Let Me Tell Y’all A Story About Mama Nese

Let Me Tell Y’all A Story is a weekly column that’s not focused on sports. It’s brought to you by our partners at Chuck Owens, Alfa Insurance.

Watching football practice at McComb High last week.

A woman walks up as I’m standing along the fence and engages me in conversation.

The best way to describe her is to say she’s little, with grey around her temples and skinny forearms poking out of her green scrubs.

She’s got a small child, maybe three-years old, with her. As soon as she enters the stadium, I hear kids calling her name, elementary age boys that had just been paying attention to practice, now turning around to catch her eye.

“Mama Nese,” they shout and wave.

She asks about what I’m doing at practice, and I tell her that I write about sports in Southwest Mississippi and I’m here to take a picture of a trio of top Tigers after practice.

She then starts pointing out the players that she knows, confirming that I’ve made a wise choice in spotlighting the three I’ve picked.

“You’ll be back to write about that one another day,” she says, pointing to a young player. “And then you’ll be back later to write about him,” she says, pointing to one of the elementary boys now throwing a football behind the endzone closest to us.

One little boy comes up to her and gets animated, telling her he’s hungry and that he didn’t like the lunch that the school provided. Reminding her about a recent time that she’d bought him a snack after school and wondering if they might do that again today.

“We’ll talk about that later, I’m talking to this man right now,” she tells the child gently. As he walks off, a slow grin creeps across her face.

“You can tell he’s running a little game on me, can’t you,” she asks.

I told her I’ve been a teacher for almost 20 years, so when he said “no cap” I understand the lingo. At that, she lets out a laugh.

Is he your grandson, I ask.

“No,” she says. “Just one I love on.”

She explains how she’ll take care of the boy later, even though she knows that he might have eaten lunch earlier, but gas station snacks are always better than school lunches.

“I just want them to know that if I have it and they need it, then it’s theirs,” she says. “I wish I had more to give, because that’s where I feel led to minister, by giving.”

By this point, I’m not watching practice anymore, too focused on this wise soul, one I can see the love of Christ pouring out of.

Are you originally from McComb, I ask.

“No,” she says. “I ended up here after Katrina.”

It’ll be 20 years this weekend, I remind her. Did you ever think you’d be here 20 years later, I ask?

“No, no, no, no,” she laughs in reply. “I’m glad I’m here though, this has become another home to me, I love the people here in Mississippi.”

We continue to talk, and she goes through the coaches on the staff at McComb High. Talks about their love of the boys on the team and the mentorship they provide. She’s worrying about Head Coach Alden Foster and his water intake, as he received a new kidney between last season and now.

She mentions a few individual players and mentions the difficulties that those players have overcome. The kids that know loss too closely. The kids that have seen too much in their young lives.

You can tell those are the ones she cares most about.

When you meet someone who has a heart for people, you sometimes just need to be quiet and let them talk, so that you can try to soak up as much goodness and kindness as possible that’s flowing from them.

When she says something else about the Lord, I ask her where she worships.

“First Baptist,” she answers. She has a little twinkle in her eye after saying it, looking at me.

“Does that surprise you,” she asks me.

Not at all, I tell her.

She then talks about the Gridiron Sunday that First Baptist had held recently, telling me about how all four Pike County high school football came together for worship at FBC McComb.

Her eyes light up when she talks about the players that made public commitments to follow Jesus that day.

We talk a little more about the hurt she sees in the kids she loves. About the hard times some of them have overcome. About how many of them don’t know that their pain or anger or loss can be healed in Christ.

Practice starts to wrap up.

“You don’t want to write about any of that though,” she says with a wave of her hand.

I do though, I reply. I’m going to write about this conversation next week, with your consent.

“Why would you do that,” she asks?

I explain that I have a column each Tuesday that’s about something other than sports. I tell her how I’d just been driving down Delaware Avenue not even an hour earlier, pondering what it is that I could write about.

And then she, Mama Nesa, walked up, like an answered prayer.

She grasps my hands when she laughs this time.

“God provides,” she says while beaming.

What’s your real name, I ask.

“Sandra Bush, but a lot of people probably don’t know that,” says Mama Nese.

“Will you be at the game this week,” she asks.

No ma’am, I’ll be back soon though, I say.

“I’ll be looking for you,” says my new friend.

One of the McComb assistant coaches walks over to introduce himself and asks if I knew Mama Nese.

Not until today, I say.

“That’s a great woman,” he says.

Yes sir, it didn’t take me long to figure that out.