A Soapy Tasting Memory on Mother’s Day

10 Saturday May 2025

Posted by Catherine Lawton in challenges of motherhood, childhood memories, Family Stories, Humor, Mother's Day, Parenting, Remembering Mother

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Family, Free to Explore, Garden Snails, life, love, mother and daughter, Mother's Day, Mothering, Sisters, storytelling, Toddler, writing

A photo of my family about the time of this story.

Photo: My family about the time of this story, when I was 1 year old and my sister was an infant.

Mother’s Day brings to mind stories my mother used to tell. She said before I was born, when she was barely 20, the doctor said I was going to be a big baby with a big head, and since she was built small, I would have to be born by cesarean section. Mother said she and Daddy worried that “big head” meant maybe I had a “water on the brain” condition. Turned out I didn’t, but I did have a head full of ideas from a young age.

By the time I was 9 months, Mother was 6 months pregnant with my little sister, and since I still wasn’t a tiny, delicate child, she couldn’t be picking me up and carrying me around. And Daddy was busy going to college (studying for the ministry) and working side jobs.

So, I got up on my own two feet and started walking at 9 months.

Then when I was 12 months, my sister was born. No one had much time to watch me, so I entertained myself, I guess. One day I toddled into a flower bed, sat down and picked up a snail. Toddlers learn about things by putting them in their mouths, and I must have wanted to learn about that snail.

When my horrified Mother found me gumming what was left of the dirty, slimy mollusk, she panicked. She scooped me up, ran into the little house, and washed my mouth out with soap. I must have wailed about that; but she was still so worried, she lugged my crying young self over to the next-door neighbor, Dr. Orpha Speicher, a medical missionary on furlough.

Dr. Speicher, for whom Mother (and our small denomination) had great respect, said not to worry. A garden snail and a little dirt wouldn’t hurt me. A missionary to the poor in India, she had seen much worse!

In my curiosity, during young childhood I learned about many other things by tasting them, but probably never snails again. Once, years later, I had the opportunity to taste escargot. I tried it but didn’t like it. Maybe because of the subconscious association of soap in my mouth and a panicky young mother?

That wasn’t the only time Mother washed my mouth out with soap as a young child. But later it was because of what came out of my mouth, not what I put into my mouth. I don’t eat snails to this day; and I don’t cuss, either. (And I’m glad I grew up free to explore and also to consider consequences of my actions.)

Mother died in her 40s and Daddy lived to 90. But both are gone from us now. My sister is busy with other things. So, if the stories are going to be told, I have to stand on my own two feet and tell them myself!

Not Forsaken

12 Saturday Mar 2016

Posted by Catherine Lawton in Adopted children, childhood memories, emotional needs, God as our parent, grief and loss, losing mom too soon, Remembering Mother, the healing journey, when tragedy hits

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Abandonment, Adoption, Grief Loss and Bereavement, Mother

Imogene-just-adopted

I watched an Irish movie that brought tears to my eyes and reminded me of my mother’s story. The movie was based on a true story of an impoverished family where the mother dies and the father runs off and doesn’t care of the children, who are taken into custody by the state and placed in orphanages.

The same thing happened to my mother and her siblings, only it wasn’t in Ireland. It was in Colorado. She was the age my littlest granddaughter is now—almost two years old—when she and her siblings were taken into custody by the Otero County Court. The judge declared them “neglected children” and wards of the state until age 21. Mother’s one sister and two brothers were sent to the Denver Children’s Home, but just in time a childless couple adopted her. And though she never saw her siblings again, she was raised by loving Christian parents and grew up to be a self-sacrificing, loving pastor’s wife. This is an old photo of her the day she was adopted. Her adoptive parents found her dirty and frightened.

Some things have come full circle. Since I moved back to Colorado, I have found Mother’s birth family. Our son, who is a lawyer, has done pro bono work representing neglected children who have no legal representation.

Though Mother has been gone from us over 38 years now, I never want to forget how God rescued a sad little girl whose mother had died of TB and whose father had run off to find work or something in that dust bowl era. I never want to take for granted the way God rescues us, provides for us, gives us people to love and be loved by.

I remember Mother smiling through tears of blessing as she sang, “A tent or a cottage, why should I care? They’re building a mansion for me over there. Though exiled from home, yet still I will sing, All glory to God, I’m a child of the King.”

~Catherine Lawton

Hannah Whitall Smith Comparing God’s Love to Mother Love

06 Saturday Feb 2016

Posted by Catherine Lawton 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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God the Father, Modeling the faith, mother and daughter, Our children see God in us, Parenting, Sacrificial love

“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

Mom’s Cooking

28 Thursday May 2015

Posted by finishingwell2 in childhood memories, generational patterns, leaving a legacy, Remembering Mother, the healing journey

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Christian spirituality, Family traditions, future hope, Modeling the faith, mother and daughter, Praying for our children

photo by Shannon Fitzgerald

The Facebook post revealed a photo of blackberry cobbler just like Mom used to make. That looks SO good! The ingredients suggested it would taste good, too. I decided to give the recipe a try.

Soon, in the grocery store blackberries were plentiful and picture perfect. Would twelve ounces of berries make 2 1/4 cups the recipe called for? I guessed the basket contents were close, and it proved to be the exact amount needed. The other ingredients were on hand, so I measured them exactly, mixed them as directed, and baked my first batch.

It turned out tasty and, to my delight, almost as good as Mom’s. I tweaked the recipe twice until it was almost perfect. Unless you’ve tried to reproduce your mother’s cooking and missed the mark, you won’t be able to appreciate the sense of victory that came with that final cobbler.

My mother let me watch her bake, but she never told me exactly how to make goodies like hers. She’d say it took “a little bit of this and a little bit of that,” which made it impossible to translate onto a recipe card. Friends of mine have expressed frustration at the same lack of clear instructions from their mothers. Our moms had the magic “touch.”

Reflecting on her talent, I realized what a high standard she set and that I unconsciously compared my cooking to hers when I’d ask, Was that lemon filling too sweet or too tart? Was the crust flaky or tough? Were the vegetables done at the same time the roast was ready?

Today we eat differently than Mother did on the farm or I did growing up. Today people lead more sedentary lives, eat less fat and sugar, more fruits and vegetables. Therefore, our children may not remember us for our cooking prowess.

What will they remember us for? What will they try to emulate?

I hope our children will remember that we tried to follow God’s recipes and instructions exactly. And when there weren’t specific instructions, we did what the law of love seemed to suggest. I hope they understand that not everything we attempted met God’s high standards, that there were times we had to tweak our behavior, grateful that Christ removed our mistakes so God could be pleased with the results. I hope they agree that following Him leads to an abundant life.

I’m so grateful our children have tasted and seen that the Lord is good. They have excellent ingredients to work with and the same instructions to follow. Their results won’t be the same as ours; but if they keep following Christ, they will have abundant lives, too. I pray they become gourmet Christians in their generation.

~Ellen Cardwell

When Your Mother Believes in You

10 Sunday May 2015

Posted by Catherine Lawton in childhood memories, encouraging each other, generational patterns, leaving a legacy, Mother's Day, Motherhood, Remembering Mother

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Finding our identity, giving and receiving, Mother, mother and daughter, Mother's Day, Mothering

Here I’m making sand castles on the beach with my mother when I was a young child. She always encouraged my dreams.

Having a child defines us for the rest of our lives…. Each mother-child relationship teaches us our limitations and our strengths. It changes us in constantly unfolding ways and entwines us in the unpredictable mystery of another life….

Our mothers are our first teachers, and we teach others the same lessons we learn from them. As a child, when your mother believes in you, you believe in yourself, and when that happens there is nothing you can’t do. As a mother, that is the greatest gift we can give to a child.

–from She Walks in Beauty : A Woman’s Journey Through Poems by Caroline Kennedy

May Day Memory

01 Friday May 2015

Posted by Catherine Lawton in childhood memories, Gratitude, leaving a legacy, Remembering Mother

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giving and receiving, Mothering

The first day of May always reminds me of my mother and May Day flower baskets.

When my sister and I were little, Mother helped us make tiny baskets with handles out of paper cups on May Day. Then we filled the baskets with whatever flowers we could find — from neighborhood gardens, along sidewalks, and “wildflowers” from the vacant lot and alley. Then we’d sneak up onto the front porches of the neighbors’ houses, ring the doorbell, then dash behind a bush to hide. The lady of the house would find the basket of flowers on her door and exclaim how lovely and “I wonder who gave me these beautiful flowers?! That was sooo nice of them.”

We’d tingle with delight, sure that she had no idea who left them. Actually she had probably been watching through her window as we picked a few of her flowers to add to the bouquet. But she went along with the “magic” and really made this rite of spring special for us.

Thank you, Mother, for teaching me the joy of such simple things like surprising the neighbors with a few spring flowers on May Day.

A Letter to Mom

08 Wednesday Apr 2015

Posted by vernahsimms in childhood memories, encouraging each other, Learning to appreciate Mom, Remembering Mother, the healing journey

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future hope, life and death, mother and daughter

Dear Mom,

I am writing your birthday letter early this year. I have so much to tell you, and it can’t wait until June. The sad news is Dee had a stroke. I couldn’t talk her into taking better care of her health. She is improving every day. I know how fond you were of her—your first grandchild. I appreciate how much you helped me when she was born 73 years ago.

Now, the good news. Remember I told you I was writing a historical novel? It is finished and accepted by Rockinghorse Publishing, and printed! I bet you would love it. Do you think that is an odd name for a publishing company? I do, but it is easy to remember. Water Under the Bridge is a work of fiction, but a lot of it mirrors our life when we lived in Claypool, Arizona. I tell about the time we went to see the first aeroplane, and also the couple in the book had to convert the parlor into a small store because of the Great Depression. I also mention your voting dress and how it got its name.

I already told you how I was published in an anthology, Journeys to Mother Love. Well, it is selling well. One of the nine authors whose stories are in the book, Ardis Nelson, contacted me by email. She is also writing to her dead mother. It would be nice if you could find her in Heaven, don’t you think? Ardis and I are becoming friends. Ardis promised to pray for Dee and for my joints. Isn’t that sweet of her?

Oh, yes, Larry is getting married this month. They wanted me to fly out to Oregon for the wedding, but I’ve decided against it. The last time I tried to fly, Missouri had a snow storm and we were stuck in the airport for 12 hours. The first plane we boarded developed problems and we had to get off while they tried to repair the damage—with no luck. What an unpleasant experience.

You get a chance, beam down and we’ll attend Easter services together. That would be a blast. I’m going to the covered bridge again this year. Leave me a message, if you can—maybe plant a wildflower on the spot where you rested the day we went there with Lewis, or place a rabbit close by. But no copperheads, please.

My eyes hurt. I’ll close for now. I love you and will soon join you and all the others whom I miss. Tell Irene when you see her—tell her I’m coming. Soon!

Love,
Verna