“Mother” was Only a Vague Memory

04 Tuesday Dec 2012

Posted by Catherine Lawton in Adopted children, childhood memories, emotional needs, God's healing love, leaving a legacy, losing mom too soon, when tragedy hits

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Christian novel, Christmas, Grandparent, Holidays, Modeling the faith

White-As-Snow-Cover-Kindle

For this fictional character, Charlie, a boy on the Colorado Frontier in 1862, “mother” was a vague memory. An orphan, he was raised by his grandparents on a small ranch at the foot of the Colorado Rocky Mountains. As a youth now, just coming of age, his Grandma has died and his Grandpa lies dying in their two-room cabin. Charlie feels all alone with winter approaching and no one to celebrate Christmas with. He misses Grandma and longs for the mother he never knew. He has to do the work of a man to prepare for winter; but he is not quite up to it.

He also longs to prove himself and foolishly takes Grandpa’s huge rifle out to hunt for food. Fortunately his Grandma left him a legacy of faith. And, as Charlie is tested beyond his abilities, and things look dire, divine help shows up in the form of a gigantic and mysterious mountain man.

This is the first book in a series of four Christian novels set in 1800s Colorado Frontier. White As Snow is a heartwarming Christmas story. And it is FREE in the Amazon Kindle Store this week!

~ Catherine Lawton

Birthday Thankfulness

24 Saturday Nov 2012

Posted by ardisanelson in childhood memories, Gratitude, leaving a legacy, the healing journey

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Emotional and spiritual healing, Finding our identity, Gratitude, Healing love, life and death, Thanksgiving

Thursday was my 53^rd birthday, the 8^th time in my life that my birthday fell on Thanksgiving. I deliberately carved out (pun intended) a little ‘me’ time to write this post after pondering my birthdays of yesteryear and the day I was born.

I know that my mother was not awake when she gave birth to me. Back then, doctors administered a combination of pain and amnesia medications which would render a woman unconscious during childbirth. My father waited expectantly in the waiting room, probably with other fathers, for word of my birth.

In those days, there were no ultrasounds to ‘preview’ the child’s gender. “It’s a girl!” were likely the first words I heard as I entered the world.

I was named after my father’s sister, who eventually became my godmother. I wasn’t very close to Aunt Ardis. She always lived hundreds or even thousands of miles away throughout my life. She couldn’t have kids of her own, but she was honored to have a niece named after her.

Aunt Ardis died many years ago. Sadly, I was not able to attend her funeral. When her husband, Uncle Edgar, died six years ago, the executor of the estate gave me the opportunity to take some personal belongings for a keepsake. I took the small amount of inheritance I received and flew to their home in Wisconsin to explore the estate. I returned home with a beautiful set of china and some silver pieces that grace my dining room table every holiday.

More than that though was the treasure trove of cards, letters and keepsakes overlooked by other family members who arrived before me. That night in the solitude of my hotel room, I scoured through the pile and was blessed beyond belief as I read letters from my mother to Aunt Ardis, filling her in on my childhood and sending her my school photos. My aunt had every letter and Christmas card I sent her as an adult as well.

I also read through the condolence cards sent to my uncle when she passed away. I really got a feel for who she was, even though I didn’t know her well when she was alive. Being in her home and going through her belongings also gave me a glimpse into myself. Best of all was finding the original birth announcement my parents sent to her decades before. She kept all of my mementos—and in the process, left me a legacy of love!

That trip was a precious gift to me from above. It gave me more wholeness and helped to fill in the gaps of my earthly identity. It is the gifts like this, the ones that touch my heart, that mean the most to me. This Thanksgiving birthday was celebrated with gratitude for the One who has transformed my heart in so many ways over the last few years. He has redeemed the years that the locusts have eaten (Joel 2:25).

Thank you, Mom, for giving me life. Thank you for investing in me. Healing and wholeness are true gifts to be celebrated on Thanksgiving and everyday.

~ Ardis A. Nelson

“Thank You” ~ The Magic Word

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Posted by Catherine Lawton in childhood memories, generations coming together, Gratitude, leaving a legacy, Parenting, reach out and touch

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Child, Family, Gratitude, Home, Mother, Parenting, Thanksgiving

When my daughter, Christina, was small I took her weekly to Suzuki violin lessons. After an intensive hour of tuning, fingering, bowing, ear training, phrasing and performing the musical pieces, the bow was loosened and the half-size violin securely closed into its case. Then the teacher, Mrs. Sloat, would pick up a cut-glass, covered candy dish in which she kept treats for her students. She held the dish in the air with one hand grasping the knob of the crystal lid. She bent close to the little pig-tailed girl, and her elderly face was a picture of captivating anticipation.

“What is the magic word?” she’d ask.

“Please,” said my daughter shyly but eagerly.

Then the lid was lifted off the candy dish and Christina was allowed to choose and take two pieces. But that wasn’t the end of the session yet. Mrs. Sloat held the lid in the air above the dish with another irresistible look of expectancy in her face.

Little Christina knew what was expected. So she said the other magic word: “Thank you.”

Then Mrs. Sloat replaced the glass lid with a soft musical clink and set the candy dish back upon the table, the weekly ceremony completed, and a child trained, motivated, and rewarded.

We teach our small children, from the time they can speak in syllables, to say “thank-you.” We’re pleased when teachers and others support us in that endeavor of encouraging politeness and gratitude in our children. Then, how rewarding it is when they begin to say thank-you all on their own. Magic words indeed!

When your child comes to you with nothing to gain, not asking for anything but expressing unsolicited, heartfelt appreciation, the reward is sweeter than candy to the fine-tuned parental heart.

My husband and I experienced this when our son and then our daughter went away to college. Our training was pretty much completed. Now it would be tested. And there was no guarantee that our children would heed or appreciate the upbringing they received. Doubts plucked at my parental heart: Did we prepare them well enough? Did we teach them all we should have? Will they leave home and embrace a different way?

After a few weeks of college dorm life and hearing about other students’ family situations, our son called home and said, “Mom, Dad, I’m so thankful for you both! I never realized before what good parents I have. Thank you for all you’ve done for me. And for who you are.”

Happy tears came to our eyes as we hung up the phone that day. Love is the reward of love. And hearing your grown children say, “Thank you,” is music to parents’ ears.

Be sure to say “Thank you” to – and for – your mother and father as you are giving thanks to God for all his blessings this Thanksgiving.

~ Catherine Lawton

A Game of Love

09 Friday Nov 2012

Posted by vernahsimms in childhood memories, generations coming together, the healing journey

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Finding our identity, mother and daughter, personal discoveries

Editor’s note: Verna, our great-grandma author/blogger, tells this sweet story about playing the game of “drop the handkerchief” as a child. Much later she learned the original meaning of the child’s game. Our relationships with our mothers are a little like that game: In later years we may look back on our childhood interactions with our mothers and realize that the daily give-and-take was really about love: dropping hints, picking up words and habits and challenges, running with longing and hope, and making memories that would last a lifetime.

DROP THE HANDKERCHIEF

When I was very young, family size was large, and houses were small. Children spent most of their days playing outdoors in the street or vacant lots. My favorite game was “Drop the Handkerchief.” As I recall, we formed a large circle, then the person who was “it” walked around the outside and dropped a square of white cloth to the ground behind whomever they chose. That individual would pick up the hanky and chase around, racing to see who could occupy the vacant spot. It was exciting and great fun!

The year a deep depression hit the entire country, we had few luxuries. Mother’s only hobby was collecting fancy handkerchiefs. She had a few from her youth–fancy white squares of delicate cloth with colored lace trim and embroidery in one corner. She kept these treasures in a drawer, neatly folded, with perfumed sachets. I recall her loaning one with delicate blue hand-crocheted trim in fine thread, for me to carry on my wedding day. Never, ever was one of these hankies used for a practical purpose.

One day, years later, I said, “Mom, why do you prize the collection of hankies so much? You never use them.”

“Well, not now, hon.” Her dreamy eyes seemed to travel back into the past. “When I was young, a girl needed these treasures so she could meet boys. When we left church or some other function, if we saw a boy we would like to know better, we would simply drop a hanky at his feet. The boy responded by picking it up and graciously returning it or putting it in his pocket and at a later date he would show up at your door and return the possession. We always had a porch swing a boy and a girl could use to have some privacy.”

“You think the game I played all those years ago came from that?” I asked.

“I think so!” she said.

I laughed. To think that all those happy hours when I chased a boy around in a circle I was really playing a “Game of Love” and didn’t know it.

~ Verna Hill Simms

The Gift of Faith

26 Wednesday Sep 2012

Posted by Kerry Luksic in childhood memories, the healing journey, when mom has alzheimer's

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Family, future hope, life stages, mother and daughter

My mother wasn’t a big talker. She was too busy for idle chit chat—she was raising a small army of children. In my New Jersey hometown, Mom was a living legend, an incredible woman who spent her days raising 13 children. No, that’s not a typo—13!

From sun up to sundown, she was always working—baking five dozen of her famous chocolate chip cookies, finishing the lace hem of one of my sisters’ prom dresses, and juggling the daily carpools of after-school activities. Weeks would fly by in the daily flurry of activity. But no matter how busy life got, Mom always found time for God.

As a family, Mom had countless rituals to foster our faith. From saying grace before meals and requiring us to attend 7am Sunday mass to enrolling us in Catholic elementary and high school, she showed me and my 12 siblings that faith was the foundation of our family.

And with her steady stream of faith-based encouragement, Mom taught me to turn to prayer in any challenge I faced—no matter how trivial the challenge was.

On many occasions, as a young girl, I’d cry in desperation, “Mom, I’m going to fail my math test.”

“No, you’re not. Study some more and ask God for help—say some prayers ,” she’d reply.

As a moody 15-year old, I’d shriek, “Mom, I can’t find my necklace. I lost it. It’s gone forever. My life is over!”

“Say a few Hail Mary’s and don’t forget to pray to St. Anthony,” she’d suggest.

No matter what the situation was, Mom knew the answer, and most of the time that answer was found in faith. Through her lifelong encouragement of prayer, Mom taught me that God could fix all my “little problems,” and proved to me how faith could be a source of infinite strength.

When my dad was diagnosed with terminal cancer during my senior year of high school, Mom remained the steady rock for my unstable family. Six months later when Dad died, Mom leaned on her faith and was unbreakable.

As I felt my heart break into a million pieces, and as I cried bitter tears of regret for all that was left unsaid between my father and me, Mom refused to shed one tear. Instead, she picked up the pieces in my shattered family—attending daily mass, saying the rosary, and maintaining her life-must-go-on attitude.

During those dark days, Mom’s unflinching faith became the source light. I watched my mom and knew that if she could keep moving forward despite having just lost her husband of 35 years—then so could I. Mom knew that we needed to celebrate my father’s life—instead of crumbling in despair.

Mom’s lifelong example of faith has proven to be one of her greatest gifts to me. When she was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s disease eight years ago, I was devastated. I felt angry with God for “letting this” happen to her. But in time, I learned to follow Mom’s example—accept the things I can’t change, to let go of my fears, and to rely on my faith to cope with the heartbreak of Alzheimer’s—seeing someone you love slip away before your eyes.

Alzheimer’s isn’t an easy road for anyone. But by reflecting on my mother’s lesson of faith, I’ve learned to be present in her world and to savor the joyful moments I have with her.

Yes, it’s true—Alzheimer’s has stolen pieces of Mom from me. But I choose to focus on what remains, instead of what is missing. I treasure the gift of faith she bestowed on me. And I strive to pass this incredible gift along to my daughters.

~ Kerry Luksic

Mother Loss ~ Grieving and Growing

18 Tuesday Sep 2012

Posted by Catherine Lawton in childhood memories, encouraging each other, leaving a legacy, losing mom too soon

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future hope, life and death, life stages, mother and daughter

My mother and me many years ago

One time I got a haircut then went home and looked in the mirror. The first, unbidden word that popped into my mind was, “Mother.” It surprised me. I didn’t expect to see my mother in my own reflection.

There is so much of our mothers in us. At different stages of life we may fight that truth, deny it, or even embrace it.

As a small child, I longed to be like Mother. Compared to me, she seemed powerful, persuasive and capable. I craved the ability to play the piano as she did. I wanted to be liked by people, listened to, and considered “the life of the party” as she was. I wanted a man to adore me as my father adored her.
As a teen, my view of Mother changed. Her flaws and foibles grew large in my eyes. I was critical of her. I didn’t always appreciate her advice. I did not think I wanted to be like her.
As a young mother, I found myself saying the same words to my children that she used to say to me and my sister. As my children grew, I saw more and more that she had been right in most of her advice; and her foibles began to look more like strengths. I began to appreciate how she had overcome so much.
In my middle age, I have wished she was still here so I could ask for her advice and learn more about “how she did it.” I have many times sensed her cheering me on as part of the “great cloud of witnesses” described in Hebrews 12:1.
In old age, I think I’m going to feel more and more that Mother and I are kindred spirits, sisters in the Lord. I’ll be filled with hope as I think of seeing her again, and as I recall how she overcame that last earthly challenge and our final enemy – death.

For a few years after Mother died, I was overwhelmed with memories of the suffering she endured from cancer, and with my own feelings of loss. So much grieving! Many years later it’s wonderful to be able to think of Mother as a fellow traveler who has reached the goal ahead of me, is expecting me to arrive in God’s time, and through her words lingering in my mind, her example and her prayers, is encouraging me on the last stretch of my upward climb.

When my mother passed from this life to the next (lying in a hospital bed), she was looking straight upward, fixedly, and with a look of wonder exclaiming, “Oh, it’s so beautiful.”

I want to live the way she died—looking upward, with my eyes fixed on Jesus, focusing on beauty, truth, and the goodness of God.

Gaining Perspective

08 Saturday Sep 2012

Posted by Catherine Lawton in childhood memories, emotional needs, the healing journey, when tragedy hits

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Cathy (r.), with her mom and little sister in front of the burned-out house, showing off new dresses they were given, after losing everything they owned

So much depends on perspective. Part of maturity is learning to see situations from another person’s perspective.

For instance, in Journeys to Mother Love I wrote about the time our house burned down in the night and we barely escaped with our lives. My memories and perspective of the fire are those of the four-year-old child I was at the time. Walking through the flames, and later poking through the ashes, left real trauma and fear in my psyche. But the whole experience built real faith in my parents! And their busyness—re-establishing a home while planting a church—didn’t leave much room for helping their quiet little girl with her emotional needs. My parents’ call to ministry was the over-arching purpose and focus of our lives. They had committed their lives to the Lord and the church, and he would take care of us.

One week after Journeys to Mother Love was published, I was rummaging in my mother’s old cedar chest and found a letter she wrote soon after the fire. At the time, Mother was a 24-year-old pastor’s wife, and the mom of 2 preschoolers, living in California. It was the 1950s. Here is what she wrote to her parents back “home” in Colorado:

Dearest Daddy & Mother,

I’m sitting here at the table eating my breakfast…

Yesterday was the organization day for our church. We had 52 in Sunday School and about 60 for the church service (in our living room). It was wonderful. Our house was really crowded. Rev. Brown and his family were here to organize the church. It was thrilling.

God has certainly blessed us since the fire. It seems like the blessings have already out-weighed the terrible calamity. All the churches on the district took up offerings for us. A man at Central Church gave us a beautiful chrome dinette set…. We’re going to use the money we’ve received to buy some of the things we lost, such as a mixer, pen & pencil set, toaster, lamps, etc. … We never realized that we had so many wonderful friends and that people were so good – even complete strangers.

The baby pictures were all ruined. Do you suppose you could visit the different places we had them taken and see if they will make us some more? …

We’re going to get a settlement on the insurance which we’ll use to start building our new church. People have joked with us about starting the fire, the way things have worked out so well. We just know God has made the best of it and is using it for his glory.

We all still have a terrible dread of another fire and feel very strange at night when we go to bed. The sound of a fire engine sends cold chills up me now. I never did like the sound anyway and you know how I’ve always been so afraid of fire….

Well, I’ve got to go and get busy.

All our love,

Talk about perspective. I didn’t know Mother had such a fear of fire, or that she felt “very strange at night” when we all went to bed. I only remember my own childhood fear, panic and feelings of helplessness, and my parents’ preoccupation with the church work.

The fire wasn’t the only trial the Lord brought us through. And he is still “bringing me through”—giving me new perspectives.

Have you gained the perspective of viewing your story through the eyes of another person (perhaps your mother)?

~ Catherine Lawton

Something Good Out of This

06 Thursday Sep 2012

Posted by arcecil in childhood memories, generational patterns, rejecting lies, the healing journey

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authentic relationship, spirituality

(Photo: C. Lawton)

Revisiting our past: does it serve any good purpose? Our pasts are part of our stories. We can’t cut out the parts we don’t like and throw them away. Would we cut them out, if we could? I wouldn’t. I can’t imagine who I would have become without the disappointments and setbacks; I can’t imagine who I would have become without God working for good in all the disappointments and setbacks.

We may need to do some sorting. While I wouldn’t cut out any of my past and throw it away, I have needed to sort falsehoods from truth. In other words, we need not take everything from our childhood and accept it as truth just because it happened or was spoken. If, for example, we were always told the name for a rose is “daisy,” then one day we will need to relearn this falsehood so we can function in the real world. Yes, a rose by any name smells just as sweet; but the wrong name would cause confusion at the florist. We need truth on our side in order to function in the real world.

We may need to ask some questions. Did childhood lessons on the need to be a good child and sacrificially give, contribute to an overly acute sense of right and wrong? On the other hand, did a lack of training result in a “free spirit” that now roams the world seeking an anchor? Did the elephant of generational dysfunction stand in the middle of the living room forcing you to live with your back against a wall? Was your childhood a false oasis of perfection? When you stepped into the real world, were you shocked and unprepared? Or were Christian principles taught, but they were presented in a skewed way or simply not lived out by those in authority? Was the message so mixed that you have become too perplexed to even know where to begin to enter into an authentic relationship with God? Are hurts and fears now blocking the way?

Sort, yes; but give it all to God. God uses all of the details of our stories—even details of childhood abuse, neglect or trauma—for his glory. Individuals who suffered under those conditions carry an increased burden, but God can use that increased burden. God’s Word provides clear evidence that Moses, David and Paul carried the effects of their childhood into their adulthood. A baby in a basket, a lonely shepherd boy, and a Pharisee’s prodigy were all used by God. In fact, God’s plan for Moses was advanced by his childhood in Pharaoh’s home; God’s plan for David was advanced by the isolated life he lived in the protection of his father’s sheep while his brothers were off being warriors; and God’s plan for Paul was advanced because he spent his childhood steeped in the Old Testament scriptures.

God can use our stories too; “And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose” (Romans 8:28). By the grace of God, we can overcome. And when we do, our deliverance will result in God’s glory. I can think of no better motivation for overcoming than a desire to bring glory to God with our lives. We can grind our heels into all the pain and confusion of our pasts and declare: “Something good is going to come out of this!”

~ A.R. Cecil

Our Common Interests

02 Sunday Sep 2012

Posted by vernahsimms in childhood memories, generations coming together, leaving a legacy

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Family

Verna and her great-grandson

Despite over eighty years difference in our ages, my great-grandson, Luke, and I have a surprising amount of common interests. We both have a passion for water—whether wading ankle deep in the shallow crystal-clear creeks flowing in Missouri—watching minnows, or splashing in the rivers and swimming pools.

We both enjoy making crude figures from colored play dough, playing pretend and hiding from imaginary foes. He squeals in delight as I press a button on one of his modern toys and jump when it gives forth talking or loud noises of some sort. I explain to him how my home works; and he is equally quick to tell me, when a particular toy doesn’t respond to my touch, that it needs batteries!

But most of all we love to talk!

One day as we were visiting, celebrating his 2 1/2 year birthday, we stopped to wash our hands together in the low sink in their guest bathroom. I soaped my hands and rubbed them together making a lather and then joined the two hands together and blew a bubble through the opening. “When I was a little girl I used to blow bubbles by cupping my hands like this,” I said.

Luke looked into my eyes and smiled, “When I was a little boy, I rubbed my hands together and made bubbles like this.” He blew into his cupped hands and a wee bubble appeared.

Yes, we enjoy each others’ company. As I returned his smile, I let my mind travel to the distant future and made a silent prayer in my heart that when he reaches the ripe old age of 83 he will remember me and share with his grandchildren about our fun days together and tell them, “When I was a little boy …”

~ Verna Hill Simms

Come to the Table

23 Thursday Aug 2012

Posted by arcecil in childhood memories, expectations, family gatherings

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All of our journeys begin in childhood and we often revisit that magical time as memories surface unsolicited. Childhood memories are pulled back into our consciousness by sights and sounds and smells. Autumn leaves crunching under our feet will forever be a stroll home from school. The smell of cedar or pine when entering a warm house from the cold outside may transport us back to a childhood Christmas. In a sudden downpour, we see a child dancing in the rain. We recognize this child, a phantom of our yesteryear. The smell of chlorine and sunscreen is a carefree summer’s day at the pool between third and fourth grade when we finally got up enough courage to go off the high dive. “Look at me-e-e-e,” our squeal told the world on the way down. Crickets chirping outside our bedroom window after nightfall was a childhood lullaby.

Our most endearing memories, however, can easily be the extended family gatherings that brought together the grandparents, aunts, uncles and, of course, the beloved cousins. “Absence does make the heart grow fonder,” as those uncontaminated relationships with the cousins epitomized all that could possibly be right with the world. The adults would be huddled around the kitchen table after the plates had been cleared away, drinking strong coffee and talking and laughing. The cousins would then steal away. No telling what adventure awaited us in the attic, or under Grandmother’s old bed. We children never got to hear a word the grown-ups said; that was adult talk, not meant for our ears. We didn’t care back then; playing was our passion. If we could go back, we would listen in on their conversation. Dad was there; Mom was there talking and interacting with their peers. If we could see them now through the eyes of the adults we have become, what would we see? What would we hear?

There is usually one member in every family of the attic dwellers who in his or her adulthood puts together a family tree. (My brother, the oldest sibling, was the one who put ours together.) But, the family tree is only a skeleton of our past. Those laughing and talking people around the kitchen table were the flesh and blood. However, would hearing their interpretations add that much meaning to our present and future? Would who they were be that significant in revealing the persons we have become? We may rightfully feel that their interaction with us has stamped us in some negative way, which has put us on a mission to find out who we really are.

“Who am I?” we may have pondered at an age when we wanted answers. The stacks of how-to books purchased by the need-to-know generations post-World War II, were read in hopes of finding the answers to why we think what we think and do what we do; but did they scratch the surface of our souls? Not mine. One day, I took the lot of them to Goodwill, but not without feeling a wee bit guilt for “unloading” them on some other unsuspecting fellow seekers of truth.

Time and so many dead-ends have taught me that there is ONLY ONE WAY we can arrive at the place of knowing the persons God intends us to be. “The Spirit searches all things, even the deep things of God. For who among men knows the thoughts of God except the Spirit of God. We have not received the spirit of the world but the Spirit who is from God, that we may understand what God has freely given us” (1 Corinthians 2: 10b-12). We are believers and we have God’s spirit living in us! And now as his BELOVED CHILDREN, we can come to his table where we feast on life-changing knowledge.

~ A.R. Cecil