A Mother’s Quiet Strength | Meyu Changkiri

approaches, memories flood my heart – some warm and comforting, others tinged with the ache of absence. My thoughts turn once again to my beloved mother, who passed away in 2013. Though her physical presence is no longer with us, her legacy of faith, love, and perseverance continues to shine brightly in our family and in my life.

Some people leave behind monuments or worldly achievements. My mother left behind something far more powerful – a legacy of quiet strength and unwavering devotion. She was not known beyond our small village in Nagaland, nor did she possess wealth, education, or titles. But to us, her children and all who knew her, she was a hero of faith – deeply rooted in God, resilient through suffering, and radiant in grace.

Born on January 4, 1933, in the serene village of Changki, my mother was the eldest of six children. Her parents, Tinunokchaba Tzüdiri and Mayangnokchala Ningdangri, were simple village folks, known for their faith and kindness. Life in those days was not easy, but they raised their family with a strong sense of values, responsibility, and Christian ethics.

When my grandmother passed away soon after giving birth to the youngest sibling, my mother – still a young girl herself – was thrust into a role no child should have to bear. She became a mother to her siblings, a caretaker of the home, and the emotional anchor of the family. Her dreams of going to school and pursuing other possibilities were shelved. She learned early what it meant to sacrifice, to serve, and to love without complaint.

My mother never went to school. In an era when education was a rare privilege for girls, especially in rural Nagaland, she didn’t even have the chance to learn the alphabet. But if you measure knowledge not by books but by wisdom, resilience, and godliness, then she was one of the wisest people I have ever known.

Though she could not read the Holy Bible, she knew the Word through the pastor’s preaching and by living it. Her life was a reflection of Christ’s teachings – she was gentle, forgiving, hardworking, and deeply prayerful. Despite her illiteracy, she successfully raised ten children – two of whom went on to serve full-time in church ministry and community leadership. That, to me, is nothing short of miraculous.

On December 21, 1954, she married my father, Noksangoba Changkiri, the youngest son of Chujangpaba Changkiri and Rongjentsüla Pongener. My father also shared my mother’s values of hard work and faith.

Together, they forged a life built not on wealth or ease, but on endurance, mutual respect, and faith in God. Their days were filled with toil – ploughing the land, cultivating crops, fetching water, raising livestock, and preparing food over firewood. There was no electricity, no modern transportation, and no medical access. Yet, there was joy and meaning in their journey.

A significant turning point in their spiritual journey came during the Great Revival Movement of the 1970s in Nagaland. This movement swept across our land, awakening souls, reconciling families, and calling many to a deeper life in Christ. Both my parents experienced a fresh encounter with God during this time.

For my mother, this revival wasn’t just emotional excitement – it was a lifelong transformation. She became more committed to church, more faithful in prayer, and more generous with her time and resources. Her prayer life deepened, and she became one of the quiet spiritual pillars in our community.

Raising ten children in a remote village with no stable income was a monumental task. But my mother never complained. She cooked, cleaned, tilled the soil, fetched firewood, and still found time to pray for us each day. Even when illness struck or when harvests were poor, she remained calm and trusting. Her faith was simple yet profound: “God will provide.” And somehow, He always did.

She was not formally trained, but she taught us life’s most important lessons – honesty, humility, respect, gratitude, and obedience. She taught by example. We watched her give the best part of our harvest to the church, share meals with neighbors who had less, and care for the sick and elderly with great tenderness.

Though she never preached a sermon, her life was a powerful message. I often wonder if my calling into pastoral ministry was shaped more by her life than by any theological training I received.

Mother never used harsh punishment. Her discipline came through her eyes – a look of disappointment was enough to correct our behavior. At times, a few words of rebuke would follow, but never in anger. She was patient yet firm, never allowing us to develop bad habits or take shortcuts.

Today, I realize how much effort it takes to discipline with gentleness. Her approach didn’t just control our behavior – it shaped our character.

My parents worked the land from sunrise to sunset. Whether under the blazing sun or in the cold rains, they walked miles to reach their fields. They cultivated paddy, practiced jhum farming, and grew sugarcane, oranges, and pineapples. I still remember the boiling of sugarcane juice to make jaggery – its sweet smell lingering in the air as a sign of another day’s hard work.

Everything we ate was grown, and everything we wore was either stitched by hand or bought from selling farm produce. Life was frugal but not impoverished. There was always food on our plate, even if simple, and always laughter in our home.

Despite their own needs, my parents were generous. Our home became a resting place for extended family, visitors, and even strangers. No one ever left our house hungry. After every harvest, my mother made sure we gave the firstfruits to God and the next portion to those in need. She often said, “The more we give, the more God gives.”

Her generosity extended beyond food. She gave time, attention, and comfort. She listened to people’s problems and offered prayer. Her kindness was quiet but unforgettable.

One of the fondest memories I have of my parents is their singing. They would hum hymns as they worked, filling the home with songs of hope and grace. My mother’s favorites were hymns about heaven, forgiveness, and God’s enduring love. These songs became the soundtrack of my childhood.

Music was her way of worshipping, of coping, and of proclaiming her faith. Though she never led a choir or held a microphone, her singing touched us in ways no performance ever could.

My mother served God through Baptist Church Changki in the Women’s Ministry as a “Tenzüklari,” not by standing in the spotlight, but by being consistent. She attended every Wednesday, Saturday, and Sunday service. She regularly participated in every Thursday women’s fellowship, supported church programs, and prayed faithfully for the pastor and congregation.

On one special occasion, our church honored her with a certificate as the “Best Mother.” For someone who never asked for recognition, that simple gesture meant so much.

She had a sense of humor, too. Once, she complained about my moustache, saying it made me look rough and didn’t suit people in full-time Christian ministry. I jokingly replied, “God gave it to me because He thought it suits me!” She laughed and never brought it up again. That was her – never holding grudges, always quick to smile, and endlessly adaptable.

In her final years, her pace slowed, but her spirit never dimmed. She continued to pray, hum her hymns, and welcome us with joy. On January 4, 2013, we celebrated her 80th birthday in our village. My son shares her birthday, and we marked the occasion with joy.

Just twelve days later, on January 16, she passed away peacefully. It felt like she had completed her race and was ready to meet her Savior. She died with the same dignity, grace, and quiet strength with which she had lived.

I miss her terribly, especially during special days and family gatherings. Yet I also feel her presence – in the prayers I pray, the songs I sing, the way I parent my own children, and the values I uphold. Her impact is eternal.

She may not have traveled far, owned much, or spoken to crowds. But she changed the world – at least mine. Her life was a light, a lesson, and a legacy. As I serve others now in ministry, I realize I am merely extending the work she began in our small home in Changki.

To all mothers who rise early, work late, give endlessly, and love unconditionally – you are the unsung heroes of our time. You may not always hear thank you, but your efforts are not in vain. Your prayers are building futures. Your sacrifices are shaping destinies.

And to those mothers who feel unseen or unappreciated – take heart. God sees you. Your labor of love is never wasted in His kingdom.

If your mother is still alive, honor her – not just on Mother’s Day, but every day. Spend time with her. Learn from her. Celebrate her while you can. And if, like me, your mother has gone to be with the Lord, may you continue to live in the light of her love and the strength of her prayers.

In a world that often measures success by wealth, fame, or intellect, I choose to measure my mother’s life by a different standard – by the love she gave, the faith she lived, and the hope she carried.

Her life was not loud, but it was powerful. It was not easy, but it was victorious. Her strength was quiet, but it shaped generations.

Happy Mother’s Day,

Ayao.

You are remembered. You are missed. And you are deeply loved.