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Time is not the healer.

I’m in my kitchen – cooking. My television is set on TCM (Turner Classic Movies), as usual. Spencer’s Mountain is coming on. I haven’t seen it in years, and I love old movies, yet I hesitate to watch it again today. Suddenly I realize why. I know what’s going to happen. The old Papa is going to die, and I don’t want to relive my own sad memories – memories of my own Daddy and Mama’s deaths.

A year and a half have passed. I thought time was to be the healer of this grief. Now I know.Time has been undeservedly credited. Time has not been the healer of this grief.

But I DO watch the movie. I’m watching the old, worn Papa, meandering up on the mountain, tending the family graveyard. I’m remembering my own old, worn Daddy, strolling the family graveyard.

Then the old, worn Papa in the movie dies, and I’m watching the family carry him back to the family graveyard on the mountain side. The Spencer family sings “In the Garden.” Papa had requested it.

Any music stirs my heart, but the tune and the words of that hymn bring years of memories. I hear my Daddy and Mama singing it. I see them them singing it. I see the title, “In the Garden” written in my mother’s scribbled penmanship on an odd little piece of paper and placed in the white envelope marked “my funeral.” I want this sung at my funeral, she had written beside the title. My memories of that hymn culminate in hearing it sung at my mother’s funeral.

And he walks with me, and He talks with me.

And He tells me I am His own.

and the joy we share, as we tarry there,

none other has ever known.

Watching the Spencer family grieve, I briefly relive the funerals of my grief. I revisit the funeral homes. I walk to the graves, following Daddy’s casket covered with the flag, following Mama’s casket, covered with roses and carnations and ferns. As the Spencers say goodbye, I again say goodbye. Pain penetrates me.

With each memory, good or bad, the pain has come – a pain pitted between my heart and my throat. But with each memory, throughout this year and a half, the pain lessens, and in pain’s place, healing comes.

Yes, time is not the healer of my grief.

Memories are the healer of my grief.

 

 

 

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Really? My belated response to Michelle Obama.

 “For the first time in my adult lifetime, I’m proud of my country . . .” (Michelle Obama, February 18, 2008)

Really?

My belated response to Michelle Obama.

For as long as I can remember, I’ve always been proud of my country – America.

In my elementary classrooms, I recited the Pledge of Allegiance every day. I was a proud American way back then.

As I grew, both of my parents had opportunity to work; my dad had a steady job; my mother worked at home and sometimes outside the home. A healthy American pride was developing within me – watching my parents fulfill the American dream; owning their own home, enjoying the freedom of raising their children as they saw fit. Even in my early years, I was developing into a proud American.

As I grew up, I learned morals and values upon which our country was founded. For instance, I heard how my grandpa had once arrived home from the country store and realized the storekeeper had given him 25 cents too much in the change back from his purchase. He then “hooked” the horses back up, and drove the rig back down the dry and dusty roads to the little store to return the change. Honesty and integrity were values in my family, and I assumed them to be a part of America, and for that I was proud.

My Daddy told about serving overseas in WWII, separated from his family and my mother for four years. I learned that my grandpa and grandma had five sons serving during those four years. Only four returned. Another Uncle later served in Korea. My brother served during the Viet Nam era. Why? I learned that they all served our country so we could have the freedoms we had. I was a proud American.

Our flag hung outside our front door. It waved in the breeze during the day, but my mother took it down during the storms and at night. Why? I don’t remember anyone having to tell me why. I knew why. It was a symbol of America and of our freedom. It deserved respect. I was a proud American.

Back then, and still today, I love and worship God without fear. I know this is not possible in many countries, and because of that, I am even more proud of America.

In my country, neighbors bring food in times of death or trouble; farmers help each other with their crops; the community comes together for new projects and for those in need. America is people! I’m proud of these people – my fellow Americans; thus I’m proud of America.

At my children’s ball games, I’ve stood quietly and proudly, my hand over my heart as I’ve sung the National Anthem. I’ve taught my children to do the same. Why? Because I’m proud of America.

With three children, I was still able to go to college and attain my Bachelor’s degree – later to earn my Master’s. Never did I take it for granted. I don’t think it’s commonplace in most other countries, do you? My country gave me that opportunity, and it makes me even more proud of America.

I was born in 1951, at a time when our country was healing after WWII. It was a good time in America. And you, Mrs. Obama, were also born during a good time in America. You were born in 1964, shortly after some significant positive changes in our country’s history. Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. had just presented one of the most inspiring speeches in history, which changed our country. Our president had endorsed Dr. King and his leadership in the Civil Rights Movement. What a marvelous America you were born into! In reading your biography, I find that you were also raised with both Dad and Mom in the house. Yours was also a close-knit family. You received opportunities to attend a school for the gifted. Awesome! Then you received degrees from Princeton and Harvard Law School. Wow! This was in America, right? And you weren’t proud of the country for the opportunity it granted you? It’s just a bit difficult for me to understand, because, you see, for as long as I can remember, I’ve always been proud of America.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Together Forever

Margie lived in a small, white farmhouse,  two miles from the little country church in Butler Township. On Sundays, she, along with her brothers and sisters, sauntered the dry gravel roads to church. The parade of children was led by their stern and proper matriarch, Grandma Locke, who lived with the family, as was the custom with many in the first half of the 20th century.

Wayne, on the other hand, was one of an even larger batch of children. He lived twenty miles away in Ovid Township, in a yet smaller white farmhouse. And on Sunday mornings, in contrast to Margie,  Wayne, alone, walked the dry gravel roads (or wet in the rains, or icy in the winter)  to meet up with a traveling pastor, who faithfully drove from Ovid township on Sunday mornings and evenings to preach at Dayburg Baptist Church in Butler township.

IMG_0189 1In and around that quaint little building and its grassy churchyard, Margie and her brothers and sisters met young Wayne. The Locke family took to Wayne, which led to him spending long Sunday afternoons with them at their country home. Later in the day, after the Sunday evening service, Wayne would ride with the pastor back to Ovid Township and walk the short mile home.

IMG_2293Wayne’s friendship developed with the Locke family, and later,  with Margie. One summer afternoon, the young couple crossed the creek, and ambled through the woods between the church and the cemetery on the hill. In this woods, Wayne carved their initials, connected by an arrow, into the trunk of a young tree:

W N + M L ↔

 

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Days passed. Months passed. The young tree reached for the sun above. Occasionally the skies were gray, but the sun always shone again. The tree kept reaching.

~~ ~~ ~~ ~~

By the time Wayne graduated from Coldwater High School, the United States had entered World War II. He signed up and served overseas for three years. Oh how he missed the little country church and his sweet Margie! Meanwhile, Margie worked in a factory, keeping busy to help the war effort and her family.

~~ ~~ ~~ ~~

The tree was still growing, and as it grew, the imbedded letters widened – the arrow tightened the connection between the pair of initials.

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The years dragged. The young couple corresponded, and their letters spoke of love and of marriage.

1946 AZ June 23In 1946, Wayne came home, and he and Margie were married at the little country church – just a few hundred yards from that carved tree in the woods.

Yellow House in the FallSoon, they bought a farm near that woods behind the church where they had one day wandered. The creek bordered the farm on the south. The beautiful yellow farmhouse sat on the hill, midway to the northern property line. It was a house Margie had admired since she walked the dusty roads as a child, many years before, and now her dream had come true.

They served the Lord together in the little country church and raised their family in the yellow farmhouse –  both just a few hundred yards from that carved tree in the woods.

~~ ~~ ~~ ~~

The sun often shone in the woods between the church and the cemetery on the hill, but occasionally skies became overcast and gloomy. Oppressive rains darkened the carved letters in the tree. The storms raged. But the sun always came out again and dried the bark of the tree. Then the carved letters laughed and sang in the light of the Son. The tree flourished and praised its Maker. The tree aged but stood strong and solid. The years passed . . .

~~ ~~ ~~ ~~

. . . nearly sixty-six years! Then the eyes of Wayne’s old body closed for the last time – never to open again. His soul went up, high above the tree, through the sunlight of the early March morning and into the presence of his Maker; and a month later, on an April day, Margie lay, yearning to follow her beloved Wayne. She raised her aged,  purpled forearms toward the heavens, reaching toward the Son – and then she followed him.

The grave - May 2013Their old bodies are buried together in the cemetery on the hill – just a few hundred yards from that carved tree in the woods!

A tombstone bears their names and the dates of their births and deaths. Between their names, two words are carved in the gray granite: Together Forever. 

When a stranger meanders throughout the cemetery and pauses to read those words, he probably smiles and thinks, “How sweet! The old couple is forever buried together here in this little country cemetery.” But when those of us who knew Wayne and Margie read those words, we laugh and sing in light of the Son, knowing that the young couple is Together Forever in heaven!

IMG_2292If you stand high on the cemetery hill and look over the dark green tops of the trees in  the woods below, you’ll see an empty space where the carved tree once stood – empty because the tree died, too. But if you look deeper, down through the green, onto the floor of the woods, you’ll find saplings and seedlings, sown from the seeds of the old tree. They’re growing and reaching up toward the sky and the sun. They welcome the spring rains but are frightened of the fierce storms of late summer and winter. They grow taller and stronger in each season, and they praise their Maker as they see the Son after each storm.

And when you stand on that hill, if you are very still, and if a soft breeze is coming from the church yard below, ruffling the tops of the trees throughout the woods, you’re apt to hear a duo of voices whispering, Together Forever. And when you do, you’ll find yourself laughing and singing in the light of the Son.

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The beautiful, bountiful, broken cherry tree.

I have come that they might have life, and have it to the full. (John 10:10 NIV)

We were busy that summer, several years ago – so busy that my husband, Ron, didn’t have the time or the opportunity to cut down the dead little cherry tree and chop it into a small pile of firewood for the coming winter.

Not a single leaf had developed on the tree that spring. No blossoms in late spring. No cherries in the summer. The branches were withered and barren. The once beautiful and bountiful domestic cherry tree was lifeless. It must have been the hard winter, we each thought, and we spoke about it occasionally throughout that busy summer. After all, cherry trees have a life span of about 20 years. This tree is already nearly 30 years old.

As winter neared, Ron began cutting wood, but he had his eye on bigger trees, providing mega piles of wood, so he still neglected cutting down the dead little cherry tree in the northeast corner of the yard.

~~  ~~  ~~  ~~

Winter came. The house was heated from maple, ash, and walnut – not from the wood of the dead little cherry tree. As spring neared, we talked about getting rid of that dead little cherry tree before we got busy on other spring projects.

~~  ~~  ~~  ~~

Finally spring arrived. As usual, we marveled in the delight of new life outdoors. We started the yard work. When we went to the northeast corner of the yard and saw the little cherry tree, we were in awe! It was no longer dead!

The little tree had budded with leaves.

Shortly thereafter, it burst forth in blossoms. cherry blossoms

cherries 2

Then those blossoms turned into cherries, and the tree flourished again!

We had given up on the tree, but it still had life!

New life!

Full life!

You see, Ron and I don’t know much about cherry trees.  We had merely looked at it from the outside, unaware of all it had to offer us – unaware of its potential.

Since its dead summer several years ago, that cherry tree has repeatedly produced fruit. In fact, its harvest was so great this summer that the weight of the cherries split a limb off the tree.cherry tree broken limb – further evidence that Ron and I don’t know much about cherry trees.

~~  ~~  ~~  ~~

It should have been trimmed and pruned. It needed care. We had neglected it.

~~  ~~  ~~  ~~

The way we cared for that cherry tree is SO unlike the way our Heavenly Father cares for us!

He takes what others perceive as dead – and He brings new life!

He offers full, abundant life to us.

When we open His Word, we find it.

We bud.

We bloom.

We flourish.

~~  ~~  ~~  ~~

That beautiful, bountiful, broken cherry tree

and the awesome, stirring Word of God

speak to me.

I look at myself.

I look at others.

And in place of dead, withered, and barren, I begin to see life.

bowl of cherries

You are valuable in the eyes of God

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Remembering Sue moving toward her Light

what do we Christians do?

It’s Memorial Day. For days, we’ve been memorializing our fallen soldiers. We’ve visited the cemeteries and placed the flags – decorated the graves – not just of the fallen soldiers, but of ALL our service men and women who’ve passed on – and have also decorated the graves of our loved ones who’ve passed on. Proud to be an American; proud to be free; thankful for our heritage. We remember.

~~  ~~  ~~  ~~  ~~

But today I am also remembering an old friend. I haven’t seen her in a few years. You know how it is. Distance, the busyness of life, varied interests and responsibilities. You think about each other and want to get together, but you can’t. You plan to, but you don’t.  And then it’s too late. That’s how I’m feeling today, and that’s how I’m remembering my friend whom I probably now won’t see again for a long time, because  today, my old friend, Sue, will take her last breath. Today – Memorial Day – I’m remembering Sue.

~~  ~~  ~~  ~~  ~~

In my young adult years, Sue was an inspiration and a mentor to me. We both attended East Algansee Baptist Church. She was a pianist and a vocalist; I was a pianist and a vocalist; but Sue had an undeniable natural talent. Sue was one to learn from, so I listened and I observed and I began to model my own playing and singing  after hers.

~~  ~~  ~~  ~~  ~~

We had a casual joke about the piano bench. Sue warned me: it seemed that if you sat on the piano bench, you ended up pregnant! When I first started playing the piano at East Algansee Baptist Church, Sue had just given birth to twins, Aaron and Anna, completing her and Al’s family of four children! Ina, another keyboardist who “sat on the piano bench” at the church had just birthed Aric, her third child. I had just given birth to Matt, my first, and I “sat at that piano bench,” Sunday after Sunday, and later had Kristen and Amber! “There’s something about that piano bench,” people teased.

~~  ~~  ~~  ~~  ~~

 

SueSue was vibrant and cheerful, even when she faced adversities. I remember when she lost her parents – her Daddy first. Sue was one of the only other adult women I knew who called her father “Daddy,” like I did, so I connected to her loss. Then she lost her mother. She was very close to both. But Sue didn’t dwell in sadness; Sue moved on. Sue always looked toward the light.

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Mother of four, piano teacher, school teacher, servant of God. As her children grew, she faced life alone for awhile, as a single parent – a single woman. But Sue didn’t dwell in emptiness; Sue  moved on. Sue always looked toward the light.

~~  ~~  ~~  ~~  ~~

Increasing her educational degrees, increasing her responsibilities, serving others. Sue moved on. Sue always looked toward the light.

~~  ~~  ~~  ~~  ~~

The children grew. They flourished – each filled with bits of their mother – her strength, her talents, her joy. The grandchildren came – each filled with bits of their grandma. Today will be a difficult day for those children and grandchildren. And these next days will bring unwanted changes. But one day, they will each move on because they were raised by a strong, courageous woman. They all will look toward the light.

~~  ~~  ~~  ~~  ~~

The disease didn’t stop her. Today Sue moves on. Today Sue looks toward the Light. Today Sue will meet that Light.

~~  ~~  ~~  ~~  ~~

The light of the world is Jesus – Sue’s Jesus. Her Daddy and Mother’s Jesus. Her children’s Jesus. Her grandchildren’s Jesus. My Jesus.

(John 8:12)

~~  ~~  ~~  ~~  ~~

Vibrant. Cheerful. Daughter. Mother. Grandma. Piano teacher. School teacher. Servant of God. Educated. Strong. Courageous. My inspiration, mentor, and friend.

This world is brighter because Sue was in it.

 

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Kathi and Ron and Joshua and The Grand Hotel

Shortly before our anniversary, Ron surprised me. He had made arrangements for us to attend an overnight marriage conference (Celebrate your Marriage) at the Grand Hotel on Mackinac Island! Wabba! We hadn’t had special time together, or any time away in well over a year – and never at the Grand Hotel! It sounded great!

The Grand Hotel at night

The day before our anniversary jaunt, I opened my Bible to the Old Testament book of Joshua where I’ve turned many times in my studies, especially since I read of Joshua, who, facedown in reverence before the Lord, asked,

What message does my Lord have for his servant? (Joshua 5:14).

This has become a question I try to remember to ask God every day.

What message does my Lord have for his servant?

On this day,the message lay boldly before me:

I will begin to exalt you in the eyes of all Israel, so they may know that I am with you . . . (Joshua 3:7).

I didn’t know exactly what it meant for me, but I believed it included and involved my family. And I was excited to see what God was going to do and how He was going to do it! Sometime in the past, beside those words in my Bible, I had written the location of a coordinating passage, which I had underlined in the next chapter:

That day the Lord exalted Joshua in the sight of all Israel . . . (Joshua 4:14).

I knew that day was coming soon.

And so we spent a night in Mackinaw City, went across to the island, and spent another night at the elegant Grand Hotel, laughing through the conference sessions and truly celebrating our marriage. On Monday, after the last session and after an elegant lunch, our time at the Grand Hotel was over, so the horse-driven carriage transported us, clippety-clop, to the dock.

The Grand Hotel

Have you ever had a dream that you are going somewhere, perhaps running away from something, but you seem to be moving in slow motion – getting nowhere? This dream became real as we left Mackinac Island and headed south toward Kalamazoo.

We had allowed ample time to drive to Kalamazoo. (Mapquest shows it as being a 4 1/2 hour trip.) We were excited to meet our Kristen and Josh and the children. Somewhat last minute, Valley Family Church of Kalamazoo had slated Tim Storey for a special healing/miracle service. Kristen and Josh were taking Baby Luke, and we didn’t want to miss it. We wanted to be open to the filling of God’s Holy Spirit. And we were trusting God for continued manifestation of Luke’s healing in this journey our family had been on since his birth in December.

What message does my Lord have for his servant?

Sheplers Ferry

So, we left the island on a ferry, of course – Shepler’s Ferry Service – supposedly the smoothest of all. And I suppose it really was the smoothest service, under normal conditions. But you see, a wind was blowing across the Straits of Mackinac on Monday; a storm was brewing. Our little ferry was packed with people carrying boxes of Murdick’s Fudge or handled bags stuffed with souveniers. The interior cabin soon became quite “stuffy.” The little ferry tore across the waters coupling the island and the mitten, the experienced captain darting between the massive Lake Huron waves capped in white. By mid-strait, I was watching those waves through the back end of the ferry, joined by one passenger after another, making their way along the narrow aisle like drunken travelers toward the promising fresh air. Each drop of cold lake water, pelleting our faces, served simply to keep us from losing our elegant lunches to the boat’s rocking bottom!

Once ashore, the wind whipped the awnings covering our awaiting luggage and drove the claim cards from our hands, across the rocks, into the waves, and back toward the island; our keys, although mislabeled “Dan Hutchinson” instead of “Ron Waligora,” did actually open our car doors, and finally we were tucked inside our little Buick Enclave, nauseous and glad to be back on land.

Heading south, the outside temperatures increased a degree with each mile we traveled until we were finally sailing down I-75 in 82 degree weather. Little did we know the southern stretch of the storm lay ahead us.

So as we traveled south on I-75, toward Clare, toward Lansing, and toward Kalamazoo, the sky darkened. Every time we thought we were “driving out of it,” the road curved and we drove deeper into it. The sky rained on us in violent downpours. Time and again, we pulled off the road – onto the medium if we could not decipher an exit – under a gas station overhang if we could. Local power outages resulted; parking lots flooded;  and each time we pursued the highway venture, the wind agitated the little Buick and standing water propelled it as though it were a diecast model.

What message does my Lord have for his servant?

He answered:

Be strong and courageous. Do not be terrified; do not be discouraged, for the Lord your God will be with you wherever you go. (Joshua 1: 9)

Finally I realized that this was not just a spring rainstorm. I thought perhaps the enemy did not want us to attend this evening’s healing / miracle service – did not want us to invite the Holy Spirit to indwell and work within us – did not want us to share in the manifestation of Baby Luke’s healing. So I prayed to our Awesome God, and I rebuked the enemy, and on we went, through the storm, into the sunlight, and on to Kalamazoo, entering the huge church just in time to begin worship with a thousand others.

Consecrate yourselves . . . (Joshua 3:5)

The Lord had been telling me this for quite some time, as He had told Joshua and the Israelites. And the two-hour service was indeed a time of consecration within my own heart and soul. The worship stirred my heart to confession and repentance. Ron and I sat and we stood and we praised and we worshipped in absolute amazement! The Holy Spirit was most obviously in this place. I stood between my husband of 42 years and my son-in-law, Josh, who was holding our little Baby Luke – the child who was teaching us about faith and healing and about the wounds of Jesus and the very reason Jesus had suffered those wounds. I placed my hands on the baby and prayed for him, while Ron prayed for our entire family.

Consecrate yourselves for tomorrow the Lord will do amazing things among you.

I’m not a Joshua. I don’t feel worthy to receive the same message God spoke to Joshua, but I am. I was made worthy by the blood of Jesus. I was recently reminded that I “have more than Joshua did because I have the blood of Jesus, the righteousness of God and the New Testament” (BVOV, May 2013).  And quite some time ago, through studying God’s Word, I began to realize the power of Jesus in me, and little by little, I am believing Jesus and understanding what He says – that I, Kathi, who believe in Him shall do great works because Jesus went to the Father and sent the Holy Spirit to indwell me – that I, Kathi, may ask Jesus for anything in His name, and He will do it (John 14:11-14). How awesome is that! I’ve asked Jesus for healing for Baby Luke and for increasing faith in myself that I might see it every step of the way! In His name!

The healing / miracle service was an amazing step in that journey of faith, for we soon learned that . . . tomorrow, the Lord will do amazing things. And He did! On Tuesday! I’ll write about it in my next posting.

 

 

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I Rise Up and Call You Blessed (Part 3 of “My Mother, The Proverbs 31 Noble Woman”

Her husband has full confidence in her and lacks nothing of value. She brings him good, not harm, all the days of her life . . . Her husband is respected at the city gate, where he takes his seat among the elders of the land. . . her husband . . . praises her.

Oh, yes! It’s difficult to believe today – that a woman would take such good care of her husband! But she did! And yes, he had full confidence in her; and yes, she brought him good all the days of her life; and yes, he was respected and an elder; and yes, he praised her! When I was young, I never heard my mother argue with my dad. She didn’t slam the door in his face or yell at him. She never spoke about separation or divorce. Faithfulness.

As a result, he cherished her. He respected her. He opened doors for her and was openly affectionate with her. He gave her gifts. I observed. It taught me much. And all by example.

He praised her for 65 years – even into the last stages of his dementia!

She loved, honored, and served him for 65 years – even unto his last breath!

2008

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She watches over the affairs of her household and does not eat the bread of idleness.

She knew everything that was going on in the house and was always busy, whether working at the school, at the factory, or at home.

~~ ~~ ~~ ~~

She speaks with wisdom, and faithful instruction is on her tongue.

As an adolescent, I argued with her – repeatedly! I had little confidence in her wisdom or instruction. But amazingly, years later, I looked at her and saw a woman who spoke with wisdom and faithful instruction! My, how she had changed during those years I grew up!

~~ ~~ ~~ ~~

Her children arise and call her blessed.

Oh, yes. I began singing her praises, especially after I became a mother! 2006 Nutt Family

~~ ~~ ~~ ~~

. . . but a  woman who fears the Lord is to be praised.

So now, when I praise my Mama, I also pray the very last verse of Proverbs 31:

~~ ~~ ~~ ~~

Give her the reward she has earned, [O Lord], and let her works bring her praise at [heaven’s] gate.

Amen. Happy Mother’s Day, Mama!

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She Extends Her Hands to the Needy : Part 2 of “My Mother, the Proverbs 31 Noble Woman”

I last wrote about Mom’s potholders – basically the only thing she ever sewed on her Singer! I wrote about those potholders becoming burnt at the edges and dabbled with smidgeons of escalloped potatoes or the broth of pot roast, or an occasional pot of chili. That pot of chili – brings me to several other traits of a noble woman – some my mother truly embodied.

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“She gets up while it is still dark; she provides food for her family and portions for her servant girls . . . She considers a field and buys it; out of her earnings she plants a vineyard. She sets about her work vigorously; her arms are strong for her tasks . . . She opens her arms to the poor and extends her hands to the needy . . . ” (From Proverbs 31)

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Mom worked from before daylight until after dark. She planted a garden – then she canned and froze every vegetable and fruit she could get her hands on. (Except beets. She didn’t like beets, so we never had them in the house!) Then, she took the bounty of her garden and she cooked and baked. I never had to ask IF we would have supper. We ALWAYS had supper. But I often came home from school and smelled something delicious baking and found out it wasn’t for us! It was going to someone else in the neighborhood! A meal for the Moores after Edna died. Basketfuls of hot and cold foods for the church supper on the first Wednesday night of the month. A meal for the Reverend Lindsey. Brownies for the church boys’ campout.

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One day I remember a big pot of chili on the stove. “Who’s this for?” I asked, feeling neglected.

“It’s for the Andrews family,” Mom replied.

“Well, they’re not from our church,” I complained. “Why are you taking it to them?”

She answered, “They’re hungry and they need to eat, don’t they?”

1959 HC Christmas MomI don’t know if Mrs. Andrews was sick, or if Mr. Andrews was out of work, but something was going on at the Andrews’ house, and Mom had a heart for this family with six children, and yes, they would eat supper that night because of Mom, who “. . . provides food for her family and portions for her servant girls (or in this case, the Andrews family!)

~~  ~~  ~~  ~~  ~~

I’m sending a message up to my mother. I don’t know if it will be delivered by the angels or by the Lord himself, but I’m trusting it’ll get to Mama for this Mother’s Day:

“Many women do noble things [Mama], but you surpass them all.” Proverbs 31:29

Be sure to catch tomorrow’s posting (Part 3) about “My Mother, the Proverbs 31 Noble Woman.”

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Her Potholders (Part 1 of “My Mother” the Proverbs 31 Noble Woman)

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Mother’s Day causes me to remember my Proverbs 31 mother.

 

Today, I’m remembering her “gifts” (or lack thereof) of weaving and sewing fabric!

 

“she selects wool and flax . . . In her hand she holds the distaff and grasps the spindle with her fingers . . . She makes coverings for her bed . . . she makes linen garments . . . ” (from Proverbs 31)

 

 

1956 PB

 

Mom had a sewing machine —  a Singer, set in a darling little blonde cabinet. 

 

1957 BH

 

The Singer was an integral part of our home, holding various places through the years. It sat in the front parlor, in the living room, or in the landing at the top of the stairway.

 

Whichever location, there it sat!

 

Mom seldom opened the Singer!

 

She rarely sewed!

 

All in all, the Singer generated one resulting product: potholders!

 

The fabrics varied. Potholders made out of worn chenille bedspreads, old curtains, or tattered towels. The stitched designs were more limited: X’s, O’s, or a combination of both.

 

Mom’s limited sewing talents were the brunt of teasing throughout the years! She smiled and received the ribbings with a chuckle. And in the end, my sister, Becky, and I both inherited her sewing talents and a few tattered potholders! 

Meanwhile, her homemade potholders filled the drawers closest to her stove. They became burnt at the edges and dabbled with smidgeons of escalloped potatoes or the broth of pot roast, or an occasional pot of chili – which brings me to my next point:

 

Although Mom did not share the sewing talents of the Proverbs 31 wife, she embodied the traits of the noble woman. (Read more in tomorrow’s posting.)

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Mother’s Day

I remember when her mother died. Mom’s heart was broken, and I thought I understood. Soon after, Mom and I and my daughters went to a Mother/Daughter Banquet to celebrate Mother’s Day. I was celebrating her – my mother, and I told her so. But Mom was not celebrating. Her heart was broken from the loss of her own mother, my Grandma Locke. And again, I thought I understood.

Nonetheless, I celebrated her — with my unfailing love and my joy in hers. I shared with her my thankful heart — for her tender care, for her prayers, for the heritage she was giving — and for all she would continue to give — to me and to my daughters.

When honoring a mother, a daughter’s joy cannot be contained. It is contagious to the mother. And it is healing.

Mom

And it brought some healing to my mother. On that day — that Mother’s Day — Mom knew that her own mother’s legacy had not died with her mother. She knew that it continued in herself and in turn, in me, and then, in my daughters.

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So today, Mom, I celebrate your memory, and I continue to honor you and the legacy you have passed on.

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GrandmaToday, I celebrate my Grandma Locke who made sure I had eaten a good dinner and then let me delve into her massive sugar cookies dolloped with jam.

Grandma NuttI celebrate my Grandma Nutt who had birthed twelve children and had dozens of grandchildren yet still had time to hold me in her cushy lap and sing to me.

Today, I also celebrate myself. I celebrate my daughters and daughter-in-law, and I celebrate my granddaughters. And I know the legacy continues. And it is quite healing.

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