My Front Door

'Here I am! I stand at the door and knock. If anyone hears my voice and opens the door, I will come in and eat with that person, and they with me.'

~ Revelation 3:20 

I love this front door. 

Every morning when I come down the stairs I am greeted with this peaceful view and no matter how I feel I experience a moment of pure peace and quiet joy.  I really do love this front  door. Rain or shine (except in winter) it's always opened by the first person up. Growing up, it was almost always Mom. No matter what I had on the agenda for the day, I would head straight for it and step through for a moment to gauge the weather and to say hello to the morning. It's always been a pilgrimage of sorts, a morning devotion. It's a moment where I meet God and say simply, 'Yes Lord' and 'Thank You.'

This is the front door of the home where I grew up, my parents' home, the family house. Whenever any of my sibs or I talk about 'going home' this is where we mean. I live here again,  to stay now with my Dad after my Mother's passing at the end of this last April.  As hard as I thought it would be to move back, I have found it comforting to be back in the house where I was raised, where the foundation of the person I am today first took form.  It has helped me to deal with my grief, to know that I have not 'lost' my Mother because she is in the very fabric of this home she lovingly prepared for us. 

I'll be posting more about this front door, about this home, about my Mother, about  me.  It has taken me a while to come back to the blog  during these last few months. I would sit down to post and my heart was full but the words didn't seem to be enough. I decided not to push it and to wait until the words flowed naturally. When I saw this open door this morning, I knew I was ready to say, 'Thank You' for the place writing has always had in my life. I chose to open my heart's front door, to let the world in again and say 'Yes Lord'.

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Five Minute Friday: Fill

Three months now since she’s been gone. I have more than enough to fill my days with the sorting and the clearing out. It’s over whelming at times, stressful, emotionally draining sorting through a beloved mother’s life that had been well lived for so long. There are drawers and boxes and cabinets filled with memories, Momma’s  memories of our family, of my siblings. There have been times I’ve had to stop because it was too much for my grieving heart to handled. I would reach the end of my emotional strength and walk away. But there have also been times when I have been pleasantly surprised at what pieces of childhood art she thought worthy of preserving. All of our birthday and Mother's Day cards to her our letters written over the years in our childish scribbled handwriting.  Sorting through them filled my heart at how much she loved us and cherished our love for her.

A few days ago I found a bag tucked in the corner of her closet. It contained an unmarked  gift box that when I opened it made me laugh out loud with delight.  In it was a set of Christmas angel ornaments, Black angels, the kind I collect. Momma had remember and bought them for me.  In that moment, it felt as if she had handed me a gift, a personal gift from herself just for me. My eyes filled with the tears I had not been able to release since she had passed but my heart was filled with love for my mother whose love reached out past that inevitable human separation that is death  to fill me with a  strength that only being loved so completely can give. The strength to take her place, to carry on her legacy and to care for the family she loved more than life. Her love filled me with the strength to go on without her.

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Today's word was Fill.

Weekend Worship: As My Mother Did

Truly I am your servant, Lord; 
I serve you just as my mother did...

                                                                                                       

                                                                                                             - Psalm 116 vs 15 

~ ~ ~

Since I last posted I've been tending to my Mom who as you know has been suffering from dementia. This last Thursday evening we moved Mom from the hospital where she has been for the last three weeks to the nearby hospice facility where she is in the process of passing. She is sleeping, mostly and is at peace. Although it is a hard thing to know she'll be gone soon, I am at peace as well.  I know I'll be putting it all down on paper in the future but for now, I am holding these precious moments in my heart as Mary did. I wanted you all to know so you wouldn't worry about my absence.  The Lord is good and He is close.

My family and I appreciate all of your love and prayers.

Dear Diary: Touching Base

Hope you all had a great January. I wanted to touch base as it seems I dropped off of the face of the earth three weeks ago. As many as you know, I’ve moved back to my hometown with my parents just before Christmas.  Just let me say, it’s been a rough month. Mom gave us a scare and ended up in the hospital. She was seriously dehydrated and delirious and had to be taken by ambulance after she had a seizure.  Come to find out, she had a urinary tract infection which is something that wrecks havoc with dementia patients.  (Who knew?)  We brought her home last Tuesday. 

Although the dementia is increasing as the Alzheimer’s progresses, Mom’s doing well. It seems I’ve become the ‘Mom Whisperer' and can get through to her fairly easily - for now.  It’s amazing what will connect through the dementia and popcorn is one of them.  In the hospital in trying to tempt her to eat she asked for popcorn out of the blue and devoured a bowl full. Carrying that through we’ve been having popcorn breaks in the afternoons while watching the Food Channel.  Although the conversations are disjointed on her end, it’s been good. Mom was a spectacular cook so talking food and baking cheers her.  I’ll talk more about the conflicting emotions of being back in my mother’s kitchen later on

On to February, my birthday month. I’ll be fifty-eight this year. Fifty. Eight.  Two years away from sixty. Wow. More about that later.

I appreciate all of your good wishes and prayers. They make a difference knowing that someone is praying for you when you are too tired or stressed to pray yourself.  Thanks for hanging in there with me. You guys are the best!

God Bless. Have a great weekend!

Five Minute Friday: See

Joining with Five Minute Friday sponsored by Lisa-Jo Baker. On each Friday, Lisa-Jo posts a one word prompt and for five minutes we join together as an international community to write what the prompt brings to mind. No rewrite, no editing just letting the words flow from our hearts.

Today's prompt is See. 

Five Minute Friday

In returning to live in my parents' house I could see clearly where my mom would need me. The effects of the disease  were visible and demanding of immediate and constant attention. I almost knew before hand what I would need to do for her. What I did not see was how much my dad needed me here as well. I could see him visibly relax as I took on those everyday tasks of getting mom out of bed, to take her meds or to eat that often turned into a battle of wills.  I can also see where he needs to me to help him see it is ok for almost 80 year old men to let go of some things like  trying to shovel the driveway after a 15 in snowfall.  I can also see now where God has been gracious to push me past my reluctance to return home because I cannot now think of any place else I’d rather be.

Five Minute Friday: Fight

Joining with Five Minute Friday sponsored by Lisa-Jo Baker. On each Friday, Lisa-Jo posts a one word prompt and for five minutes we join together as an international community to write what the prompt brings to mind. No rewrite, no editing just letting the words flow from our hearts.
  

Today's prompt is Fight. 

Five Minute Friday

I know the fight confuses them and sometimes hurts them, sometimes deeply. They turn away from it, denying it, refusing it and she is left alone as she has demanded. But I wade into the fight because I understand it. I fight that same fight. I learned how from her. I know she is fighting to retain herself, to hold on to the last bits of her conscious self as it all slips away. Yes, she is angry, no she doesn’t want any help but pushing past, I help anyway because that’s what love does. That's what she taught me. Love jumps into the fight with you, helps you, protects you, even when you fight against the help, the protection. She doesn’t realize that I am not the enemy but that’s ok. I know. God knows. And because she taught me about God I know that one day when she is with Him, she will know too.

Five Minute Friday: She

Joining with Five Minute Friday sponsored by Lisa-Jo Baker. On Friday, Lisa-Jo posts a one word prompt and for five minutes even we write what the prompt brings to mind. No rewrite, nor editing just letting the words flow. 

Today's Prompt: She 

5 Minute Friday

She has been on my mind a lot lately.  So many things are reminding me of her as I walk through my days. Even the weather does today as the  autumn rains come, washing the leaves from the trees. It's reminding me of my childhood where She still is vibrant and active. I remember how she would begin baking in the fall and how there were  sugar cookies baked in the shape of fall leaves. I can't remember the last time I baked cookies and I don't have a cookie cutter in the house.  She no longer bakes now  so I am going to have to pick up that mantle and do it for her.  On my list of errands this morning, I will be adding 'find a cookie cutter in the shape of a fall leaf'.

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 I Love You, Mom.

I Love You, Mom

When I think of May I always think of two things: Spring and Mother’s Day. When we finally make it to May First, I always feel like my heart and soul gives a great long sigh which says, “We made it! It’s finally Spring, again.”  The grass turns a little greener, the blue, yellow and white iris in my yard make a wonderful and all too brief showing and the rains come.  I don’t mind spring rain. It seems right somehow washing clean the air and encouraging everything to grow. I love Spring.

I also love my mom. Her name is Crystal and although her birthday is at the end of March, she’s most on my mind in May because of Mother’s day. We honor our mothers in May and thank them for all they’ve done for us and been to us throughout our lives. It is a good thing to do. Every day of my life I am aware of how much my mother impacted my life. When I wake up in the morning one of the first things I do is raise the shades and open the curtains which is the morning ritual in my parents’ home to this day. Which ever one is up first, Momma or Daddy, they let the light in. Daddy always opens the front door as well while Momma goes through to the family room at the back of the house and opens that door. To let the house ‘air out’ she always says.

Mom, Jo, Dad

Everyone always says I sounded like my mom on the phone and in my younger days, the older folks in the family would look at me funny when I show up at family reunions or other family gatherings. I could see them frowning, mentally counting the years in their minds so I would go over to them, smile and say, ‘I’m not Crystal. I’m her oldest girl, Cassandra.” The frowns would turn into smiles and they would hug me tight and exclaim, “Baby, you look just like your momma!” We’d all laugh and I counted it as a compliment because my mom is very pretty although she’s very petite and I’m much taller than she is. I understood that I ‘favored’ my mother, but it wasn't until a few weeks ago when I caught sight of myself in a mirror that I realized that in my later years, I do look just like my mother did when she was my age. It brought a lump to my throat and tears to my eye because my mom has developed dementia over the last few years and even though she’s still with us, it’s limited. She’s still at home with my dad in Michigan and with the help of my sister Jo, and the support system of their church and friends, she’s happy and well taken care of.

Because of the dementia and the short term memory loss Mom and I are not able to have the deep conversations we used to have and I miss that.  Recently, I’ve been having dreams where she and I are having the conversations that we used to have on the phone. I see her still strong and healthy and with her full abilities in tact. We discuss what’s going on in my life and she helps me to work things out. When I wake from these dreams I always try to call her just so I can hear her voice, maybe make sure that her being still here is not also a dream. It comforts me. 

I’ve also had dreams where Momma reminds of the things that I’m supposed to be doing.  This week I dreamed that I heard some one in the kitchen and when I went in to check, my mom was just finishing up washing some dishes I had left in the sink overnight. She good-naturedly fussed at me about how she had taught me better the proper way to clean up a kitchen and I woke up smiling. I then got up and went directly to the kitchen to wash up the dishes I had left in the sink the night before, smiling all the time. I love my mom and in her way, I know she is still keeping track of me and still teaching me. I give God praise for that.

So Momma, even though you won’t remember, I want to say, “Happy Mother’s Day and I love you, very, very much.” I wouldn't be who I am without you and I love and thank you for the woman you've helped me to become.

Happy Mother's Day to all the Moms, Grandmas, PlayMoms, Church Moms, Office Moms - you know who you are! Would love to hear about the Moms in your life and how they helped shape you into the person you are today. Tell us about your Mom.

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My Second Best Thanksgiving Ever

My second favorite Thanksgiving was when I was a junior in high school.  It began when my sister Jo and I were doing our homework after dinner a week before Thanksgiving. Our mom was sighing loudly in the kitchen about how she wasn’t ready for the upcoming holiday meal and how she was tired and was not looking forward to getting out, doing the shopping and putting it all together.  Almost at the same moment my sister  Jo and I spoke up and said “We’ll do it.”

Surprised, my mother turned, gave us a grateful but almost pitying look that said we were misguided to think we had any idea of how to put together a holiday meal for a family of nine plus guests. “Thank you, but no.” she said. “It’s a sweet thought but you two couldn't handle it. It’s too much.” Jo and I looked at each and frowned wondering what in the world our mother was talking about.  “It’s my own fault,” she sighed, “I never taught you how to pull together something like this.” 

“Oh Mom, pul-leeze” I said, a little insulted,(I think Jo rolled her eyes) “We know how to stuff a turkey. We’ve been in the kitchen with you every Thanksgiving for our whole lives. How could we not?”

My mother gave us her signature “Oh Really” look, sat down at the table where we were doing our home work and proceeded to quiz us on the finer points of putting together a turkey dinner. We were ready for her. It was a matter of honor now.  We got a piece of paper and wrote out the menu, the shopping list and the order in which each aspect of the dinner was prepared. We proudly answered every one of her questions and enjoyed immensely the change of her expression from dubiousness to incredulous. 

“You really do know.” She said slowly. 

It was our turn to give her the almost pitying look and sigh. “Yes Mom, we really do know. So can we do it?”

 She hesitated. “Let me talk to your father first.”

We finished our homework as she went into the family room to have a hushed conversation with our dad.  Later I wondered if Mom was trying to get Dad to give her a good reason to say no. About fifteen minutes later she came back in and said tentatively, “Are you sure you can do it? Are you sure you want to?” We nodded yes and she said, “ Well, your father said if I was sure you could it would be ok with him.” Needless to say, we were tickled to death that we were going to get to show off what we could do.

 

Long story short, early Saturday morning we got the keys to the car and the grocery money from our dad and took off to buy the preparations for the feast. I know it was all our Mom could do to not go with us and she was waiting impatiently for us when we got back 90 minutes later. She carefully inspected what we bought including the 20 lb butterball turkey and reluctantly gave us the go ahead to move to the next stage. Part over me still thinks Mom might have been thinking better of letting go of the reigns of one of our signature holiday celebrations. Too bad. That year, Jo and I were definitely in charge.

Over the weekend and those Monday and Tuesday nights we chopped and diced onions, celery for the stuffing, along with walnuts and apples for the Waldorf salad.  We baked cornbread for the stuffing, peeled potatoes, made a cake and a couple of pies and if I remember correctly, Jello fruit salad for dessert.  We prepared the turkey, stuffed it and about 1:30 in the morning shoved it in the oven to roast slowly (in the traditional brown paper bag, mind you) over night. It was just like she did it. We were confident in our preparations which of course we should have been. We did everything exactly the way we has witnessed our Mom do it over the years. I still wonder why she was so surprised that we had picked up so much from helping her out in the kitchen. After all, it was exactly how she learned to cook from her mom.

Everything turned out great and we were very proud of the compliments we received all around, Jo and I for the meal and my mom for having trained her daughters well in the homemaking arts. I’m not sure how much rest she actually got because she hovered over us the whole time but it was worth it. We were proud to be able to give our mom a true day off. The only thing Mom had to do with the cooking was make the gravy.  (The process of making gravy and I are not friends to this day.) To this day it is my second favorite Thanksgiving memory. I’ll tell you about my best Thanksgiving Day ever next Thursday.

Josephine and Marvin Sr.

I feel so blessed to have a copy of this picture. Let me introduce you to Josephine and Marvin my mother’s parents. I remember back when I was in high school (a hundred years ago) Mom pulled the original of this picture out of the cedar chest that sat at the foot of her bed.  As you may have figured out I love old family pictures and to have a portrait of Mama Jo and Marvin Daddy – well! I was over the moon about it. My mom took the original and had copies made for her three brothers and a few other family members. I’m not sure if I was given my copy or if I stole – I mean - borrowed it ala my other grandmother Mama Carrie – but that’s a post for another day.

All of my memories of Mama Jo are bookended by my strongest memory of her standing on the front porch of her house. Every summer our family would drive down to Dallas where my parents grew up to spend the last three weeks of our summer vacation. As a little kid I was always amazed to see Mama Jo standing on the front porch of her house looking for us. I wondered how long she had been standing there and how did she know we were coming up the street at that precise moment. We would tumble out of the red station wagon and scoot up the front walk as fast as our little legs would carry us. She would gather us kids all in her arms at the same and hug us so tight. I remember those hugs, those warm tight soft grandmotherly hugs and how loved and safe I felt.  Those hugs lasted forever and they were wonderful, wonderful, wonderful. There is nothing in the world like a grandmother’s hug.

Marvin Daddy spoke slow but had a strong voice, always wore a hat and called me 'baby'.  I remember he called us all ‘baby’ as far as I can remember, but we always knew which one he was calling. We’d sit on his lap or snuggled up next to him as he sat and talked with the other men in my family, my dad and my uncles until we were called into the kitchen by the women or sent outside to play. He always gave us money for the ice cream man (yay!)and bought us candy when we would ride with him to the store.  Although Mama Jo went on to be with the Lord when I was in fourth grade, Marvin Daddy was with us until I was a young married woman. One of my last memories of him was when I brought my first born son down to Dallas for him to see. He was dying from prostate cancer at that time and I wanted to make sure he saw my son. He was also so proud of my husband who was in medical school and would call him “Doc”.  Obediently my husband brought his medical bag and took Marvin Daddy’s pulse and blood pressure and listened to his heart.  My grandfather then declared to all in the room how he felt so much better now that ‘Doc’ had checked him out. 

Marvin Daddy went to join Mama Jo not long after that last visit.  I miss them both so much. The Bible says in Psalm 127 vs. 3a that “children are a heritage of the LORD…” and that is true but in my heart when I think of my wonderful grandparents I always think, grandparents are a heritage for children from the Lord like they were for me and my siblings. I love them, thank God for them and miss them all very, very much.

Crystal: Clear and Sparkling

This is my mom. I love this picture of her. She's a real beauty. It was taken when she was around twenty five years old. The baby in her arms is my sister Jo and the cute little girl standing next to her is yours truly.  She is the first of the Renaissance Women I have been graced to have in my life and she is the primary. I am who I am today because of her (and of course my dad) and I have dedicated this blog/journal to her.

My mom’s name is Crystal which means, clear and sparkling. As I think about it, I think it does describe her. When she is in the midst of her family with her kids around her, she sparkles. She loves having ‘her babies’ around her. Actually she loves having babies around her period. Her babies, her grandbabies, the babies at church, the babies in the neighborhood - anybody’s babies and they all love being around “Miss Chris”. I was amused the other day when I called home (she lives in Michigan and I live in Texas) and heard all of this screeching and yelling in the background. When I asked who it was she told me it was the kids from across the street playing kickball in the side yard. Our house (the one I grew up in) is the biggest on the block and also has this wonderful side yard (as opposed to a back one) which is big enough to play a rousing game of kickball in it. My parents never fenced it, allowing instead for it to be open for us to play on.  It not only drew every kid on the block, but kept us under their watchful eyes. Even now, with all of us out of the house, the yard is never empty and both she and my dad like it that way.

I’ll be blogging from time to time about my mom and the other Renaissance Women (and men ) in my life and how their love,  affection and support has woven into the tapestry of my life, but I wanted to start with my mom because she is the foundation. She is the one I have patterned myself after on both an consciously and unconsciously level. Perfect? No, but who is? But I know she loves me dearly as I love her. She’s been a good example to follow. I am blessed to have her in my life.

I’d love to hear about the primary Renaissance Women in your life. Tell me about her.