Category Archives: generations coming together

A Mother’s Day Gift to my Sons

10 Wednesday May 2017

Posted by in generations coming together, God's healing love, leaving a legacy, mother wounds, Mother's Day, the healing journey

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The last time I saw my mother alive was seven years ago over Mother’s Day weekend.  As I wrote in “Walking My Mother Home,” my story in Journeys to Mother Love, these trips back home were instrumental to my healing.

In 2012, during the editing process of the book, I decided to give the manuscript as a gift to my sons.  After my mother’s passing the year before, I’d had a heartfelt conversation with them. I tried to explain the significance of what had happened to me.  Now with the imminent publishing of the story “for the whole world to see,” it was time to give the boys more personal insight into my healing and my journey to mother love.

Here is an excerpt from that letter:

Dear Boys,

As Mother’s Day approached this week, I’ve been reminded many times that the last time I saw my mother alive was on Mother’s Day 2010. A lot has happened in our lives in the two years since then…

Since you are males, you will probably never understand the bond between a mother and daughter. But you will marry one day and will have to understand and be caring with your own wife and the relationship that she has with her mother. I hope and pray that I can have a loving relationship with my daughters-in-law too.

As you know, I didn’t have a close relationship with my mother, not so much by choice, but by natural consequence because of her mental illness. As my mother neared the end of her life though, God made it very clear to me that I needed closure and restoration with our relationship. The attached manuscript is that story.

What I hope and pray you will see in this story is the same thing I want others to see—how following God’s will for our lives, through the good and the bad, leads to amazing blessings.  I want you to embrace opportunities when God wants to use you. It won’t be easy. But that is where the biggest blessings come into play—when we are stretched beyond our comfort zone and have to rely on Him. He shows up when we lean on Him. We just have to trust Him.

So as I start on my writing journey, I wanted you to know that is exactly what I am doing. I am trusting that God is behind this and that He will use it.

I love you both dearly. I hope and pray that when you look back at your lives that you will remember that legacy that I want to leave for you. I want you to trust God and follow Him all the days of your life.

‘For I know the plans I have for you,’ declares the LORD, ‘plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.’ Jeremiah 29:11 (NIV)

With all my love,
Mom

My sons didn’t read my manuscript right away. They were teenage boys, after all. When they did, their words of love were a blessing back to me.

I have the same prayer for all who read my story and the other eight stories in Journeys to Mother Love. : May you be inspired by God to embrace forgiveness and healing in their mother/child relationships.  He will redeem your pain and give you peace.

~ Ardis A. Nelson

Grandma’s Apron

23 Monday Jan 2017

Posted by in childhood memories, generational patterns, generations coming together, Influence of Grandparents, leaving a legacy

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I received a special Christmas present from my aunt. We share an interest in cooking and baking from scratch, so I suppose it should be no surprise to receive something fitting that theme. The apron is made from a vintage tablecloth and embellished with a vintage hankie. Even though this one-of-a-kind apron isn’t made from my own family’s heirlooms, I like to think there are stories laced in its history (much like the use of quilt squares in the Grandma’s Attic book series I enjoyed as a girl).

In any case, I will weave memories of my own with this apron and one day reminisce with my daughters.

The words below came packaged with my new apron:

002

Grandma’s Apron

I don’t think our kids know what an apron is.

The principal use of Grandma’s apron was to protect the dress underneath, because she only had a few. It was easier to wash aprons than dresses and they used less material.

Along with that, it served as a potholder for removing hot pans from the oven.

It was wonderful for drying children’s tears, and on occasion was even used for cleaning out dirty ears…

From the chicken coop, the apron was used for carrying eggs, fussy chicks, and sometimes half-hatched eggs to be finished in the warming oven.

When company came, those aprons were ideal hiding places for shy kids.

And when the weather was cold, grandma wrapped it around her arms.

Those big old aprons wiped many a perspiring brow bent over the hot wood stove.

Chips and kindling wood were brought into the kitchen in that apron.

From the garden, it carried all sorts of vegetables. After the peas had been shelled, it carried out the hulls.

In the fall, the apron was used to bring in apples that had fallen from the trees.

When unexpected company drove up the road, it was surprising how much furniture that old apron could dust in a matter of seconds.

When dinner was ready, Grandma walked out onto the porch, waved her apron, and the men-folk knew it was time to come in from the fields to dinner.

It will be a long time before someone invents something that will replace that ‘old-time apron’ that served so many purposes.

(Author unknown)

~Christina Slike

Hannah Whitall Smith Comparing God’s Love to Mother Love

06 Saturday Feb 2016

Posted by in encouraging each other, generations coming together, God as our parent, God's healing love, God's love and Mother love, Motherhood, Parenting, Remembering Mother

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“I do long to be to my children a little faint picture of what God is,” wrote Hannah Whitall Smith to her daughter. This 19-Century writer of classic books of devotion, such as The Christian’s Secret of a Happy Life, kept up personal correspondence with many people through letters. Many of her letters are published in the book, The Christian’s Secret of a Holy Life. Here’s a letter Hannah Whitall Smith wrote to her daughter Mary:

Your loving praise is very sweet to me, even though I may think you look through eyes made kinder by love than they by rights ought to be. If only you can learn some little sense of what God is from your thoughts of me, I shall be more than content. I think I have learned more about the character of God from remembering what my own father and mother were to me than in almost any other way. And I do long to be to my children a little faint picture of what God is.

O great heart of God! whose loving

Cannot hindered be, nor crossed;

Will not weary, will not even

In our death itself be lost!

Love divine! of such great loving

Only mothers know the cost,

Cost of love, that, past all loving,

Gave itself to save the lost.

I think I understand this.

As mothers, we have the opportunity to understand God’s self-giving love and know a little of the cost of love.

Our perseverance in loving at all costs will provide our children a clearer picture of the great, self-giving love that God has for them.

~Catherine Lawton

Serendipity on Grandparents Day

29 Thursday Oct 2015

Posted by in childhood memories, generations coming together, Gratitude, Influence of Grandparents, leaving a legacy

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My grandson

Caden in a school program last year, dressed up as Andrew Jackson and reading a history report to an audience of parents and grandparents

One of the perks of living close to grandchildren is the privilege of attending their school programs. And once a year the local public schools host a “Grandparents Day” when they invite grandparents into their grandchild’s classroom for an hour to sit with them, meet the teacher, tour the school, and observe a little of the educational process. Yesterday my husband and I went to our grandson Caden’s classroom, along with many other proud grandmas and grandpas. We were impressed with the order and the creativity we observed, the energy and dedication of the teacher, the smiles on the children’s faces.

But I didn’t expect to be “part of the program.”

A week or so ago I received a letter in the mail written by Caden and mailed from the school. The teacher had given the students an assignment to write a letter to a grandparent asking about their family traditions when they were kids. You can believe I found the letter delightful. I gave the request thought. We do, of course, want to pass on a legacy to our grandchildren and share our histories with them; but the challenge comes in finding the right time and means (and “the teachable moment”).

I kept my reply short and hand-written, giving a few details from my childhood, then mailed it to Caden. I did wonder whether the teacher would see it, and what she would do with it.

Then yesterday, as I sat at Caden’s desk in a third-grade classroom full of boys and girls and grandmas and grandpas, I was surprised when the teacher explained about the letters. She held in her hand the response I had sent to Caden. Then she called Caden forward to read my letter to the class! He did so—loudly, clearly and happily. This “blew me away,” as they say.

Here is what I wrote and Caden read:

Dear Caden,

Thank you for asking about my family traditions. When I was a girl my father was a preacher, so many of our traditions happened at church, with special services on Christmas and Easter. There was exciting music, lots of people, and the children had special parts. I usually got a new dress on those holidays. And my mother cooked delicious dinners. My favorite Sunday dinner was fried chicken with mashed potatoes and gravy.

Every year I looked forward to two big events: Christmas and summer camp! We also celebrated Thanksgiving. I loved the smell of Turkey dinner roasting in the oven. My sister, Beverly, and I kept asking, “Is it done yet?” To help us wait, Daddy encouraged us to make lists of all the things we were thankful for. Even today, when I’m feeling impatient, it helps to stop and think of the things I’m thankful for. Today, grandchildren are at the top of my list!

Love, Grandma

Most days we don’t wake up with the thought, “How can I show the world I’m a Christian—and the difference faith in Jesus makes—today?” We just live life and let Him lead. And the same goes for passing on to the next generations our values, faith, and life lessons learned.

Sometimes the opportunities come in serendipitous ways.

~Catherine Lawton

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

23 Tuesday Dec 2014

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

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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

STAIRCASE TO A BETTER PLACE AND TIME

27 Thursday Mar 2014

Posted by in childhood memories, emotional needs, encouraging each other, generations coming together, God's healing love, Learning to appreciate Mom, reach out and touch, the healing journey

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stairs

My mother turned 99 in January. She resides in a nursing home that feels like a prison. I must always wait in a glassed-in foyer to be buzzed into the hallway that leads to my mother’s room. And, I must always wait for a go-ahead signal in order to exit the building.

One of the nurses affectionately calls Mom, “99.” Mom laughs at her nickname. She recognizes the love behind it, and she appreciates the humor and attention. My mother is blind, cannot walk, eats only pureed food, sleeps most of the day, and will not—at 5 o’clock in the late afternoon—remember that one of her children visited at lunchtime. My siblings and I keep a calendar taped on the side of the wardrobe in her room, so we can sign our names on the days when we visit.

“See here where Ella came yesterday,” I say in order to make conversation.

“No,” Mom emphatically responses. “Ella has not been to visit for a long time.” My siblings and I never correct Mom. Why try to set her straight?

Once Mom asked me to go upstairs and get a blanket for her. There is no upstairs. In Mom’s mind, we are back in my childhood home. “There’s one right here,” I say as I walk over and open the wardrobe. Mom is satisfied, and the fact that there is no upstairs—that we are not in my childhood home—never becomes an issue.

Then, on another occasion, Mom invited me to eat with her. We were sitting together in the nursing home dining hall. Mom thought we were in a restaurant. “No,” I replied. “I’ll wait to eat with Joe when I go home.” She accepted my reason for not eating in the “restaurant.”

But, after the meal as I was pushing her wheel chair out of the room, she turned her head back to me and said, “Did you pay?”

“It’s taken care of,” I replied.

Lately, my mother wants to sleep through lunch. She is too exhausted to raise the spoon to her mouth. And when she tries to feed herself, the result is a mess. “Want me to feed you?” I now ask.

And, my mother replies, “Yes, please.”

I feed her like I used to feed my children when they were babies in the highchair. The task of feeding her brings fond memories to mind of my urchins with their beautiful, happy faces, playing “pat-a-cake, pat-a-cake, baker’s man; roll ’em up, roll ’em up; pitch ’em in a pan.”

My mother’s plate of food looks like the contents of baby food jars were deposited on it. I am forced to read her menu in order to learn that the light tan mush is chicken and gravy, and that the mossy green blob is seasoned green beans. I feed her like I used to feed my toddlers, even scraping food off her chin and from the corners of her mouth.

It is sad to see all this decline, but there is something very special about these times together. We are a very quiet twosome. Except for an occasional softly-spoken comment or question from me, we sit in silence. The moment is ours, and I do not want to share it with any of the other residents or nurses’ aides as they scurry about from table to table. “You’re doing a great job,” I say. “The plate is almost empty,” I inform. “Does it taste good?” I ask. “Do you want to eat more, or are you full?” I inquire.

Mother and child sit together in the “restaurant,” located in the “downstairs of my childhood home.” We share the quiet, reverent moment. But, who is the mother? Who is the child? Our roles have become as blurred as the space around us. I can’t imagine anyone around us, who is as happy as we are because our imaginations—rooted in faith—have knocked down the prison walls and have built a staircase to a better place and time.

Filling the Mother-Loss with Tangible Grace

04 Tuesday Mar 2014

Posted by in Adopted children, emotional needs, encouraging each other, generations coming together, God's healing love, grief and loss, losing mom too soon, the healing journey

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CG1girl

When your mother dies, especially if she is still quite young, you can feel forsaken and forlorn. And even when your heart embraces the mercy of these true words: “When my mother and father forsake me, the Lord will take me up” — there remains a mother-shaped cavern in your heart that reminds you every day of your loss.

But the Lord has shown me that He wants to fill that hole in my life with the most unexpected, beautiful gifts. I have been wanting to tell my readers about the wondrous gifts that have been coming to me. And I think it is time now. So, with a sense of Heaven’s nearness, a smile of awe, and a few tears, I’ll share the rest of the story….

This week my pastor concluded his sermon with the words, “Filling our imagination with Jesus, we increasingly live in touch with reality, while the whole world is out of touch with reality.” I know this is true. I’ve experienced Jesus working through my imagination to enter and heal the losses and wounds of my life. Our minds can believe all sorts of lies, and our hearts can be oppressed by darkness; but when Jesus steps in to fill a mind and a heart, light shines out the darkness, and loving truth dispels crippling falsehood.

You can read my story — of how Jesus “took me up” and healed my heart — in Journeys to Mother Love. Part of that story is that for many years I have lived with a mother-cavern in my heart since my mother died when I was in my twenties. Since Mother was adopted as a young child out of a large family fallen on hard times (during the Great Depression, her mother died of TB and her father left to find work) … and then, adopted, she was raised as an only child … I have had no relatives on my mother’s side.

Then, 18 months ago, after years of searching, I found my mother’s birth family — living within an hour’s drive of my husband and me! I found a cousin the same age as my mother who had been a toddler in the same home with Mother and always wondered what happened to little Imogene. At 83 she was the last of the generation that remembered my mother, Imogene. So I found her in the nick of time.

This new-found cousin, Mary Lou, was as thrilled to find me as I was to find her. We felt a bond immediately, and the mother-cavern in my heart didn’t feel so empty. And gradually I learned that she was a person of faith who loved the Lord and prayed for her family.

I treasure the times we spent together: visits in my home and in her apartment, sharing lunches together, looking through photo albums, finding so many ways our paths have intersected unbeknown to us, feeling her strong grasp of my hands, her kisses on my cheeks, hearing her heartfelt, “I love you!”

Then this winter she was diagnosed with a brain tumor. Long vigils in the hospital brought my husband and me together with her children and grandchildren. And the heart-cavern of impending loss filled with cousins who enfolded me and I have found myself surrounded by family I never expected to have.

Last Friday night my husband and I stood with 16 of Mary Lou’s family members around her ICU bed as she lay at death’s door. We had each had opportunity to sit with her, express our love, and say good-bye. But the grief and sadness were creating a huge cavern of grief in the room, felt by everyone present.

Then this family, with tears, each at various stages of belief and doubt, gathered round the beloved mother and grandmother who had been their strong, caring, faithful hub and, instead of calling the hospital chaplain, asked one of her sons, who had been a steady church attender, to pray. I doubt the family had ever done that before. But as gentle, simple, real, heartfelt words poured from that brother (one of my new-found cousins, who has had much suffering in his life) grace like rain poured sweetness into the gaping cavern of sadness. Surely every heart, no matter how unaccustomed to praying, was touched. … How can sadness be so sweet?!

Soon after that I read my friend Jasona’s blog in which she writes, “I see loss, difficulty, and uncertainty as cavernous places, and I have hope that when we open them to Jesus he fills them with grace so they can become … like settings for diamonds.” (You can read her entire blog post here.) Jasona’s post came to me as another gracious gift that helped me fill my imagination with Jesus, helped me deal with the grief in a way that was in touch with reality — the realities of Life in the midst of death, Light in the midst of darkness, Heaven in the midst of our earthy lives, and the Wonders of God’s ways.

~ Catherine Lawton

Mothering Inadequacies

30 Monday Sep 2013

Posted by 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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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

A Match Made in Heaven

21 Friday Jun 2013

Posted by in encouraging each other, generations coming together, the healing journey

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Sanctuary of A Angustia, Betanzos, Galicia (Spain)

When I submitted the manuscript for “Walking My Mother Home,” I knew that the story between me, Rosa and Pedro, my Spanish family, was far from over. The healing I received when my mother passed away created a beautiful bond between Rosa and I that will last the rest of my life. What is so unique about this relationship is that Rosa and I don’t speak the same language, we live 5,300 miles apart, and we have never met. But that is about to change.

Next week, almost three years to the day we welcomed Pedro into our home that first summer, I will step on Spanish soil and meet Rosa, my kindred spirit and sister in Christ. It will be the beginning of the trip of a lifetime for me—six weeks in Spain.

Over the past two years, since Pedro was last in our home, Rosa and I have continued to communicate via email and online translators. We have both looked forward to the day when we’ll meet in person. Rosa has been learning English to facilitate our communications. I have been writing and blogging more about this story and our relationship across the miles.

One of the key pieces of the story that materialized shortly after my mother died was the role that Pedro’s music played in our relationship. As I mentioned in “Walking My Mother Home,” Pedro played the piano while he was in our home. I also mentioned that my oldest son was a gifted pianist. This is significant because Pedro was placed in our home precisely because his musical interest matched with my two sons’ musical abilities. It was a match made in heaven.

Pedro played the piano every day he was in our home. My son played Beethoven, Chopin and other classical composers’ music. Pedro was interested in cinema and played American movie soundtracks to films like “The Sound of Music” and “The Sting.” I didn’t know it at the time, but interspersed with his music, he played a few of his own compositions.

A few months after Pedro returned to Spain, he sent our family a song he composed and dedicated to us: “Seattle”. This song, and others he started to send me, were salve to my aching heart as I grieved over the death of my mother. His music has become a staple of my life as he writes songs that mark the special occasions in our lives—my own personal soundtrack so to speak.

One thing led to another and I soon found myself partnering with this musical protégé. Our joint love for music soon developed into my becoming Pedro’s music manager, the creation of a professional CD of his music, and worldwide exposure on iTunes and other online music sites. That exposure paid off a few months ago when Pedro’s music was noticed by a Spanish film production company. The trailer to Pedro’s debut movie score was released earlier this month. None of this movie business was even a possibility when I booked my flights to Spain, but now in God’s perfect timing, I will be in Spain for the release of his short film, “Thirst for Love”, in July.

The focus of my trip from the start was meeting Rosa and being able to connect with her one-on-one about our mutual experience of losing our mothers—from different parts of the world. I know God will honor and bless us as we take this next step of healing and support in our relationship. We will fumble through our language barrier at first, but I trust our non-verbal communication and love will override those obstacles.

Pedro spent two summers in my home immersed in American culture and language as part of a short term exchange program. In the summer of 2013, it will be my turn to be the exchange student. And I’m going to meet Rosa…. Truly a match made in heaven.

~ Ardis A. Nelson

Relationships Can Be Complicated

07 Friday Jun 2013

Posted by in challenges of motherhood, expectations, forgiving mom, forgiving yourself, generational patterns, generations coming together, Learning to appreciate Mom, the healing journey

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Catherine and her mother

That’s me and Mother (a few years ago!)

In her review on Amazon.com of Journeys to Mother Love, Judy Pex* wrote, “I would recommend this book to any woman because even if we don’t all have daughters, we do all have mothers, and from my personal experience as well as women I speak with, those relationships can often be complicated.”

When it comes to complicated relationships, Judy knows of what she speaks. Growing up Jewish in America, living most of her adult life as a Messianic believer in Israel, raising her children to believe in Yeshua (Jesus) while they attended Israeli schools and then served in the Israeli army, hosting travelers from all over the world in the hostel she and her husband, John, run. Worshiping with and caring for people from many different cultural and language backgrounds. Working with refugees. All kinds of opportunities for complicated relationships (which she navigates with grace)!

Especially fraught with opportunities for complications is the mother/child relationship, and most especially the mother/daughter relationship. Why is that?

I’m going to list some thoughts off the top of my head about what might cause those complications:

1. Perhaps mothers try to re-live their lives through their daughters. And perhaps daughters see themselves or their potential selves in their mothers, and they may or may not like what they see.

2. Unrealistic expectations.

3. Emotional dependence.

4. The need to (and not always managing to) really listen and view your daughter – or mother – as a unique individual in her own right.

I’m sure there are many more contributing factors. Maybe our readers can add their thoughts about why this mother/daughter relationship can – and often does – become so complicated.

~ Catherine Lawton

*Judy (Judith Galblum Pex) is the author of Walk the Land: A Journey on Foot through Israel and A People Tall and Smooth: Stories of Escape from Sudan to Israel.

Always a Mother

09 Thursday May 2013

Posted by in challenges of motherhood, generations coming together, leaving a legacy, Parenting, the healing journey

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Zinnias

My children rarely ask for my advice, and I don’t give it anymore unless they ask. It’s been hard for me to stop offering unsolicited opinions, but I finally realized they’re not needed. My son and daughter are fully capable adults, managing their own lives very well without my input. As a result of withholding my opinions, there’s less interpersonal friction among us, a pleasant side benefit.

Lately, it’s been my turn to ask their opinions. I value what they have to say because they’re more in touch with what’s going on in the world, have logical reasons for their answers and can give me advice on any number of subjects, especially technology. They don’t seem to mind giving me advice; in fact, I think they like doing it.

That’s not to say I don’t try to keep up with change, because I believe that’s my responsibility. Still, the pace of change is so fast, I feel like I’m always running to catch up! Does it seem that way to you, too, or is that my age talking?

Looking forward, it’s possible I may get to the point where a decision has to be made about my future. I’ve done what I can to prepare for it, but sometimes life takes unexpected turns. If it becomes necessary for them to make decisions for me, I can trust them to do the right thing. They have good hearts and a solid foundation in Christ. And I honestly don’t worry about what might happen to me, because my children are good friends as well as being my brother and sister in Christ.

There is one way I can still be helpful, though, and that’s when we’re discussing Christian living. Then they are open to hearing what I have to say. They understand spiritual formation is a life-long process. Only because I’ve lived longer and had more years of growing in God do I possess wisdom that comes from experience. Sharing that knowledge with my children is perhaps the most valuable thing I can give them. Of course, I learn from them, too.

Philippians 1:21-26* confirms the value of adding to my children’s faith and maturity in Christ. Yes, it will be wonderful to experience the fullness of Christ’s presence death brings. But I’d rather remain and pass on what they need to know, in ways they can understand and apply to their own lives. If that sounds like a parent talking, then I admit it. I’m still their mother and always will be.

*For me to live is Christ, and to die is gain. But if I live on in the flesh, this will mean fruit from my labor, yet what I shall choose, I cannot tell (do not know). For (but) I am hard pressed between the two, having a desire to depart and be with Christ, which is far better. Nevertheless to remain in the flesh is more needful for you.  And being confident of this, I know that I shall remain and continue with you all for your progress and joy of faith, that your rejoicing for me may be more abundant in Jesus Christ by my coming to you again” (Phil. 1:21-26, NKJ).

~ Ellen Cardwell

A Gift of Flowers

06 Monday May 2013

Posted by in generations coming together, Gratitude, leaving a legacy

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Purple tulips with card

My sweet mother has been gone from her home on earth for more than forty years, but I still think of her every spring about this time. For several reasons: first my birthday is towards the last of April and that day years ago Mother gave me life. Also, even though she already had four living children and couldn’t afford another, she gave me love and nurturing. And, of course, Mother’s Day is coming up soon.

But more importantly, I think of Mother because spring is the planting season. Mother taught me the love of gardening and how to plant each seed, each bulb and each small, rooted plant. She showed me the way to clip cuttings from geraniums and roses and other plants to start new growth, thereby having a cheap way to multiply beautiful flowers and shrubs.

I recall the first day in early spring when I drove the few blocks to Mother’s house and together we spent the morning browsing in a nearby nursery looking to buy tomato plants. Mother reminded me my birthday would be soon and said she wanted to buy me a gift of flowers that were already in bloom, that I could plant in the yard. A lovely present that lasted all summer! I chose red salvia and a blue flower (I don’t recall the name). Usually I planted seeds and had to wait for blooms. The luxury of immediately having plants in bud or full bloom thrilled me.

When Mother’s Day arrived I gathered a pretty bouquet and presented them to Mother. And so the ritual between us was started. I am happy to say it continued for many happy years. Mother lived to be almost ninety-three and continued to garden on a small scale until about two years before her death.

To this day I enjoy digging in the dirt. It is difficult for me to stoop, so I have purchased large pots I can use outdoors. When spring comes each year I rejoice in the new life of the birds and I never fail to think of my mother and the joy she brought into my life with the love of gardening. I only hope she can look down and share the happiness with me this year. I am passing on the love she taught me to my great-grandson, and I think that as long as the earth stands and plants grow, my mother will not be forgotten.

In a few days I’ll say again this year, “Happy Mother’s Day, Mother. I LOVE YOU!”

~ Verna Simms

PRAYING FORWARD

01 Friday Feb 2013

Posted by in encouraging each other, generations coming together, God as our parent, importance of prayer, leaving a legacy, Parenting, the healing journey

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spreading tree

More and more people are interested in their family trees. I believe that’s because we are searching for an identity. Of course, we want our search to reveal an amazing individual or two that we can claim. Perhaps, we can find a great-many-times-over-grandmother or grandfather, who wowed the world by stitching the first flag, signing the Declaration of Independence, or inventing the light bulb. If we found such persons, we would be interested in reading their biographies because we would want to know them on a personal level.

But we would probably find a few skeletons in their closets. Sin and falling short are in all our stories, since we were all born into the family tree of Adam. However, a new tree grew up out of the soil of humanity! This tree is called the Family of God Tree. The trunk is Jesus and the roots are the promises of salvation and justification that were made to Abraham (Romans 4:16). Through belief in Jesus, we are branches that were cut from that first tree and grafted into the new tree. Our roots no longer go back to Adam!

We are no longer as interested in finding an amazing person in history; our main interest is in the person of Jesus Christ and our personal relationship with him. That being said, there is still a desire to search in our family tree. Now, we search for a different reason. Who among the members of our personal family tree had a relationship with God through Jesus Christ? The answer to this question is important, because, through their faith, they were instrumental in grafting us into the Family of God Tree.

Mothers (and fathers) may pray for their children, grandchildren and all the future, unborn children in their family lines. When we carry on this sacred tradition, we are praying forward all the future generations. A prayer of this nature can read, “Dear heavenly Father, may our children and grandchildren be protected in their youth; may they grow to know, love, and serve you. May they marry godly men and women and raise their children to know, love, and serve you.”

There were many mothers and fathers praying for us between Abraham and us. In fact, Abraham was praying for us! He prayed for all his children, all those stars in the sky (Genesis 22:17), and each believer is one of them (Galatians 3:7)! In heaven, there will be a great family reunion. We will know those persons, who prayed for us. Besides seeing them, we will see the faceless, nameless children who will come after us. They will then be known to us, and we will be known to them.

There is a family identity for all those whose faith roots go back to Abraham. God is our Father and our identity is found in the Promise Fulfilled, Jesus Christ.

~ Alice Cecil

THREADS of LIFE: Expressions and Experiences

07 Friday Dec 2012

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

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Mother and Daughter Sewing

Over the years, I’ve come to appreciate the value of connecting with people. The threads of the lives of others, running back and forth through the threads of our own lives, serve to create a fabric of strength and elasticity.

One such experience was set in place when, as a child, I signed up to be a member of the 4-H club. Then I realized joining meant participating, which meant I needed to select a project from one of the categories. For me, the choices narrowed down to cooking or sewing. I chose sewing since the idea of new clothes appealed to me. Immediately, though, some obstacles became apparent. My mother did not sew and, therefore, our family did not own a sewing machine. Minor details, like not having an instructor or the means, never entered my mind when I checked the little box by the word “sewing” on the 4-H application.sewing at the dining room table

My mother could have reprimanded me by asking, “What were you thinking!?” But, instead, she said, “There’s more than one way to skin a cat.”

(My mother colored her speech with expressions. “Every dog has his day,” “A bird in the hand is worth two in the bush,” and “A rolling stone gathers no moss” are but a few of the many gems that gave me a love for words and became one of the tools that I use in my fondness for writing.)

The cat was skinned with an idea my mother had: I could sew at my aunt’s house on Sunday afternoons. This aunt never married, so her life and home were open to invasion from her pubescent niece. My aunt blossomed in the experience. I’d show up to find she had purchased yards of fabric: three yards of tiny blue and pink daisies on a cream field, four yards of bright green and bold peach flowers on a soft green background, two yards each of blue, yellow and lilac. My aunt’s house became my fabric store. I was seriously okay with her selections. I could tell she was having fun and the idea of sewing was already beginning to settle into my spirit, even as it was declaring: “This is not a fit for you.” But, I was committed to the club and now I was committed to my aunt.

pretty fabric

I sewed, and then ripped out what I had sewn with an intriguing little instrument called a seam ripper. Finally, in order to move the project forward, my aunt said, “Well, maybe it’s good enough.” Under these agonizing circumstances we “whipped out” an apron when I was ten years old, a skirt when I was eleven, and a blouse when I was twelve. The apron, like those potholders made of loops, endured in the family for decades. The skirt and blouse were worn once or twice, and then I conveniently outgrew them.

I remember the last day of our three-year run. It was a Sunday in April and my aunt’s green walls were being painted gray by the late afternoon’s pink sun. My aunt turned off the sewing machine and turned to me. “Let’s go get a cookie to celebrate all you have achieved,” she declared.

What had I achieved? One apron, one skirt, one blouse, but, more important, I had connected with a dear aunt and with the club, as my projects won third, second and honorable mention ribbons.

I am thankful for the connection I have had with my mother through her expressions that live on as part of a colorful tapestry in the fabric of my life.

~ A.R. Cecil

“Thank You” ~ The Magic Word

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

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candy dish

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.

English: Hard candy Česky: Tvrde bonbonyBe 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