Remembering Mom
It's interesting how certain smells, sounds, and sights can quickly take you back home. The smell of bleach, the clunking of pots and pans being removed from the cupboard early in the morning, a tire swing, an ironing board, and a lemon meringue pie only served on Father's Day and a wedding anniversary.
As the years have passed since Mom's death, I have tried to dig up memories of her when I was growing up. Most of them picture her in the kitchen preparing a meal for farmhands, or under an apple tree--her apron full of fruit, or rocking the latest baby brother in her arms after summer dinner time.
When in college, Mom sent letters weekly. Roommates would be astonished at their length, 6-10 pages on both sides, with the routine details of her and Dad's lives. As I write this, it occurs to me where my need to put words on paper comes from.
When the youngest children were out from underfoot, she tackled the grove--picking up dry sticks and fallen limbs to make a pile for burning. The grove had never looked so cared for.
As I look back, older and wiser, I understand that her own work ethic provided one for me along with a sense of perseverance, stamina, and unconditional love for family. It's interesting the things that are passed down from parent to child--things that are not pounded into our heads, things that we just get because we were there, in the presence of someone special.
I miss her even more as time passes.
I'm not sure why. I didn't expect this.
Maybe, it's the understanding that underneath it all, there's something greater going on.
And, we each are a part of this.
Big mystery?
That their hearts may be encouraged, being knit together in love, to reach all the riches of full assurance of understanding and the knowledge of God's mystery, which is Christ. Colossians 1:26
As the years have passed since Mom's death, I have tried to dig up memories of her when I was growing up. Most of them picture her in the kitchen preparing a meal for farmhands, or under an apple tree--her apron full of fruit, or rocking the latest baby brother in her arms after summer dinner time.
 |
| Mom working with her own dad before marriage. |
When in college, Mom sent letters weekly. Roommates would be astonished at their length, 6-10 pages on both sides, with the routine details of her and Dad's lives. As I write this, it occurs to me where my need to put words on paper comes from.
When the youngest children were out from underfoot, she tackled the grove--picking up dry sticks and fallen limbs to make a pile for burning. The grove had never looked so cared for.
As I look back, older and wiser, I understand that her own work ethic provided one for me along with a sense of perseverance, stamina, and unconditional love for family. It's interesting the things that are passed down from parent to child--things that are not pounded into our heads, things that we just get because we were there, in the presence of someone special.
I miss her even more as time passes.
I'm not sure why. I didn't expect this.
Maybe, it's the understanding that underneath it all, there's something greater going on.
And, we each are a part of this.
Big mystery?
That their hearts may be encouraged, being knit together in love, to reach all the riches of full assurance of understanding and the knowledge of God's mystery, which is Christ. Colossians 1:26
No comments:
Post a Comment