This is my symphony

In Psalm 31, the psalmist praises a mother of noble character–a woman who was virtuous, strong, and selfless. This is my opportunity to rise up and call our mother blessed, to (as it says in the psalm) honor her for all that her hands have done, and let her works bring her praise.

Mom’s life taught me these three things:  

Home is where the heart is

Mom worked full time outside the home most of our lives: in a law office, a university library, an insurance office, a doctor’s practice. She was behind the scenes, running other people’s businesses smoothly and efficiently, but her heart was always at home.

We moved every year when I was young and within a couple days Mom had our house unpacked, everything in its place–our bedrooms and the kitchen always taking precedence. She canned peaches and tomatoes and pickles and jam. Jeff and I grew up with homemade cookies in the cookie jar and a homemade pie or kuchen on the counter every Saturday.

Raised in poverty, Mom’s own home was evidence of God’s unending provision and great love for her. Mom loved weekend visitors–especially family from Ohio–and company dinners. She opened her door for bible study and visiting missionaries and holiday dinners. 

Mom took God’s call to show hospitality very seriously, and I’ve no doubt she entertained ‘angels unaware’.

It’s a wonderful life.

If you’re ever tempted to hang back and sit on life’s sidelines, remember my mom.

God took a poor Cleveland girl and showed her the wonder of His world: France, the Netherlands, Spain, Mexico, Panama. Her beloved Yosemite. St. Croix to visit my cousin Connie. Mom’s bus trips took her and friend Sue to Mt. St. Helens, the Rockies, New England, Alaska. To celebrate turning 60, Mom took a hot air balloon ride. A skate dancer in her teens, Mom was 83 the last time she went roller skating. Mom married my step dad Gene in her sixties and loved him to the end. 

Life dealt her many setbacks, but she was never defeated–in part because of her indomitable spirit, but in whole because of her faith. 

Cast your love deep and wide

A measure of my mom’s love is all of you–just look around. Really look around. I see dear friends. Work colleagues. Parishioners. Gene’s union buddies. Volunteers from Emmanuel Hospice. Neighbors. Step-children. Beloved grandchildren. Great-grandchildren. Mom never missed an opportunity to chat up a bank teller or a grocery store cashier–something that drove me crazy when I was younger–and she never met a stranger she didn’t love. Jeff and I probably disappointed her many times, but we always knew that in her eyes we were loved. “Jesus loves you and so do I” was her signature sign off on her voicemail, and she meant it with every fiber of her being.

Mom taught us never to be stingy when it comes to love.  To reach out to help others even when–or perhaps especially when–lonely or sad or tired. To see the best in everyone.

“Many women do noble things, but you surpass them all.” We will miss you, Mom, but wait with faith to meet you again.

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You might notice that this post sounds like a eulogy. Indeed, it was supposed to be. I wrote it the week before Mom died, after asking her permission to speak at the funeral. Two days before the service, the pastor called to tell me that the church council wouldn’t allow me to speak–even after the funeral liturgy–because it “wasn’t done” at Messiah Lutheran. Let’s just say it was an impersonal funeral that lacked even a hint of comfort for me.

This year as I anticipated the second anniversary of her death, I figured better late than never. So this one’s for you, Mom, from the bottom of my heart.