“When I grow up, I want to be just like my mom.” That is what I wrote as a journal entry back in 1st grade. I found it years ago when I went home from college and my mom told me to go thru some of my old things that were nearly forgotten in the basement. I’ve obviously grown up since then. I’m my own person, and have taken different roads than she took. For instance, I am the black sheep of the family in the sense that I don’t have the athletic prowess of my sister, my mom, or my dad, and I have had a few more children than she did! But, I’m realizing that my early wish has come true in many other ways.
Ironically, as women grow older they often become like their mother in many ways. This has been true for me, as my husband can testify--sometimes happily, sometimes not!
As my mom displayed a strong marriage, I hope to be just like her.
We can’t talk about my mom without talking about the love relationship that she shared with my dad. We all think BIKES when we think of them. It’s a perfect picture of their life together. Sometimes they rode together on the tandem. My dad leading and my mom eagerly adding her strength as the stoker. Other times, they rode separate bikes, different speeds, but always meeting up at the end with stories to share.
But, as we all know, it was not about the bike! It was their love for one another that shined. It was their commitment to love life, their friends, and their family that kept them together and that fueled my dad’s patient care for her over the past several years. He has set the bar high for all you men out there...if your wife gets sick, just ask my dad what to do. He could probably write a book.
She adored him, trusted him, enjoyed him.
I want to be like my mother in her selfless interest in the lives of others.
I think I saw in my mom, even at an early age, a joy and love for others that I wanted to adopt...she could talk to anyone. I know I was mortified more than once as I was growing up, as she started up a conversation with a perfect stranger. But now, guess what...I embarrass my own children all the time in the same way. I love to chat with the person standing in line in front of me or just about anyone that walks past. Here is another way I have become like my mother. It is a quality that has made me well suited to being a pastor’s wife.
I want to be like my mom in that she made her family a high priority.
She certainly valued dinners together as a family. In recent years, studies have come out that say that the family meal with interesting conversation is essential to building healthy family relations. Old news to my mom...she had been pushing for that for ages. In my family, I emphasize the family meal as well. As a matter of fact, at my house, I even have my mother’s dining table that my dad made for her when I was three. Many of you have actually eaten at that table.
We continued her family dinner tradition last week at Thanksgiving with my dad at my sister’s house in NH. Julia had said several times that we needed to set 15 place settings. 15. Ironically, that was one too many and we didn’t realize it until we all sat down. After an awkward moment of silence, we all laughed, poured an extra glass of wine, and sat Phil and Nathan on either side of the empty chair thinking she would have wanted to give her sons-in-law one more tongue lashing. I couldn’t help but want to call her--she would have gotten a fabulous laugh out of that one.
A few days after she died, I felt a sense of panic. I was afraid I didn’t know my mother well enough, that I didn’t have enough memories, that my memory of her was already fading. I think that is one reason we have these celebration services: we all get a chance to share stories of the loved one that has died. These stories get passed from generation to generation. I think that I speak for Julia as well as for myself, we would love for you to share those stories with us this week or give us a call when you think of something that you want to share.
In the Bible, in the book of Ecclesiastes, there is a verse that goes like this:
For everything there is a season and a time for every matter under heaven, a time to be born, and a time to die...a time to weep, and a time to laugh; a time to mourn, and a time to dance.
I like to think that my mom would have wanted us to weep by laughing and mourn by dancing. May all of our lives be a song to which we and others can dance. The song that my mother danced to beats in my sister and I. Her chorus, while not perfect, was one of humor and of opinion and of love. That same chorus plays in our lives. Julia and I have written different verses, but the chorus is the same as hers.
Mom, I will miss you. I will miss hearing your voice on the other end of the phone. I hate to say it, but in recent years, I always knew you’d be home when I called, and I loved that. You would answer and listen and ask for more...more stories about my kids, more news, and then you would always say, “I love you, Honey” before hanging up. Thank you for loving me. Julia and I and your beautiful 9 grandchildren are your legacy--the mark you have left in the world.
Tuesday, December 6, 2011
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