Mary

With all the blessings of growing up as a pastor's kid, there were a few drawbacks. The biggest of which was feeling like I was living under the scrutiny of many a watchful eye. My mom, Mary, would have nothing to do with it. She was a Mamma Bear when it came to that and worked hard to make sure my sister and I were able to live our lives and make our mistakes despite what anyone else thought.

A wise woman, anyone would agree, my mom can teach at length about anything from British history and literature to the latest technological invention, with each fact and figure organized neatly in her brain. Yet, it isn't the geneology of the Winsors or how to use my iPad that I've most gleaned from her vast knowledge. It's her ability to love people through serving.

In a home with a revolving door attitude, we always had people over for dinner and house guests living in spare rooms. My mom handled this with grace, even giddiness over the opportunity to use her gifts. Our house transformed into Hotel Yohn as guest towels were put out along with travel-sized toiletries.

My mom has been the wind beneath the wings of so many, namely my dad, my sister and I. Only as a mom now can I fully appreciate how she had my sack lunch ready for me each morning before school and sat by my sick bed rubbing my back until I went to sleep. She has the unique gift of supporting others through her incredible organizational skills and frugality without needing to be in the spotlight. She celebrates others successes and comforts them in their pain.

So when I don't miss a step while doing my once-a-month cooking, stretch a dollar further than ever imagined and organize my kids' hand-me-downs meticulously in Rubbermaid containers, it's my mom Mary in me.