World Book representative, winning awards year after year. At one point, my father was tooling leather—making purses, wallets, and belts. Mother was working at Texas Instruments, and he could hardly keep up with the orders she brought in from coworkers. She recognized her gifts—and she used them.
One of her dreams was to sell real estate. At the age of 55, she decided to get her license. Most of the coursework came easily—but math did not. I remember her struggling night after night, determined to pass.
And she did.
She achieved that dream—and just like everything else she touched, she excelled. Her walls were filled with awards—Million Dollar Producer, Million Dollar Seller, and more.
Years later, as I pursued my own career paths—technology, database design, and management—I also excelled. I didn’t realize at the time that I was following her example. Our gifts were different—but the drive was the same.
I also decided to pursue a long-time dream of returning to college. Like Mother, I was also 55 years old. Like her, I struggled with math too. But I pushed through, earning an Honors degree—Cum Laude, and a Master’s degree. I excelled– just like my mother.
Last Lesson
My mother also taught me how to live in the face of illness.
In 1991, she suffered cardiac sudden death due to cardiomyopathy. While she was revived, only 25% of her heart was functioning. It was too weak to support a defibrillator. Instead, she was prescribed a large number of medications. She was told to avoid the sun, stairs, and many normal activities.
Most people would have sat down and waited to die. Not Yona Malone. She continued to sell real estate. She once told me that some mornings she felt like staying in bed—but she made herself get up, take a bath, get dressed, and do the best she could with what strengths she had left.
I see now that I have followed her example in my own life. Living with legal blindness and neuropathy and needing a walker, it would be easy to give up—to simply accept the limitations. But there is something within me that keeps pushing forward—to do the best I can with what I have left. Like Mother, I recognize my limitations, but I look for ways to work around them.
The night before her 50th wedding anniversary, she went to sleep, and was ushered by the angels into the arms of Jesus.
Final Reflections
She taught me how to encourage and support my own children. Lisa and Todd knew there would always be at least one person in the audience when they were marching on the football field; I would be there when they performed in plays, musicals, or other activities.
She taught me to love unconditionally—regardless of the situation or disappointments. To be there whenever they needed me.
She taught me to pray for my family—to encourage them to believe that Jesus does answer our prayers.
I have two deep regrets.
She never knew I followed her example and went back to college to fulfill my dream. I remember when I was still in middle and high school and hearing her sad comments as she looked at my report cards—mostly Cs. She would shake her head and sadly say, “Gwinnetta, you are so smart.” I did not believe her then. I graduated high school with a 4 year GPA of 74. How I wish she had been around when I graduated from college with high honors. How I would love to hear her say, “See, I told you that you were smart!”
The deepest regret was waiting too long to find her first grandchild. She would have adored Juli, and celebrated the incredible talent in her. And Juli would have adored her “Mamma.”
A Thank You and a Blessing
Thank you, Mother
For your faith, your strength, your sacrifices—and for loving me even when I made it hard to love me.
Thank you for the prayers I heard–and the many more I know were whispered when I wasn’t listening.
Thank you for believing in me when I could not believe in myself.
Because of you, I know what faith looks like.
Because of you, I understand what unconditional love truly means.
And because of you I am still pressing forward.
To those who have been blessed with a mother like mine—take a moment to thank her while you can.
And to those whose journey with their mother has been marked by pain, loss, or absence—may you find comfort in knowing that God sees, understands, and holds you close.
Closing Blessing
May you carry forward the love that was given to you, and may you find healing where love was missing.
May the quiet prayers of a mother—spoken years ago—still echo in your life today.
And may you always trust that the God who orders our steps is still writing something beautiful—even now.
Many of the experiences shared here are part of the journey that inspired my memoir, He Ordered My Steps. https://heorderedmysteps.com