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Journeys To Mother Love

~ Encouragement and healing in mother/child relationships

Journeys To Mother Love

Category Archives: family gatherings

Sorrow and Hope at Christmas

24 Thursday Dec 2015

Posted by Catherine Lawton in childhood memories, emotional needs, encouraging each other, family gatherings, losing mom too soon, the healing journey, when tragedy hits

≈ 2 Comments

Tags

Christmas, Christmastime, future hope, hope, Jesus, life and death, Mary

"JOY - 1977" Tree Ornament

An ornament I received the Christmas my mother died, that I hang on my tree every year.

Ah, Christmas! Bright lights, hustle and bustle, joyous music and celebrations….

Yet, hidden behind all the glitter, many people feel the pangs of sadness and loneliness more acutely during the Christmas season. If you have ever experienced a great loss at Christmastime, the holiday season awakens that grief again each year.

I know. My mother died on December 19, 1977. My father was the pastor of a loving church at the time, and the people were sweet to us, though they also grieved the death of their beloved pastor’s wife. Our family found comfort in togetherness—my husband and I with our two toddlers, my sister, and our dad. After the funeral, we stayed and spent Christmas in our parents’ home, with everything around us to remind us of Mother. … But no mother. She was not there and would never be again.

At a time when we celebrated the birth of Jesus who brought new life, we learned first-hand the awful separation and finality of death. The first night after she died, I lay awake in the guest bedroom listening to Daddy sobbing his heart out in the next room.

She was too young to die—in her forties. But she was gone.

We wanted the children—still toddlers—to have fun, not just sadness, so we borrowed little sleds and took them out to play in the snowy woods. In the fresh, crisp air we all laughed like children, a wonderful relief, and exactly what Mother would want for us. Maybe she saw us. Maybe she was laughing for joy with us.

Mother always infused Christmas with music, anticipation, beauty, delicious tastes and scents, warmth and surprises. She loved decorating the house and the church, preparing special music and programs for Christmas Sunday, often sewing new dresses for my sister and me, baking cookies, taking us Christmas shopping, and finding time to care for people who were sad and lonely.

Christ-Carolers

Christmas Carolers, figurines that belonged to my mother.

I love Christmas, too, but everything about it reminds me of Mother and of my loss. Even after many years, the bright lights, the biting scent of pine and cinnamon, the taste of frosted sugar cookies and cider, the making of fudge and fruitcake, the singing of carols, the ringing of Christmas bells, the decorating of the tree, the excitement of gift giving—all is sweet sorrow.

Did sadness mix with joy for Mary, the mother of Jesus, when she carried her baby to the temple and heard Simeon prophesy her child’s death? He said, “A sword will pierce your own soul too” (Luke 2:35). Mary didn’t understand yet that Jesus’ death as well as his life would bring eternal joy in the heavens and cause his birth to be celebrated for centuries to come. But she would certainly experience heart-piercing sorrow and separation.

Christ-Nativity

A paper nativity scene I treasure, that my mother used to display every Christmas when I was a child. – C.Lawton

Years later, as Mary watched Jesus die a tragic, painful death, did she despair? Or did the memory of the miracles surrounding his birth and life give her hope? Life won out. His death brought our spiritual birth.

Now we know, because of his birth, life and death, we can live—and celebrate Christmas—in the certainty that death will not have the final victory.

That Christmas day, six days after Mother died, our bereaved family celebrated together with gifts and festive food, scripture and prayer. Then we drove up a snowy hillside to a flower-covered grave site. The contrast of the red-rose-and-holly-covered grave to the icy, brown hills spoke to my warring emotions.

There, feeling the pain of death’s separation, I looked up into the evening sky and noticed the first star twinkling. Yes! Our hope still shown! The realities of pain, suffering, and death are inescapable. But they will be dissolved into everlasting life and joy because of the hope of Christmas.

~ Catherine Lawton

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The Power of Sharing Your Deepest Secrets 

01 Wednesday Apr 2015

Posted by kyleen228 in confessing our need, family gatherings, forgiving yourself, Free to Love, healing after abortion, the healing journey, The power of honest sharing

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authentic relationship, Courage to be honest, Healthy relationships, mother and daughter, Post-Abortion Healing, risking the truth

Sad and lonely woman's face

Secret shame keeps us isolated

My parents and I were in Las Vegas the first time I shared my abortion story with them. We were there for some fun and cheering up. I had just returned from South Korea, having traveled there with my husband to teach English as a second language after we graduated from college. But now I was home from that year, my husband was still in Pusan, and we were getting a divorce. I was feeling like a failure and hurting because I suspected my husband of infidelity. I felt abandoned—just like I had felt when my unborn child’s father had told me he wanted to break off our relationship six months after we had chosen abortion for our baby.

My parents and I sat in our hotel room, talking about my failed marriage and how I felt about it. The conversation trailed off and my mom filled the silence. “Honey, I just don’t understand what happened to you. You left our home with all kinds of self confidence, but somewhere between then and now, you seem to have lost it all.”

I looked down, not really knowing what to say. I knew what had happened to me, but I had never shared it with my parents. Abortion had happened to me. I had gotten pregnant, chosen abortion, and decided I was damaged goods. The baby’s father and I had broken off our relationship, and I had met and married a man who didn’t always exhibit the highest moral character. Now, a year later, I was getting a divorce.

“I never told you guys this, but….” my voiced cracked as the flood of emotion swelled. “I got pregnant when I was a freshman in college and I had an abortion.” My silent tears began to fall. Never once meeting their eyes, I continued, “I thought I didn’t deserve anyone better, so I married Sam.”

My parents both sat in stunned silence. When I finally mustered the courage to look up again, my mom said, “You know we don’t think any less of you for making that choice, right? I probably would have suggested the same solution. But you should have told us. You shouldn’t have had to go through that alone.”

“I was so scared to disappoint you.” I said. “You were so proud of me for going to college. I didn’t want to ruin all my chances at a bright future.”

“We are proud of you,” my dad said, “and this doesn’t change that.”

My tears fell freely now. All I could manage to say was, “Thank you.” I got up from where I was sitting and hugged them both. I had imagined this conversation in my mind so many times, and this was the best scenario I could imagine. There was no judgement, only concern and love.

We talked more about what had happened. Sharing details with them was uncomfortable, but it was freeing to no longer carry such a big secret. At least they could understand now why I had seemed to lose myself.

Since then, for the past 15 years, I’ve been finding myself again. One thing I’ve discovered is telling those you love your secrets has an amazing power to free you. We keep secrets because we are afraid of rejection and judgement. But the truth is our secrets imprison us more than someone’s rejection ever could. At the end of the day, if a loved one can’t overlook a bad decision we’ve made, that is their choice,  but we don’t have to allow that to control how we feel about ourselves. Their choice does not define who I am.

Keeping a secret could, however, prevent me from being honest with the ones I love, thereby limiting the intimacy in the relationship. If you never share your whole self, both good and bad, how can you ever fully open your heart? You might not be able to count on a loved one not judging you for your past mistakes, such as an abortion. Free yourself from the secret-keeping anyway.

~ Kyleen Stevenson-Braxton

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A Gluten-free, Sugar-free, Conflict-free Christmas Dinner?

23 Tuesday Dec 2014

Posted by Catherine Lawton in expectations, family gatherings, generations coming together, Mom and Christmas, the healing journey

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Tags

Christmas, Family traditions, Holidays, life's upward path

Photo

One of the family Christmas Dinners in my past, when I was a mom but not yet a grandma.

I guess all families hope for a conflict-free Christmas Dinner. We hope the children will leave their new toys and come to the table willingly. We hope certain extended family member won’t bring up certain memories (as they always do). We hope Grandpa won’t say a blessing before the meal that goes on and on like a sermon (and like this sentence) while the kids peek at each other and stomachs rumble and mouths water and Mother worries that the food will get cold.

Like Tiny Tim’s mother, the cook hopes her “Christmas pudding” or whatever special dish she attempted for the holiday will turn out and everyone will like it.

As a mother, and now a grandmother, I have often been the Christmas Dinner cook. I know how Mrs. Cratchit felt. And I know the joy of a holiday meal together around a festive table with candles burning, spicy and savory scents wafting from colorfully prepared dishes, the best silver clinking on pretty china, and the children, who are eager for dessert, allowed to drink out of fancy crystal goblets.

But this is the first year that I, to avoid conflict with special diets, had to adjust my usual holiday recipes to accommodate my husband, who must eat gluten-free now, and my granddaughter, who is on a doctor-ordered diet of no sugar or lactose.

We had ham dinner. I couldn’t use the packaged glaze that came with the ham because it contained both gluten and sugar. So I mixed my own glaze of honey and lemon. It helps that we have a lot of honey from our backyard beehive. I used honey in several of the dishes, including the gelatin salad and the dessert, both of which were much less rich than what I’ve usually served. (I have always made pies before — pecan, apple, and pumpkin with whipped cream).

My family scarfed down the food without qualm — and even the children asked for more salad and dessert. So I’m going to share these recipes with you in case you’d like to try them. Here they are:

Sparkling Gelatin Salad

In a saucepan pour 4 cups Cranberry-Cherry Juice (unsweetened, 100% fruit juice). Sprinkle over that 4 packages of Plain Gelatin. Stir over low heat until dissolved. Add 1/3 cup Honey and stir till dissolved. Stir in 1 cup Sparkling Cider. Chill till partially set. Then add: chopped, unpeeled organic Apples, sliced Bananas, and some coarsely-chopped Pecans. Mix and pour into a gelatin mold. Chill. Just before serving, unmold the salad onto a pretty, round Christmas platter.

Baked Honey Custard

In a mixing bowl, slightly beat 4 Eggs. Stir in 1/2 cup Honey, 2-1/2 cups Milk (I used coconut milk), 1/2 teaspoon Salt, and 1 teaspoon Vanilla. Mix well. Pour into six custard cups. Place cups in a shallow pan and pour 1/2-inch of hot water around them. Bake in 350-degree oven for about 35-40 minutes, or until a knife inserted 1/2-inch from edge comes out “clean.” Sprinkle with Nutmeg if desired. Cool, then chill in refrigerator and serve cold. You may want to serve the custards along with a plate of Christmas cookies.

Our Christmas dinner (which we celebrated a few days early this year with our daughter’s family) was conflict-free also, in the sense that no one had to worry about whether or not they could eat the food.

Because we love our families, we keep making adjustments.

Merry Christmas!

~ Catherine Lawton

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A Journey to Brother Love, Part 2

09 Sunday Nov 2014

Posted by ardisanelson in confessing our need, emotional needs, encouraging each other, family gatherings, generational patterns, God's healing love, reconciliation, the healing journey

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Tags

a heart filled with love and hope, authentic relationship, Courage to be honest, Emotional and spiritual healing, Family, Finding our identity, Forgiveness, Healing love, relationships, unresolved hurt

With my brothers in 2014

My brother and I with our half-brother (center) in 2014

In the post, A Journey to Brother Love, Part 1, I shared how as an adult I was shocked to learn I had a half-brother. I only met him once, 18 years ago. The opportunity arose to meet him again recently. I didn’t want any regrets, so I traveled to see him.

From the moment we were reunited, my brother was friendly and open, even greeting me with a hug. It felt very welcoming. He is a charming and engaging man. Yet for me, the time spent together was surreal.

What do you say? How do you communicate with a brother who was raised by maternal grandparents since he was two years old because his mother died and he was abandoned by his father (my father)?

Does he even want relationship with me (us)? After all, we were the chosen family.

My parents were married for 17 years before they divorced. I was nine years old at the time. I had my own wounds. It took me years to work through them and forgive my father.

My brother is on his own journey of healing and forgiveness—as are each of us five siblings, from three different marriages. We share the same father and the same DNA, but we all have carried different wounds from the generational curse of abandonment in our family.

I don’t have any wounds related to my half-brother, only compassion for what he endured and experienced, not knowing his earthly father. He has had to come to terms with two dramatically different tales of his abandonment.

Where was he on the spectrum of forgiveness and healing, I wondered.

Except for one private conversation we had where he recounted to me the story of his miraculous reunion with my father after 52 years of separation, our conversations weren’t really about that. I listened as he talked about his previous marriage and painful trials with his adult children. Every time he talked I could see and hear my father in him. My half-brother wasn’t raised by him, but my father is unmistakably in his DNA.

At the end of our visit, I still didn’t have the answers I sought. So I invited him and his wife to walk me into the train station to say our goodbyes. I didn’t want any regrets. I prayed and let my heart lead the way.

The conversation that ensued was perfectly ordained by the Lord. It started off tearful for me as I admitted I am a sentimental person. I think we both said what we needed to say and cleared the air about our own personal father wounds. I already knew I wasn’t alone in my struggle to overcome my past, and I wanted him to know he wasn’t either.

The icing on the cake for me was being able to share with him my sense that our father was at peace in heaven. Shortly after Dad died, I had a poignant spiritual encounter in church while praying. Shortly after that, Dad acknowledged that he hadn’t “been there” for me. The veil had been lifted for him and his denial was gone. That encounter was very comforting to me, and I hoped sharing the memory with my brother would bring him some healing and closure also.

So was my family visit for my healing, or my brother’s healing? I think it was for us both.

My journey with my new-found brother is just beginning. It took my Journey to Mother Love followed by my Journey to Father Love to find it. When our journeys are bathed in our Heavenly Father’s love, it will end with healing and hope; because His DNA is what really binds us on our pathway to wholeness.

~ Ardis A. Nelson

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A Journey to Brother Love, Part 1

09 Sunday Nov 2014

Posted by ardisanelson in emotional needs, family gatherings, generational patterns, God's healing love, letting go of anger, reach out and touch, reconciliation, the healing journey

≈ 3 Comments

Tags

a heart filled with love and hope, authentic relationship, Courage to be honest, Emotional and spiritual healing, Family, Finding our identity, Forgiveness, Healing love, relationships, unresolved hurt

1996 Reunion

With my father and brothers in 1996

Recently a new pathway of healing opened up to me: a “journey to brother love.”

My father married many times and had children from multiple wives—my siblings being the last. I grew up knowing about an older half-sister, but never met her. I didn’t know about a half-brother I had until 18 years ago when my father reunited with him after 52 years of separation.

I was in my early 30s, just starting my own family when my father called to tell me about my half-brother. It was an ‘Oprah’ type story of amazing coincidences that led to their reunion.

I felt like my world had been turned upside down.

My father invited me and another sibling to meet him. The half-brother lived across country and was making a trip to our area. I eagerly obliged, or maybe obeyed is a better word. This was in my pre-recovery days when I was still holding onto the past, carrying a lot of anger, and searching for my father’s love. Now I had to share that love with some long-lost family member.  My resentment must’ve leaked through in that one and only meeting.

My father remained in close contact with his new-found son over the years. They had several cross-country visits. I occasionally heard of their trips together. Each time I nursed my internal pangs: “But what about me?”

Since that time, I’ve spent many years of healing and recovery work to get to a place of forgiveness and love for my father. My dad even helped with some family history while I was working on the final draft of my story in Journeys to Mother Love. Unfortunately, he passed away a month before the book was released.

My half-brother couldn’t make it to our father’s memorial service. My stepmother (not his mother), ordered an autographed copy for me to send to my brother’s wife. I had experienced even more healing and forgiveness with my father wound with his passing. With that fresh perspective, I decided to send a letter to my brother, along with the book.

Here’s an excerpt from that letter: “I think each of his (my father’s) children carry a distinct Smith* mark in their DNA that we had to overcome as his children. And just because we had more physical time living with him, it doesn’t mean we didn’t carry familial scars. I say this to you in the hopes that you won’t let any of those feelings get in the way of continuing to stay connected with this family.”

Soon I received a nice note from his wife telling me how much she loved the book and that my story touched her as she grieved the recent loss of her mother. We continued our communications, but there was no direct response from my brother.

Then a few weeks ago I got a call from my stepmother that my half-brother and his wife were going to be in town. I was invited to come home for a visit. At first I declined due to an already full schedule. But thoughts of my brother and our disjointed family connection kept surfacing.

Did I need more healing or was it for my brother? I needed to know.

So I set aside my work and hopped on a train across the state.

Stay tuned for Part 2 of this post to find out how this Journey to Brother Love ends.

~ Ardis A. Nelson

*Surname changed to protect family privacy.

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Mothering Inadequacies

30 Monday Sep 2013

Posted by ardisanelson in challenges of motherhood, family gatherings, feeling inadequate, generations coming together, God's healing love, mother wounds, Parenting, the healing journey

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Tags

a heart filled with love and hope, authentic relationship, Children, Family, giving and receiving, Healing love, Mothering

Rocio's Art

Ardis received this drawing from Roxio, one of the children she met in Spain.

I was 33 years old when I had my first child. Like many women, I felt unsure of myself and ill-equipped to be a mother. Unlike many, though, I believed I had good reason for my misgivings.

My mother had a nervous breakdown when I was six. She was still able to function in her role as a housewife, but it left her emotionally unavailable to me. For whatever reason, she rarely spent time with me in the kitchen or preparing me for my role as a wife or mother.

As I grew up and went out on my own, I wondered whether I would ever be a mother or have kids of my own. I never had a strong desire to be around children. I didn’t have the longing, like I hear some women express, to have children to feel complete.

After ten years of marriage my husband and I welcomed our first child into the world. My heart was stretched in new ways as my love poured out on my newborn son. My life revolved around him—struggling to nurse, on-demand and nighttime feedings,  carrying him in a sling, etc. My love grew, yet my fear of mothering inadequacy hung over me, landing me back on my career path after the first year.

Then three years ago—thirteen years after the birth of our second son—my heart was stretched again when we opened our home to Pedro, a Spanish exchange student. This last summer, during my six-week stay in Spain, I was welcomed with open arms into Pedro’s family.  His home was my home.  His family was my family.

Although Pedro is an only child, I knew he has a large extended family and is very family-oriented. I’d heard their names, laughed at his family stories, and prayed for them in times of trouble.

I knew I’d be meeting many of Pedro’s relatives. I so wanted to put aside my fears of inadequacy. I wanted to make a favorable impression on Pedro’s younger cousins. I wanted to be able to bridge the language barrier.

These children didn’t really know much of the story (told in Journeys to Mother Love) behind why I was there. They didn’t know how our families were connected in grief with the passing of their grandmother. They didn’t know or understand about the healing of my mother-wound. All they knew was that I was the American host mother when Pedro visited Seattle.

It was genuinely difficult for me at first to meet these young kids. I was very much out of my comfort zone. I watched as Pedro and his parents engaged them with tickling and other silly antics. Laughter permeated the rooms of their flat in Madrid. I, on the other hand, was paralyzed inside by my lingering fear of mothering inadequacy. Initially I stuck to what was safe for me, communicating with the English-speaking adults.

My saving grace with the children was the gifts I brought with me from America—Beanie Babies for everyone. My gifts imparted the sense of love and gratitude I had for this family. It was the start that I needed to overcome my fears of connecting with the children. In time, I felt more comfortable and was able to bond in more natural ways.

When we accept Jesus as our Savior, God adopts us into His family. He has a way of putting people in our lives to help us heal the broken parts of us. My Spanish family has been that for me in so many ways. It started with Pedro, then to Rosa, his mother. It has grown to his father, his aunts and uncles, and his cousins. I met 26 relatives in all.

I do still have some doubts about my ability to mother my own children—especially as I’m learning how to parent a child with ADD. But in God’s goodness for the summer of 2013, I know I was loved by these children. I hope they will remember me in the years to come as they grow up. I know I will treasure the memories I had with them, and integrate that as a way to overcome any future fears of mothering inadequacy.

~ Ardis A. Nelson

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MY BEST CHILDHOOD CHRISTMAS MEMORY

20 Thursday Dec 2012

Posted by arcecil in childhood memories, family gatherings, the healing journey

≈ 2 Comments

Tags

Christmas Eve, Family traditions, Mother, mother and daughter, White Christmas

(Painting of a snow scene by Monet)

“La pie – The magpie” by Monet

On that Christmas Eve, my little sister, six years younger than I, had been sent off to bed. She went gladly, since she thought Santa wouldn’t come until she was asleep. I wasn’t a bit jealous that I wouldn’t have sugar plums dancing in my head; I got to stay up and help bring the presents out of hiding and place them around the tree. My other two siblings, full-fledged teenagers, were watching Perry Como’s Christmas Special in the den.

Mother, Father and I did a good job of displaying the gifts and filling the stockings. “I’m Dreaming of a White Christmas” could be heard from the room down the hall.

“Are we going to get snow for Christmas?” I asked.

“They’re saying we might get a dusting,” Mom replied.

Soon my father, who had worked all day, retired for the night; and Mom returned to the kitchen to take care of a few last details for our traditional Christmas-morning breakfast. I hung around the tree, soaking in the magic of colored lights, cedar scent, gifts wrapped in Christmas motif paper and tied with ribbon that curled (as a result of being run along the blade of a pair of scissors).

(Curled Ribbon on a Present)

The evening began to draw to a close when Mom reappeared from around the dining room wall and asked, “I’m going to midnight church. Do you want to go?”

Since Mom did not drive, I knew going along meant walking a half mile in the cold. But, it didn’t seem right that she should go alone. “Sure,” I responded.

We pulled on boots and bundled up in as many layers as we could wear and still be able to walk. Then we headed out. The cold sky was starless and the moon fought to show itself, as a blanket of clouds moved across it. We trudged along with only the sparsely-placed light posts to illuminate our way. About half-way on our journey, snow began to fall. By the time we reached the church doors, the grass could still be seen, bristling through the new-fallen snow, but the sidewalks were only wet, since every flake dissolved upon impact. True to the weatherman’s word, we were getting a dusting.

(People walking in snow)

The church was warm, candle-lit, and filled with the sweet sounds of a choir that must have been as close as human beings can get to angelic hosts. By the time we emerged from the church, the landscape was completely transformed. The grass was covered over with three good inches and every tree branch was lined with white. The storm had come and gone, resulting in a starlit sky and a moon that no longer played second fiddle to the clouds. The dark and ill-defined landscape was illuminated, as if every neighbor had turned on their yard lights for us.

(Painting of people walking in the snow by Monet)

Mom and I walked down the long sidewalk and were about to cross the street, when a neighbor rolled down his car window and shouted, “Want a ride!?”

To my absolute amazement and total delight, Mom called back, “No, thank you!” Then she looked at me and smiled. I smiled back in response to her gift.

On that early Christmas morning, Mom and I walked home in the perfectly set stage of a winter wonderland; and I received a gift—my best childhood Christmas memory and my best memory with my mother.

~ A.R. Cecil

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THE RESULT OF PRAYER

17 Saturday Nov 2012

Posted by arcecil in encouraging each other, expectations, family gatherings, generations coming together, the healing journey

≈ 2 Comments

Tags

authentic relationship, Holidays, Prayer, Thanksgiving

Thanksgiving Table

I wrote this e-mail in response to the e-mails of my three daughters, who are planning our family Thanksgiving this year:

Dear Daughters,

As I see your e-mails flying back and forth from one of you to the others, I am filled with joy. My grown daughters are planning Thanksgiving together! You want everyone to be considered, you want it to be a good time, and you are wise enough to know a bit of planning will iron out many wrinkles.

As you know, prayer will be in our plans and in our time together. And we’ll also need to bear in mind our Thanksgiving will not be wrinkle-free. If Norman Rockwell were still living, he would not choose our family for an up-dated Thanksgiving family portrait.

I will now jar your memories with a few recent times together. However, as we revisit these “wrinkled” times, we will also be revisiting God’s hand upon them. In the summer we attended the wedding of one of you in Florida. We had prayed for many months before. The result: We had more rainy days than sunny ones, but I have never seen sunnier dispositions. The little ones who had ridden in a car for many miles to play in the sand were cramped into one room of a condo where, without whining, they watched reruns and bonded through games. The wedding was moved from the lawn to a second-floor room, but the bride did not let that dampen her spirit.

In the late summer, your father and I visited one of you overseas. We prayed for many weeks before. The result: I hobbled through Scotland on two stress-fractured feet, but it was a great vacation, made possible be an outpouring of hospitality. And my feet made for a few good laughs.

One of you, with your spouse and child, recently came for a visit. We prayed before you arrived. The result: Our son-in-law was under the weather for most of the time and the three-year-old threw up all over the bedding and himself. But, we were glad to be together and everyone felt blessed.

Yes, I’m quite sure Norman Rockwell would not have chosen our family as one of his group subjects. At Thanksgiving will there be those occasions when the children fight over a toy or fuss when bedtime is called? Sure. Will every dish of the meal turn out to look like and taste like those on the cooking shows? No. Will the house that I will work hard to have in order before you arrive stay that way? No. Will there be some real laughs? Yes. Will everyone leave better for being here? I pray they will. Will God smile down on us? I sincerely believe he will, because, through prayer, we will have included him.    

All my love, Mom

~ A.R. Cecil

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Come to the Table

23 Thursday Aug 2012

Posted by arcecil in childhood memories, expectations, family gatherings

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The table is set

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

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