Dear Mom

It's Vacation Bible School week here in my world. I never quite realized before what a trigger that simple, summer activity is for me......

Dear Mom,

I can just see you, back in the day, urging daddy to go with you to invite children to Bible School. You loved Bible School. You loved picking up the children and making connections with their parents. Longer ago, when you were young and in your prime, you enjoyed getting creative with making song posters and teaching class. Your famous "Noah Noah" and "Jonah" song sheets live on through second and third generation students!

Bible School in your day was no small deal. Sometimes you hosted out of state teachers, taught a class, picked up students and took them home, helped with snack and maybe even led the singing all while juggling laundry, canning green beans and hosting teachers for a lunch or two. This went on for two weeks straight.

I know you got stressed and worn out and things didn't always go perfectly but you wouldn't have missed it for anything.

Bible School in the hills of Arkansas was something my pioneer parents and their cohorts took seriously. Because our community was spread out so widely, we hosted a morning Bible School at our church and an evening Bible School at a local church at the other end of our community. Teachers would come in from out of state to help and many of them would teach at both places i.e. third grade lesson to one group of students in the morning, the same lesson to a different group in the evening.

The schedule sounds crazy to anyone who was never a part of it. Bible School morning and evening for two weeks?? How?

Some of my best memories are my youth years when I would teach morning and evening and join the whole gang of teachers for lunch at someone's house every day. We went shopping together, went on picnics, played games, prayed and fasted on Wednesdays, helped each other prepare our lessons... Some of the friendships made with youth who came to help us teach are still alive today.

I know time has a way of changing things and often our own era seems to have the best memories. Oh the stories I could tell of hot, cramped little classrooms at the old, Wolf Bayou church where the old, folding seats creaked and the curtains strung up everywhere still didn't provide enough "rooms" for all the classes. The noise and temperature levels in that old building were high but the singing rang and the silence was breathless when the storyteller got up to tell us the next installment of his story.

Yes, memories are golden. It's no wonder the very mention of Summer Bible School brings waves of nostalgia and memories galore. In the middle of all those memories, somehow you seem to be at the center, Mom. When I pull out your old flannelgraph and tell the old, old story to an eager group of 20 some 9-11 year olds, there's an inevitable ache in my throat and tears in my eyes.

Times have changed in Arkansas. There are nicer accommodations now, more people to reach around, busier schedules and less need of doing nothing but Bible School morning and evening for two weeks straight. But the children are still coming and the legacy is still going on. On the last day, when the parents and grandparents show up for the program, they can join in singing "Noah Noah" just as lustily as their children and grandchildren!

Sometimes I wish I could roll back the years and relive those memories of bygone days. I wish I could be your little girl again, Mom, helping to fill the big, metal igloo with water for drinks and riding along to take the rowdy bunch of children home. I'd join the out of state teacher's children in "the little chicken house" to hold up imaginary song sheets and play our own rousing version of Bible School. Sadly, I can't do that.

So, I'll wipe the tears, swallow the lump in the throat and live the now. Hopefully someday my children's memories will be warm and nostalgic too. But I promise, Mom, they won't be half as grand as mine.

Dear Mom

My husband is gone this week, Mom. Any idea why that's been making me think of you?

Chris went off to Arkansas this week on a work adventure with his buddy from Horton's Countertops days. I'm happy he had a chance to get away and do something out of the ordinary. At the same time, I'm missing him dreadfully and it's made me go back in time and wonder how it was for you, Mom.

Your husband was a preacher. All the years of my life were interspersed with occasional weeks and weekends when Daddy would be gone. A lot of my memories of those times are vague; I was the youngest and everything happened before I was born (or so I used to think). Most vivid in my mind are the many, many weeks Daddy spent an hour away from home, teaching classes at Calvary Bible School.

This week I've been trying to imagine what those weeks were really like for you, Mom. Calvary Bible School landed in the middle of winter. In Arkansas, this could mean many things -- moderate weather, freezing temperatures, sunshine or maybe an ice storm. Back in those days there were cows to be checked on and a whole broiler house full of chickens to keep fed and alive. Way back in the day there were also pigs, I believe, who managed to make as much nuisance of themselves as possible when the man of the house was away. Inevitably, when Daddy was away, the cows would find their way through the fence or the feeders in the chicken house would decide to malfunction or the ice on the pond would need to be chopped so the cows would have water or a vehicle would refuse to start. Indeed, it seemed the whole farm was just waiting for the handyman to depart to spring any number of catastrophes on the poor wife left behind.

The thing is, Mom, I have good memories of those weeks! You used to let us take turns sleeping with you and do special things together those weeks when Daddy was gone. I have nothing but good memories of those days and I've been marveling this week at how much that fact reflects on the kind of Mom you were.

Daddy was not just a text away back then. In fact, you couldn't even count on the fact that you could get through if you tried to call him at any given time. You had children to care for -- to make sure they got to school and to settle disagreements between and to feed and keep happy. You had double the work and worry with your husband gone. I'm sure you felt lonely some days and misunderstood. I bet you looked at all the other wives who's husbands never taught at CBS and wondered what they had to complain about? I know you were just as human as anybody else, Mom, and there were times when those weeks without your man at home were just plain hard.

Maybe time dims the memories, but when I look back those days are filled with cozy times together and a mother who loved us and made us feel special. This week I'm the mom. I don't have any chickens or cows, much less pigs. It's not snowy nor icy and my husband is a text or phone call away at pretty much any given moment. I realize now the effort you put forth, Mom, to make good memories for us those weeks when Daddy was gone. I know now that you weren't necessarily having as much fun as we were. And, I for sure know that letting us take turns sleeping with you was most certainly not for your sake!

Thanks Mom.

Love, Bethany

PS. I'm trying to make good memories this week but, I confess, I'm drawing the line at letting anyone share my bed.

Dear Mom

I made applesauce today, Mom -- delicious tangy-sweet sauce from bags of big, beautiful, spot-free apples. It made me think of you.

You taught me many things, Mom. Most of the time I go along living my life, oblivious to the many ways you influenced me. Once in awhile something like a bag of shiny, beautiful apples will look me in the face and make me stop and think.

All the years that I was a part of your life, you lived in Arkansas, Mom. While being from the south is, without question, superior in many regards, easy access to fresh fruits and luscious gardens isn't one of them. You loved to garden and toiled tirelessly in spite of inevitable drought, poor soil and pesky bugs. You canned and froze and served fresh, and not once did we ever go hungry.

But this is what I learned from you, Mom -- you made do with what you had. If the corn produced little (as often was the case) but the green beans were prolific; we ate green beans. If an early frost nipped the peach trees we did without peaches. Because strawberries were expensive and blackberries were free, we spread our bread with blackberry jelly. I don't remember you ever once making a batch of strawberry jam, are you sure you were a true Mennonite, Mom?

English peas didn't do well, so we ate purple hull peas and zipper peas and lima beans. My brothers will testify to gaining pill swallowing skills because of the need to consume those loathsome limas. We ate okra because it grew and pears from the old pear tree on the odd years that it produced. On those years we were all expected to try new things like pear butter and pear and pineapple jam because -- you know, free food.

You were always willing to use what was available, Mom. When Ervin Dorothy had squash, you canned it. When someone offered you peaches from their scrubby little trees, you froze them. If there were strawberries available, we enjoyed them. And when it was time to can applesauce, you never stressed over Jonathons or Cortlands or Golden Delicious or Ginger Golds. You didn't insist on brown sauce or pale yellow or pink; you took what was available. I will never forget the year of the ugly red apples and the tasteless pink sauce.

It was me who needed apples that year, Mom, and me who had no money for being choosy. When a church lady's neighbor offered apples, free for the taking, we took them. We loaded up baskets and buckets of the spotted, red things and you came over to lend a hand. They sure weren't the prettiest apples nor the biggest. But we cut and snipped and cooked and when the applesauce came forth all pink and tasteless, you cheerfully added sugar and cinnamon and whatever else we could think of and called it good.

Today I thought of you, Mom, as I sliced up my beautiful, spot-free apples. As the sauce came out, all golden and tangy-sweet, I remembered. And I thanked God for a mother like you who taught me to make do with what you have. I also breathed a quiet thank you that this year it was shiny Ginger Golds.

                        Love, Bethany

Dear Mom

It's late and I am tired. Tears wet my cheeks; my heart is sad and weary. I just want to ask ---

What is Heaven like, Mom?

When your sister stepped through the pearly gates yesterday, were you there to give her a hug? Are you both young again and full of energy? Are you walking arm and arm, exploring the beauties of heaven?

Tonight, I'm just wondering ---

What is Heaven like, Mom?

Can you see us down here, struggling to make decisions? Do you see as God does, the beginning from the end? Does it all make sense now, the questions and the imperfections of this old world?

I wonder, really wonder ---

What is Heaven like, Mom?

Will it matter, in the grand scheme of things, how much work I got done this week? Will it matter if my girls have new school dresses and how much corn I have in the freezer? Will it matter that I couldn't make it to my aunt's funeral?

In the whirl of all the going and doing, I'd just like to ask ---

What is Heaven like, Mom?

Can you see my angel baby? Walk and talk with all your old friends who went before you? Hug your granddaughter who lived here only a few short days? Is sitting at Jesus' feet, gazing into His face, enough?

I really have no idea, I just wonder ---

What is Heaven like, Mom?

"For now we see through a glass, darkly; but then face to face: now I know in part; but then shall I know even as also I am known." I Corinthians 13:12

I miss you Mom. Can't wait to join you up there!

Even so come Lord Jesus........

Love, Bethany

A Recipe And A Luncheon

I had several requests for the recipe for the crumb cake I talked about in my last post, so I decided to just post it here on the blog. I'm not a foodie nor a cook so recipes posted here are few and far between; enjoy!

Cherry Crumb Cake

1 Cup sugar
2 Cups flour
1/2 tsp salt
2 tsp baking powder
1/2 Cup softened butter
1 egg
1 Can cherry pie filling (or filling of your choice)

Mix sugar, flour, baking powder and salt.

Cut in butter

Add egg and mix to crumbs

Place half of crumb mixture in a greased 9x9 pan (I always use this small rectangular pan because it has a lid)

Spread filling over crumbs

Place remaining crumbs over top.

Bake at 350 for 30 min or until lightly browned.

Best eaten warm and yummy served with ice cream!

             ----------------------------------------

A lunch invitation today gave me the perfect opportunity to make this dessert again and take the pictures. A sweet lady from church invited all of us ladies who have bid our mothers farewell here on earth to gather at her house.

Our hostess provided a main dish salad and the rest of us brought a side in memory of our mom. Her beautiful backyard was the perfect setting for the lovely little oasis she prepared for us.

I didn't take pictures of the food nor record the conversations but both were equally delightful! There is nothing like shared food and laughter mixed with sentimental memories to brighten the day and make one's heart lighter.

Dear Mom

I don't talk about it as much as I used to, Mom, but I still think of you. In the ordinary, everyday activities of life one thing or another will spark a memory and I'll think of you....

I think of you when I sit on my lovely porch, enjoying the woods and the breeze and the quiet. You always loved porches and decks and dreamed of one on the back of your house where no one could see you relaxing. I'd love to let you relax on mine.

I think of you when I make sugary biscuits and serve them up on a Sunday morning to children who came straight from bed to snatch them up and eat them. Just like I used to back when I wasn't the mom who got up early and slaved away in the kitchen before the rest of the household stirred.

I think of you when I make tomato soup and toasted cheese sandwiches on your Belizean camal. (If you've never tried sprinkling Italian seasoning and garlic salt on your cheese sandwiches before grilling, you should try it. Yum.)

I think of you when we have visitors who exclaim over my shelves and I tell them, "These gold dishes were my grandma's, then my mom's, and now mine." (The ones on the lower right.)

I think of you when there are piles of dishes and it's really one of the children's turn to wash them but I feel sorry for them and do it instead. I learned that from you, Mom.

I think of you when we carry our supper outside and eat it in the cool, evening breeze. It reminds me of our old picnic table and spraying 'Off' to discourage the bugs and swatting the cats away as we enjoyed supper outside because you liked to make our eyes sparkle, just because.

I think of you when Jennifer begs to plant a little garden - even if it's late; even if it's rocky and weedy and all we have is a hoe and a shovel. You gave me a love for gardening, Mom, and I just can't say no.

I think of you when my girls drag their mattresses out on the porch on a warm summer night. As I help them set up their cozy beds and roast marshmallows over candles I remember how much you loved to sleep outside, Mom. You would have loved to hear about their "camp out".

I think of you when I stir up this crumb cake. I wonder how many, many tin foil pans you filled with this delicacy to give to a family who had lost a loved one or needed a little cheering? Now it's my go to dessert when I need to make a meal for a family with a new baby, and I always think of you when I make it, Mom. (This particular pan was just for us, and disappeared in one day!)

I think of you, too, when I hear of your sister who is suffering from cancer. As much as I miss you, Mom. As much as the everyday things in life bring up memories and I think of you and wish I could talk to you again to tell you things or ask you questions. As much as I pause sometimes, with tears in my eyes, and wonder what life would be like if you were still here, there is no way I could wish you back. No way I could wish a different way for you to go; no way I could wish for you the hardships of sickness and old age and pain on this earth in exchange for the glory you are experiencing.

So, when the 101 things come along that remind me of you, I will remember with a smile and a tear and treasure the memories.

Love,
Bethany

Dear Mom

I was hurrying along through Aldi, list in hand, gathering up groceries as fast I could with four children in tow. This was the last store, and we were tired of shopping. Suddenly, there they were, Mom. Memories washed over me as I gazed at the pile of acorn squash with their sale price waving like a flag in my face.

Ahh, how you loved acorn squash, Mom. You would accept them happily from dear old 'Ervin Dorothy', who always seemed to end up with an abundance of them. We would all groan, knowing exactly what was coming next: acorn squash with meatloaf tucked inside was sure to be on the supper menu. We turned up our noses, even daddy, who willingly ate almost anything. The only redeeming factor was the meatloaf and even that could hardly make up for the stringy, yellowish-orange squash that also had to be eaten.

Standing there in the grocery store, memories flooding my mind, I hesitated only a second, Mom. Then I picked a pretty, green squash from the pile and added it to my cart, just for you....well, sort of.

Actually, your efforts to teach us to like all kinds of food paid off, Mom. Somewhere along the line I acquired a taste for acorn squash and the sight of them there on the pile made my mouth water. I would buy one, just for me.

The past week has been hectic, Mom, and the acorn squash lay neglected til I noticed, with alarm, it had developed a bad spot and needed to be used. I intended to fix it yesterday but time got away from me and I finally had to give it up. Today, though, I was determined.

I cut the bad part off and reduced my meal to half a squash - two halves would have been too much anyway. Then I scooped out the seeds, tucked some hamburger inside and popped it into the oven. As I scurried around finishing up other projects, I looked forward to my lunch. But I hadn't taken into account one thing, Mom. Or maybe it was several things.

I never asked you how to make acorn squash, for one thing. Then again, maybe the ones grown by your dear friend were just that much better than Aldi has to offer. Whatever the case, my lunch didn't turn out to be that great. I dabbed on the butter and sprinkled the salt but it still lacked the flavor my memory had envisioned. Quite possibly it should have been baked longer but I was in a hurry, so I ate the softest part and pitched the rest and thought of you, Mom. I'm sorry I didn't carry on the tradition of making my children learn to like all kinds of food but they were quite happy to hear I was buying the squash just for me!

Some things you just never forget and acorn squash will always make me think of you, Mom.

Love you,
Bethany

Dear Mom

It happened today, Mom. I'm not sure why I chose to let it happen this way but it just seemed the most natural, so I did.

Sometimes I almost forget that Charles never knew you, Mom. Forget that he was only a year old when the call came. Forget that you only ever saw him twice. Forget that the name "Grandma Gingerich" means nothing to him.

We've often looked at pictures together, Charles and I, and it always makes me smile to see his face brighten in recognition at the sight of "Grandpa Gingerich!" He's never asked about the lady with the wavy, white hair and I've left it at that. It never seemed necessary to me to try to explain about a grandma who isn't here anymore. Seemed like it would be so confusing for a little mind.

Lately Charles has been spending lots of time looking at pictures with his Grandpa Eicher who lives up the hill. Grandpa explains every picture in detail, and Charles comes home telling us how Daddy fixed the shop and now we live in it. "It had a garage door," he tells us, "Then daddy put in windows!"

Today we were looking at pictures, just Charles and I. "What are we doing?" he kept asking, and "There's Jasmine and daddy and..." as he pointed out who he knew.

I watched with interest as he started on this one. "There's daddy, and Jasmine, and that's Grandpa Gingerich!" His little finger wavered and there was a long pause. Then he pointed to the lady with the wavy, white hair and asked in a puzzled voice, "Who's that, Mamma?"

There's no way to tell a three year old all that you wish he knew. No way to explain how special that lady is and how much she loved him. No way to magically instill memories that you know he'll never have. No way to fill all the gaps and tell all the stories you hope he'll someday know. No way to stop the lump in the throat and the tightening in the chest...

"That's Grandma Gingerich," I tell him softly. "She died and now we can't see her anymore but that's Grandma Gingerich." Simple, matter of fact, basic. "Uh huh," he nods, then pauses to look again and accepts my explanation without further question.

Someday he'll hear all the stories, Mom. Along the way we'll rehearse memories and stories and remember whens. Little by little he'll pick up the history of the lady with the wavy, white hair. It won't be the same as knowing you, Mom, it can't. But we'll pass on the legacy of who you were. Around the lumps in our throats and through the tears in our eyes we'll give the next tidbit as the opportunity arises.

We saw another picture in our time together today and again the little eyes lit up in recognition and then the little finger wavered.

"Do you remember who that is, Charles? Do you remember Sara?" He nods. "That's Grandma Sara," I tell him and he smiles happily and moves on. Trusting, accepting little child heart! No wonder Jesus told us to become like children.

My heart is full, and humbled, and touched. I think you would be glad, Mom.

Love, Bethany

"It is Good"

   "No man is an island, entire of itself; every man is a piece of the continent, a part of the main. If a clod be washed away by the sea, Europe is the less, as well as if a promontory were, as well as if a manor of thy friend's or of thine own were: any man's death diminishes me, because I am involved in mankind, and therefore never send to know for whom the bells toll; it tolls for thee."

                             -- John Donne

You readers are special to me.

Did you know?

You are a

'piece of my continent'.

You have laughed with me,

cried with me,

encouraged me,

disagreed with me,

prayed for me,

advised me,

and taught me many things.

Some of you have taken the time to leave me comments or write me emails;

You have blessed me.

Some of you have come to me in person 

and said things like,

 "I love reading your blog!"

I always squirm and blush 

and don't know what to say,

but you have blessed me too!

Saturday was a beautiful, special day.

Your prayers were a part of that,
and I thank you.

Yes, there were emotions
of every kind.

But at the end of the day,
my heart felt happy
and I could say with sincerity,
"It is good."

I think they agree with me! 😊

Dear Mom,

I've been avoiding this, Mom.

Been spending half my time 

pretending there's nothing going on

and the other half trying to figure out

what it is I'm trying to avoid.

It would be tempting to blame it all 

on four innocent pieces of fabric.

We had fun shopping for them --

well, mostly anyway.

It took us awhile to decide

what we each wanted

but I think in the end we were 

pleased with the choices we made.

And it was fun to decide
how to make them --

A square neck or a round one?

These sleeves or those?

A belt or no belt?

But somewhere between decisions 

and seams and hems

the fun began to seep away and

a new feeling took it's place.

The only word I could honestly give

the feeling was resentment.

After all, let's face it,

 no one ever plans to make dresses 

for their Dad's wedding!

As I stitched and ironed

(and used the seam ripper),

I would discover a lump forming

 in my throat

and pretty soon a tear would escape

and then another and another....

If no one was around,

the tears might turn into

a full blown sobfest

but mostly I would take myself

in hand and preach.

Why am I crying anyway?

I'm happy for my Dad.

I'm glad this is happening.

 I like Sara, for pete's sake!

And no, you are not going to write about this, 

I would tell myself. People do not

 need to know everything.

It is good to deal in facts, I believe;

to not allow oneself to wallow

in a hopeless mess of

 feelings and emotions.

On the other hand, it is also good 

to realize that one is human

 and therefore 

one will have feelings and emotions

that cannot be dismissed completely even with the truthfulest of facts.

A friend of mine said it best 

when I poured my feelings into 

her kind ears --

"Because. It's missing your mom.

Let the grief come."

Ahhh. That is it.

It's not because I'm unhappy 

about the plans,

Not because it's all so 

hard and terrible, 

And for sure not 

because I don't like Sara!

It is really the simple fact that the need for these dresses 

brings home the stark reality 

that you are not here, Mom.

And I miss you, that is all.

And so, when the lump comes into my throat and the tears spill down my cheeks, I will allow them their place; they are necessary and healing.

But come Saturday, when we don the lovely dresses and celebrate a new beginning, I will smile with happiness in my heart for the two 

special people joining hands. 

Because it is okay to miss you, Mom,

and embrace the welcoming of my dad's new wife all at the same time.

And maybe it's okay for people to know everything, after all.

Dear Mom

Two years ago the phone call came that changed our lives forever. Last year we made it past the one year mark and now, here we are, two years removed from that early morning phone call.

My family has never been the kind to make a big deal out of these sorts of anniversaries. Everyone is different, and I won't attempt to say that one way is better than another. For myself, I prefer not making a big deal but I am finding that it is also beneficial to take the time to look back and feel some feelings.

We have an amazing God who created us with the ability to go on living in the face of loss and grief. Think about it, the sun keeps coming up every morning, the flowers bloom, the children say funny things, new babies are born, people get married, we celebrate anniversaries... Life goes on, and even though sometimes we wish it would stop, God was wise to make it work that way.

This morning I am taking a moment to look back and remember... I feel again the raw grief and numbness of two years ago. The pain and the stumbling through the motions of things. The tears and the loss and the ache.

And then, I am remembering last year, and the 'new pink skin' and the growth and the realization that amongst the memories and the loss and the sadness, there is healing and new life.

Today, I pause to look around me and remember. The tears that come with the remembering are healing but equally so is the evidence of all that the Lord has done in the last two years.

Life has gone on. We are still here and we have grown. The sun is still rising every morning, the flowers are blooming again, people are getting married...two special people on July 30...and the children are still saying funny things.

God is good.

The memories will always be there, and I am blessed to have them. Today I pause to remember, to heal, to live.

Beneath The Surface

If only I had more children, maybe I could just keep on posting about birthdays and not need to write about anything else.....

It's trying to be Springtime in Ohio. I have to remind myself that every year I wonder if it will ever stay warm again and it always does, eventually. We're entering the last months of school, so there's the usual flurry of privilege trips and Track and Field day to prepare for and other year end activities cropping up right and left. Work is picking up on the House On The Hill - plumbing is mostly done, insulation done in the walls, drywall hanging coming up shortly. Our summer keeps looking busier and crazier all the time and it hasn't even begun yet!

That's a picture of the surface.

It would be easy to stick with painting surface pictures. After all, I don't owe the world wide web anything, much less pictures of life under the surface. Then again, maybe that's not the point. Maybe I owe it to myself to be honest and paint the pictures under the surface. Maybe that is part of the tension, the learning to hold it all together in my hand and experiencing true joy. But let me explain...

There are big changes coming into my family this summer. There are changes happening to the home place - renovations, paint; out with the old, in with the new. There are things to be done, decisions to be made. My dad is getting married!

My emotions run the gauntlet as time drags us onward. I feel the joy of new life; new beginnings, new stories, new hope. I feel the peace of sovereign planning; the turning of loneliness to companionship, emptiness to fulfillment. 

At the same time, I feel sorrow for what is past. There is pain in the closing of doors and these changes and adjustments easily stir the pain and the sorrow. We are not only turning a page and beginning a new chapter in our story, we are closing a book and beginning a new sequel in this series.

I'm tempted to take a deep breath and hold it for about 6 months. I know everything is going to be okay. In fact, I'm pretty confident everything is going to be more than okay! I just don't feel like dealing with the emotions and the chaos that seem to make up the path from here to the okay.

The other day I came across this quote, "There is a tension that God is asking me to acknowledge and accept - the tension between ideals and realities. True joy is found by living somewhere between the ideal life and daily realities. That is where Jesus meets me, where His Holy Spirit empowers me, and where I learn to live..." --Sally Clarkson

It is easy for me to either wallow in the emotion and chaos of the now or to take a deep breath and try to make it through to the 'okay' on the other side. Thing is, I would really like to have the true joy part and I don't seem to be finding it by doing either one of those.

Joy and peace are nice, I want to camp there and live happily ever after. But sorrow and pain are real, they must be acknowledged and felt in this old world. If true joy is found in the tension of holding all this together in my hand, then I want to learn to hold it well. I want Jesus to meet me, I want His Holy Spirit to empower me.

I cannot make it on my own.

Dear Mom.....and a Winner!

We're home, Mom. 

Home to the grey house with the welcome sign by the door. Home to the old, wooden doors that are hard to close and the piney walls with the familiar pictures hanging on them. Home to the painted cabinets and the silverware drawer that sticks and the white cereal bowls. Home to the toy room with it's scratchy carpet and basket of empty spools and old cupboard stocked with vintage toy dishes and empty containers of all sizes carefully saved for little hands to play with. Home to upstairs bedrooms with electric heaters to keep us cozy along with handmade quilts and knotted comforters.

How can a house be so full of you and yet you are not here, Mom?

The magazines on the end table and the papers in the basket scream your name. Your desk sits silently, letters tucked in their basket, pens waiting quietly in their cup, papers with your handwriting sticky tacked on the wall, all expectantly awaiting your touch. Your Bible lays on the little shelf, your teapot sits on the kitchen stove, the cookie jar has been replenished, though not by your caring hands.

How, how can a house be so full of you and yet you are not here, Mom?

A sadness I thought had long passed sweeps in and tears turn to quiet sobs in the night. How is it that the familiar can hold you close with the warmth of memories, yet stir sadness and tears from deep inside?

Life marches steadily on, Mom. Though sometimes we wish it would stop or feel, at times, that it has, it continues relentlessly onward. In the darkness of nightime, we mourn it's passing; in the light of day, we rejoice in its continued journey and the joy that weaves it's way into the passage of time.

It is Christmas time, and we are home, Mom. The house that is so full of you reminds us keenly of your absence. We miss you. Tears wet our cheeks and a lump settles in our throat but through it all there are threads of joy. There is family and laugher; there is love and warmth. There are new memories to make, new stories to write and a new twinkle in daddy's eye at the mention of a lady in Indiana.

God is good, Mom. I am thankful for the past and the memories with you in them that have shaped and molded my life. The future holds promise of His continued goodness and I am thankful that the story He is writing is not finished yet, and eager to see what surprising chapters He will weave with the darkness and the light.

The house so full of you feels empty without your presence. But how glad I am that you were here, and the memories are sweet!

Love, Bethany

I so enjoyed your comments and participation in celebrating mom's birthday! The only part of a giveaway I don't enjoy is the fact that I can't send every one of you a package. Turns out the winner is someone close to home - Karen Regling, Congratulations! When we get home, you can look forward to an evening at our house with one of our lively discussions and lots of laughter, with maybe a few magic tricks and plenty of jokes sprinkled in along with a brown envelope full of goodies to take home and enjoy!

Merry Christmas to all of you!

Dear Mom

Looking through baby books.....

Isaac...

Jasmine...

Jennifer...

Lillian...

Charles...

I miss you, Mom.

That is all.