Category Archives: generations coming together

THE RESULT OF PRAYER

17 Saturday Nov 2012

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

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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

A Game of Love

09 Friday Nov 2012

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

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Pretty handkerchiefs (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

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

Walking My Father Home, Part 1

14 Friday Sep 2012

Posted by in generations coming together, leaving a legacy

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Ardis as a young child with her father

Ardis as a young child with her father

My father died at the age of 94, just six weeks before “Journeys to Mother Love” was released. I had hoped he would be able to see the finished book before he passed, but that didn’t happen.

Dad was of the generation that didn’t ever discuss emotions or shower people with compliments. Matters of family were best kept to ourselves. And although he openly shared the stories of his life with anyone in earshot, he definitely didn’t have any desire to have his stories published.

Years before I ever had the thought of becoming a writer, I tried to get my father to document his stories on the computer. I even bought him a book about how to leave a written legacy for our family. He wanted no part of that. Instead he appointed me family historian. I took notes of our conversations and recorded our talks.

His health deteriorated quickly in the last few months. He was frail. His eyes were failing. It was hard for him to concentrate for very long. He spent most of his days in bed. I thought his health would prevent him reading my story. He had no idea I was even writing it.

I had shared with Dad about the healing I had experienced in my relationship with my mother before she died. Mom and Dad had been divorced for 40 years, but he seemed to have an interest in my relationship with her. He was very proud of how my brothers and I cared for her in her final years.

During this visit in February, I prayed that my father would be open to my telling this story more publicly. I prayed for the words and the right time to tell him, and for a way for him to somehow read this story before it was too late. God answered all those prayers.

My father expressed surprise at hearing of my writing and interest in how this all came about. I loaded the electronic file of the manuscript with a very large font on his computer. He surprised me by staying up late and read the entire story in one sitting.

His words of affirmation of my writing and the story were an incredible gift—from a man who rarely gave a compliment. When the time came to edit the manuscript, the publisher requested more background information about my mother. I had more conversations with my father and found the missing pieces that I needed to add to the story.

There’s more to this story. I’ll share the rest in my next post.

Until then, we’d love to hear your story or comments.

~ Ardis A. Nelson

Our Common Interests

02 Sunday Sep 2012

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

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Generations coming together

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