Category: Memories

My Three Mothers

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This coming Sunday is Mother’s Day. Already, in my facebook memories I am seeing past posts I have made about this day. I am also seeing my friends post pictures of their Moms.

This holiday always gets to me. First of all Mothers should be honored each and every day, not just one day a year. We, (mothers) don’t need to have lavish gifts once a year to remind us that we are loved. No, and this is my personal opinion, a simple text saying ‘love you’ is enough, as long as we hear it at least once a week. A phone call is another gift that we cherish.

I have always tried to make Mother’s Day a family day. For without our family, how could we be a mother?

As I walked today thoughts of my three mothers came to mind.

Elizabeth Mae, my mother. She passed away when I was eleven. I remember her in bits and pieces. Sometimes those memories are crystal clear, like they happened yesterday, but for the most part memories of her are like looking through a frosted glass. Did they really happen? Or am I seeing a reflection of stories I have heard. Today, one memory came rushing in. I hadn’t thought of it for forever. My sister and I were fighting. I called her a name that I shouldn’t have uttered. I did it in front of my Mom. After spewing the disparaging word at my sister, I looked over to see my Mom’s expression. I took off running. I know, stupid thing to do. I just didn’t run around the inside of the house, I high tailed it outside, heading for the woods. I knew she wouldn’t follow me there. But, there she followed me! Grabbing me by the arm she popped me on the mouth. Not harshly, just enough for me to remember sixty years later. I was then reminded that she was my sister, and she deserved better. I apologized to my sister and as I think of this memory, I laugh. I underestimated how fast mothers can be.

A year after this incident my Mom passed away from pancreatic cancer.

Dottie, my older sister was my second mom. She gave up her carefree teen years to be a mother to my younger sister and myself. I did not make her role easy. I think she had the toughest role of all. She guided me through my teen years. She encouraged me to do things. She dared me to be better, to do better. I now realize that the happy memories of high school are due in part to her. She has said that my younger sister and I were her practice kids. The saying practice makes perfect shows in her children.

Marietta, is my third mother. She was so much more than a mother in law. She gave me the example of how to be a wife to her son. I often say she is my Naomi to my Ruth. Her mirthful laughter gave me hope. Her quiet conversations instructed me and guided me. I am so blessed to have had her in my life.

There were many other ‘Mothers’ in my life. Mothers of friends who would love me and care for me. Those bonus Moms who would answer questions about wardrobes when I wasn’t certain. Those who would just encourage me with a hug and a kiss.

These women all shaped me to be who I am today. I am so grateful and thankful.

“My child, listen when your father corrects you. Don’t neglect your mother’s instruction.
9 What you learn from them will crown you with grace and be a chain of honor around your neck.” Proverbs 1:8-9 (NLT)

Women’s Heart

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As I have mentioned, I attended a Ladies Retreat this past weekend. I have been to several in my lifetime and each one has had it’s own unique feeling.

Most retreats I have attended have had a feeling of getting through the speaker and sessions so it could be playtime. It’s not a bad thing to do this, as the playtime usually brings women closer to one another and forms bonds that cannot be broken. This is what I expected to experience this weekend.

How wrong I was! Yes, there was the chatting and laughter and joking around. Those of us with husbands commented on our husband’s quirks and how irritating it can be. To a casual person passing, the comments could be taken wrong. But, in looking into each other’s faces and laughing over the quirks,(which we determined was a common thing among spouses), you could feel the love each woman has for her spouse. The quirks just made our husbands who they are and they are an endearing part of them.

Other conversations centered around body image, scars, tales of how the scars happened, and laughter. Lots of laughter.

Yes, that was the normal part of a retreat.

Interspersed with each conversation women’s hearts shone through. The hearts continued the feeling of worship and praise. There was a continuation of the services we had. A genuineness.

Usually prayer is only for after the speaker is done. This weekend, prayer was as common as the laughter. Prayer and care were evident in each room you passed. The laughter would lift and then quiet and peeking into different areas you could see women hugging, praying and crying with each other.

Yes, friendship bonds were formed this past weekend. The thing I took away was the care and tenderness displayed through the women. Women are quick to share and get to the heart of matters. We will listen to the pre-story, the lead up and then the heart of a matter comes through. The trust in one another shines forth and ministry takes place.

This was a different type of retreat. The bonds of friendship were made. More important, though, was the bond of caring, of understanding, and of love, which broke through the surface and knitted this group together.

“Above all, clothe yourselves with love, which binds us all together in perfect harmony.” Colossians 3:14 (NLT)

Discards

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This past weekend I attended a ladies retreat in the Great Smokey Mountains of North Carolina. During free time on Saturday myself and four other women went to the town of Bryson City. We didn’t have much time there, but we managed to roam around part of the town having lunch at a small diner and visiting several shops and back again to the diner for some ice cream.

There were signs for a Farmer’s Market and Artisan show, so we walked to see that. On the way back to get the ice cream, our group walked past a small area filled with some junk. As most of us were photographing the scenery and each other, I took some pictures of the junk pile. Yes, I know, of course I would do this.

To discard means to toss away, get rid of.

Passing by ‘junk’, possessions that were once a part of a life. A bed frame that led to sweet dreams or rest, appliances no longer worth anything. Metal left to the elements to rust and rot away.

Discards of life. No longer wanted or needed. An image of a slow rotting of things.

I looked at this area of junk. One time someone’s treasure.

Talking with the woman beside me, I said discards. She immediately looked at me and said, “God never discards us.”

I smiled and told her that’s what I was thinking, and that was the reason for taking the pictures.

Again, I was once more reminded that God speaks to all of us in everyday things. We went out to see the beautiful creations of things in a shop and God showed me junk.

One of my most favorite verses is Matthew 28:20b, “And be sure of this: I am with you always, even to the end of the age.” (NLT)

God never leaves us, He does not tire of us nor does He toss us out as useless. We will never be discards in the Lord’s sight.

Chosen

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“But you are not like that, for you are a chosen people. You are royal priests, a holy nation, God’s very own possession. As a result, you can show others the goodness of God, for he called you out of the darkness into his wonderful light.” I Peter 2:9 (NLT)

To be chosen is a wonderful thing. In elementary school, two or three people would be picked to choose their teams. Excitedly the first few were picked and the team leaders were thrilled with their top picks. I watched as the lines dwindled. Finally three were left for three teams. At this point the excited team leaders would shrug and say, “I guess I will take ….” Often I would be in those last three. I would look at the other two remaining. We all felt it. We all knew what we were, the last ones, the ones that had I guess before their names. Was there often in elementary school. I was tall and lanky and like a german shepherd puppy I had not grown into my feet to make them go the way they were supposed to go.

Relief came in high school where you counted off numbers and all the numbers were teams. A much fairer way to choose. But, by that time, I had grown into my feet and legs and could compete with the best of them.

Being chosen. So many times in life we choose or we are chosen. It becomes second nature to us. It is part of life. We understand what it means and we accept when we are not the ones chosen.

This week I have thought about the above scripture. I am a chosen person. God chose me. I am His. I am on the winning team. I don’t have to prove myself to Him. He has already chosen me. He didn’t look at my physical attributes, or my abilities, or my intelligence. He looked into my heart. He knows my heart’s desire.

“Long ago the Lord said to Israel: “I have loved you, my people, with an everlasting love. With unfailing love I have drawn you to myself.” Jeremiah 31:3 (NLT)

I am chosen and loved with an everlasting love. He has and continues to draw me closer to Him. He loves me just as I am. Although I am far from perfect, and I don’t understand much, He is the One who is perfecting me and molding me into His image and giving me wisdom as we go along.

Spring

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“Look, the winter is past, and the rains are over and gone. 12 The flowers are springing up,
    the season of singing birds has come, and the cooing of turtledoves fills the air.” Song of Solomon 2:11-12 (NLT)

It’s been a few days since I was able to walk and enjoy being outside. This morning I walked to the mailbox and marveled at the bursts of pink, red, white, yellow and green.

I immediately went back in time to my fourth grade year at school. The spring of that year our class did a program on poetry. I loved it. One of the poems we recited was “in just spring’ by ee cummings. Each year I remember the verse and recite it in my mind.

This poet always intrigued me as he didn’t follow any grammar rules and he just wrote.

As I finished reciting this to myself I looked at my driveway, a bit soft from the rains the other night, and almost mud-lucious. I recalled the smell of spring growing up. The scent of mud, blackened snow,lilacs,and trees coming back to life. The air was familiar today and I thanked God for such a day as this.

Spring is a new season, it is birthed by the burst of pollen and trees, leaves, and daffodils. It is like a call from our Lord to awake and renew.

This season I look for the newness of the season and know that with each physical season of life, there is a spiritual one that accompanies it. Lord, awaken me to be renewed in You and burst forth with a freshness and vitality that matches the budding of nature around me.

Bruised

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“A bruised reed He will not break,” Matthew 12:20 a (NKJV)

I just finished listening to the livestream of our church service. I watched from home this morning and, as always, was blessed by the fresh bread given by our Pastor.

As he read this scripture this morning and spoke his message, I remembered a time in my life where I was bruised. Emotionally I was bruised, not wounded deeply, but bruised enough that I kept hitting it up against something or someone and I was emotionally sore.

Our pastor hit on things like this and although what happened to me years and years ago, it resonated and brought it back fresh to my mind.

For a while in San Diego I felt worthless, useless, less than okay. It was reemphasized through many of my companions at the time. It was often brought to my attention that my hair was not done right, my clothes were not in fashion, my make up was out of date, that my house was not clean enough. According to many this was because I wasn’t spiritual enough. I most likely wasn’t praying enough or reading my Bible enough.

Needless to say, guilt was heaped on me from all sides. Eventually many of those people exited my life and I continued on. Today’s sermon reminded me of those times, but, it also showed me that truly the bruised reed that I was was not broken. My distrust in people was restored by a loving group of women in my life who did not focus on the negative, but saw the best in me and encouraged me.

Upon leaving San Diego, the Lord put us where we are today. In a church that loves bruises. They are tender enough to gently hold you up, and tough enough to show you a reflection of your strength when the bruise is healed.

Healing comes in many ways, through doctors, through surgery, through medication, through love, faith, and prayer. I have experienced all these types of healing. But, as I reflect on my life, that time of bruising also was a gift to me. Through it all, I learned what not to be or do for others. I learned humility in being castigated. I learned to lean on to a Friend who never leaves me.

I now have experienced in the road I traveled. I once heard that you can only lead someone as far as you have been. I am awful with physical directions. If you are ever with me and I start walking one direction, do not follow, for it will be the wrong direction. But, the path I walked during that season of my life, I know it well. I will gently take a hand and lead through that and direct you to the end of that path. I know the way through and I definitely know Who is at the end of the path and Who will walk that path with anyone.

Selfishness

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“Don’t be selfish; don’t try to impress others. Be humble, thinking of others as better than yourselves. 4 Don’t look out only for your own interests, but take an interest in others, too.” Philippians 2:3-4 (NLT)

We married young. I had an idea of what marriage would be, but, I confess it was based on Disney princess movies, and 50’s sitcoms like Donna Reed, Father Knows Best and like shows. What I needed back in 1974/75 was Roseann Barr.

So, the dream I had of marriage met with the reality of being a military spouse. They came crashing together abruptly two days after I said “I do”.

This caused anger in me. An undefined anger and resentment. It continued even after our salvation experience. People talk of great testimonies of being saved from addiction, vile life styles, crime and they are incredible testimonies. Not many people will testify that on the outside they looked good, and all together. Actually, I have never heard a person stand up and say, “I was an angry woman. I had resentment up to my eyeballs. I was redeemed from this.”

We don’t hear things like this because we are selfish. Everyone has a measure of selfishness in them. I am no different.

Today as I ironed Dale’s shirt the Lord walked me down memory lane. It was not a good memory trip.

“Instead, “If your enemies are hungry, feed them. If they are thirsty, give them something to drink. In doing this, you will heap  burning coals of shame on their heads.” Romans 12:20 (NLT)

This scripture came to mind shortly into my trip down memory lane this morning. I was enjoying ironing a shirt for Dale (I know, but I like to iron). I could almost hear the Lord laughing at me when I pressed the wrinkles out of the shirt. That is when my memory lane started.

I remember how much I hated to iron when we were first married. The creases that needed to be in the uniforms, the precision that needed to be there.

Sometimes being married to a Navy man who likes perfection was more than I could bear. Hence, the anger and resentment.

One day I was complaining loudly to the Lord about that man He blessed me with. And the scripture in Romans came to mind. I determined then, years and years ago, to do everything as perfect as I could, hoping to heap lots and lots of burning coals on Dale’s head.

At first I can remember growling over the things I did, seeing that he did not notice or stand up to applaud me. But, I continued to do so, praying for him to notice my diligence. I was doing things out of a selfish motive. I would do this, but, I wanted him to see me and lavish affection and gifts over me.

Years passed, I gritted my teeth many times. I whined to the Lord that I was not being appreciated. I refused to quit “heaping burning coals” on Dale’s head. After all, I was going that extra mile. I was being selfish.

Slowly I realized that as I ironed shirts and uniforms, my prayers were changing. Instead of praying for notice of my perfect creases in the shirts and pants, I was praying for my husband while he wore these uniforms and clothes.

I had found joy in the doing and without realizing it at the time, I was actually heaping burning coals upon myself. The coals finally burned through that selfishness and anger, revealing a love that was dormant for my husband.

I once heard a pastor say regarding marriage, “What ever was strong enough to draw you down the aisle, should be strong enough to keep you there.” There are a lot of arguments about that statement, but, to me, it made me realize that the young love I had when I married was indeed strong enough to keep me in the marriage.

When dreams and reality crash dynamics change. Continuing to be selfish does not help matters. After 48 years of marriage I can honestly say, I am still a bit selfish. I still want that applause and recognition from Dale. WE all crave that from our spouse, family, friends. But, the peace, and joy and satisfaction that with God’s help and strength, I can look at what I accomplish and say to our Lord, “Here is my effort. I may be more of a Roseann Barr type of Mom and wife, than a Donna Reed wife and mom, but this is from me. May it find worth in Your eyes.”

Remembering

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“I remember the days of old. I ponder all your great works and think about what you have done.” Psalm 143:5 (NLT)

I have been studying the Psalms. It’s a book of the Bible that is easy to turn to. There is a psalm for each mood, question, situation. In the Psalms I have found strength and encouragement. It is never redundant to me. I have actually spent years of turning to Psalms when I had no understanding of how or what to read.

When going through a long depression, Psalms were what kept my breath coming and let me continue in my days. The encouragement to know that what I was feeling and going through David wrote about.

My tears in reading the Psalms have sometimes matched the tears that fell when the words were written down.

God is like that. He is new every day. His word is life and new. He spoke through kings and prophets and donkeys. When I settle myself and quiet myself, I can hear Him. It’s not an audible voice, it’s not a windstorm that surrounds me. No, it’s this feeling deep inside me and the assurance that He is indeed speaking to me. Nothing earth shattering to the world, but, to me, it shatters my world. Breaking through dark trials, breaking through anger that I am holding on to, breaking through my doubt and fear and shining light on my days.

I choose to remember all the Lord has led me to and through. He is my strength, my comfort, my friend. He’s the same always and I know He isn’t done with me yet.

Today, I choose to remember and stand firm on Him. I know I won’t be disappointed. God is so good.

Devotional

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A few years ago we had a secret sister time in our church. We would gift little things all year long for one person, some guessed who their secret sister was before the year was up, but the fun was never broken. We continued with this for some time, but, eventually interest was lost and we no longer did this for the women’s ministry.

I was blessed to have as my secret sister the same woman twice. The second time she really threw me off and I never suspected who she was.

One of her gifts to me was a year devotional by Max Lucado. I love this devotional. It is now dog eared and worn, but each morning it is the first thing I read. Many days I smile at a corner turned down and I remember how it spoke to me in years past.

Today, I read a familiar story. I knew the story and how it would end, but I still gleaned something from it. It was still fresh to me. It was also like a family story told each gathering time. Family stories are like that, we hear them, we know them, we know when a pause is coming, when laughter is coming, when embarrassment may come. It’s family. It’s history for those sharing.

We have another ‘family’ history book. The Bible. It’s the same stories that are read, listened to, and told. Most we know. But, with this book, there is a freshness. Words that have been there since it was written pop out of a sentence and changes the meaning for us. It is fresh, vibrant, alive.

The title of today’s devotion was “Oh Daddy”. It told the story of a young girl rushing into her father’s arms for comfort. It also talked how prayer begins when we can fall to our knees and cry out, “Oh, Daddy” to our heavenly Father. And, like earthly fathers He is there to catch us. He will wrap His arms around us and bend down to assure us that we are safe in His arms.

Today has been a day where I am reminded that it’s okay to run to my Father’s arms and cry “Oh Daddy”

“So you have not received a spirit that makes you fearful slaves. Instead, you received God’s Spirit when he adopted you as his own children.[a] Now we call him, “Abba, Father.” Romans 8:15 (NLT)

Memories and Tears

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“And be sure of this: I am with you always, even to the end of the age.” Matthew 28:20b (NLT)

Last night we had a dinner at our church. The woman who planned and brought to life the event did so with perfection. The theme was Walking in Love. A sort of Valentine’s dinner which also served as a Pastor’s Appreciation. The food, decorations and time together was amazing. We also had a time of worship, singing older songs of praise. It was a precious time in the Lord. The song transported me back in time.

We lived in Bangor, Maine in Air Force housing. A two story home with a basement. White birch trees lined our yard. It was a lovely home and situation. Our oldest was almost six months old when we moved in.

As with most babies, nights were interrupted by crying and fussing. I don’t know why people say to sleep like a baby as they are usually awake at least three times during the night. Ours was no different.

As winter approached, when she awoke, I would put on my heavy bathrobe and slippers. I would grab her yellow printed quilt from Japan. It was a beautiful gift of a baby futon, not the foam kind we are used to, but a fluffy blanket that would be like a comforter.

I would head down the steps in the cool night and head to my bentwood rocker. Positioning ourselves and making certain both of us were fully covered and cozy. I would draw her close to me and begin to sing. We had a string of songs, some lullabies and a lot of worship songs. I would go through the line up of songs and then sing one over and over. There were no cell phones then to hold and keep me distracted. Only the darkness, my baby and my singing.

The song would quiet her and quiet me. It would calm my frazzled young mother’s angst. My focus would shift from grumpiness of being awake, again to the quiet joyful peace of sitting in a darkened living room with my baby.The wind could be howling outside, driving snow across our yard and building up on our back door, but, I was wrapped in the peace of quiet with a snuggly baby in my arms.

I haven’t remembered those nights in years. Last night we sang the song I would sing over and over. The song started and I sang, enjoying the song itself. As we repeated the chorus my throat stopped up, tears fell down my cheeks and I was once more sitting in the dark room holding my first born.

Our Lord is precious and kind. He recalls to us the times when, unbeknownst to me, He was beside me. Standing watch along with me as His beautiful creation of a child struggled with staying asleep. The impact that, in hindsight, I vividly recalled those seemingly endless nights, thinking all these years that I was alone, and I saw that He walked the floor with me and rocked with me also.

I am so grateful to have had that experience last night, in a crowded room and the Lord gave me this sweet, joyful, memory just for me. He knows each of us personally and He meets us where we are.

I love you, Lord
And I lift my voice
To worship you
Oh my soul rejoice
Take joy, my king
In what you hear
May it be a sweet sweet sound
In your ear

I love you, Lord
And I lift my voice
To worship you
Oh my soul rejoice
Take joy, my king
In what you hear
May it be a sweet sweet sound
In your ear