The Sting of Mother's Day

I can remember when I was growing up Mom used to talk about the church she grew up in.  On Mother's Day every woman got a flower.  (Bravo!   Do you know how many women  hate Mother's Day because they want children and can't have them?  That church was doing something right to celebrate ALL women on Mother's Day.)  Except -- if your mother was alive you got a flower of one color.  If she was deceased you got a flower of another.  Can you imagine the first year you had to choose a flower of the "deceased" color?   That would bring the pain of her death right back to you.

photo courtesy of freedigitalphotos.net

Then there are the churches who give a gift to a mother.  I visited a church a few years ago on Mother's Day and was handed a Mother's Day gift.  I hung my head and said I wasn't a mother.   (I have always wanted to wait until marriage for children.  Because I am not married -- in a huge part because I was taking care of my mother as her health failed -- I am dismissed on Mother's Day.)  The greeter smiled at me and said, "Take it anyway."  Know how happy that made me?  It wasn't the trinket he pressed into my hand, but it felt like he was saying, "It's okay.  You're valuable, too.  And I don't want to make you remember the pain of a loss you never have had."

What about the gifts of "Oldest mother present" (Who likes to tell their age), "Youngest mother present" (often times a baby herself), "Mother with the most children"  (remember there are those who have lost children either by miscarriage or by childhood disease or accident -- please don't bring up that pain).  

Another time I was in church on Mother's Day and the pastor was giving a sermon about how mothers are so important and they can influence their children.  He was emphasizing this just a little too strongly, I thought.  Yes, mothers have influence, but sometimes the best mothers can have a wayward son.  During the sermon -- until she left because she was sobbing -- was the mother of a child who wasn't in church.  The sermon made her feel like a failure.

Is it important to honor mothers?  YES!  It it important to honor women?   YES!  Are there women who want to be mothers who aren't?  YES! 

So, please, as you are thinking of Mother's Day celebrations at church, remember those who might be feeling pain on this day and plan your celebration accordingly.  Why not give a small gift to all women and talk about the mothering spirit?  Or even not mention earthly mothers and make the focus on Mary, the Mother of Jesus.  Even if we don't have children, she is someone all women could aspire to be more like her. 

Just please remember those who might find pain in this holiday.

When the Dash is Too Short

I have heard the saying that all that matters in a cemetery is the dash between the birth and death dates.  Then it is explained that how you live is more important than how long you live.  While there is a grain of truth in that, it was obviously said by someone who wasn't grieving.

Yesterday, I stopped at the cemetery for the first time since Mom died.  I needed to find the way the date was written on the stone so I could get it cut.  The stone is hard to miss.  Mom and Dad sold tombstones until 1986 and before they sold the business, they purchased one for themselves.  It's a bit like Dad -- over the top -- at least in my opinion.  Or it was in 1986. Some of today's stones are a bit fancier.

The dash is too short for both of my parents.   Yesterday morning, I was at a wellness checkup with a new health care provider.  I was asked history, and I realized that both with Mom and Dad, I said they were "only" and then the age when they died.  Mom was only 69.  Dad was only 62.  Only.  Only. Only.  I'm so sick of saying only.

I was listening to K-Love yesterday and hearing stories about how people were healed.   Not all people are healed.  I think it's the exception rather than the rule.  I was listening to this person on K-Love talking about how he was diagnosed with cancer and sent home to die -- and he gave a date that will forever be ingrained in my memory.  The same day the doctor said to me that in 48 hours I would have to make the decision to pull the plug on Mom.  I don't understand why some people are healed and then some aren't.  And some, like my mother, seem to be healed for a time, but then are so sick and go downhill until one day we find her gone -- when nothing seemed amiss that morning except she was in a health decline.

I stopped at the cemetery and saw the words at the top of the stone, "He Hideth My Soul".  That was played during her funeral.  Seeing the freshly dug grave, I was in tears.  My mother was in that cold ground.  I know this is when I "should" be saying that she is walking along the streets of gold or with Jesus, but right then, all I could think was Mom was right there.  And I am alone.  I know, I know, I have my boyfriend, and I love him dearly, but he's not my mother.  I love my "Nancy-in-law" (his step mother), but she's not my mother.  No one is my mother except my mother.  She is irreplacable.

From there, I decided to go out to her home place.  It's five miles out of town.  As I was driving to the church my great-grandfather built, I was wishing someone would be there so I could go inside.  I never remembered being in it, and I felt like it would make me feel a lot closer to Mom.  She had so many stories of the church, including one that was published in Chicken Soup for the Soul: Answered Prayers: 101 Stories of Hope, Miracles, Faith, Divine Intervention, and the Power of Prayer about how my great-grandmother prayed for her son during WWII in that church.  Family legend says that hair stood up on the back of people's heads as they heard my great-grandmother plead for her son's life.  After a few minutes of desperate pleading, she got up from her knees and said her son was okay.  Mom related this story so well, it was published in detail.  I've heard so many stories growing up that I feel like I was there for some of them.  But when I got to the church, it was locked and empty.  I figured as much for a Monday afternoon.

This is the church at Freeport near Terra Alta WV.  It once was the Nordeck Evangelical United Brethren Church, but is currently the Freeport King James Bible Church.  

I spent some time just walking around the church.  Remembering the picnic we had with my grandmother who passed away in 1995.  Remembering how a few times each summer Dad would announce, "Let's go for a drive" and many times we'd end up in Freeport, Mom telling me stories.  I am not sure if the tears were happy or sad -- or both.  The dash was well lived, but too short.  I never knew my mother's father, her beloved uncle, or her grandparents.  I was at "home" but also with strangers I've never met except for my mother and grandmother.

I decided to stop at the beaver dam.  When I was growing up, I loved skipping rocks across what is now swamp land.  I loved looking at the ripples and seeing how they resounded.

The farm she grew up on is now private property, but I have been granted permission by the current owners to visit.  It was the first time in years I had walked up to the house (which is now abandoned.)  I always loved the milkhouse, it always seemed like a clubhouse type building to me as a child.  Unfortunately it's beginning to fall in.  The barn is still standing, and the house collapsed years ago.  I walked around the foundations thinking of the generations of my family who lived there (my great-great-grandfather built that house!)  I saw a washtub in the rubble of the house and wondered how many hours my grandmother stood by that doing chores and belting out "Amazing Grace"  (She wasn't the most talented singer, but she made up for it in volume!) 

I sighed as I left and looked out at what my mother would have seen every time she looked off the front porch.  It's no wonder she always missed it.  The view, which I had never really noticed before, is beautiful.  Mom used to joke my grandfather said about the song "Lord Build Me A Cabin", he would state, "Why a cabin in the corner of Gloryland?  I want a mansion in the middle."  But I'm hoping they don't have a cabin -- instead I hope they have a two story farmhouse with a view like they did on earth.  It's beautiful.

There were some raindrops starting to fall as I left.  It felt so fitting.  

As I started back to town, I was still crying.  I felt like I reconnected with my past, with people who love me -- some I've never met.  As I rounded the corner to the church, there was a lady on the porch wiping down a stand, and the door was open.  I stopped, introduced myself and got a tour of the church.  Our church.  The Nordeck Church.   Only it's not ours anymore.  But part of us will always be there.   

Easter: The Story of Death (and of Life)

 This is my contribution to the Convergent books Synchroblog.
Easter. Resurrection? Right?  Happy memories of children hunting eggs, jelly beans, and a large family dinner.  Not always.  Did you ever stop to think that Easter is another day?  People are born (like my friend Dan from college was born on Easter Sunday.)  People also die.

April 16, 1995 was a beautiful warm day in West Virginia.  A friend of mine was offered extra credit in a college class to attend church, bringing a church bulletin in with him the next morning.  So finally, he offered to attend church with me.   My mother was working at the local nursing home, and he was also scheduled to work soon after church, so I fixed lunch for us.  As soon as he got to work, he knew something was wrong when Mom wasn't at her station, and he went running to my grandmother's room.   He declared, "I should have brought Jennifer with me."  Because it was shift change, I was called, told I would be picked up by someone I never met and I was, on the day we celebrate the Resurrection, I was going to be present at my grandmother's death.

It was the hardest thing I'd ever done up to that point in my life, which at twenty-two, wasn't that long of a life.  To be so joyful at a worship service that morning and then watch as life waned from my grandmother, her eyes studying me, knowing she wouldn't see me for a very long time.  Easter now has become synonymous to me with a last breath, making arrangements at the funeral home, and the feeling of emptiness that Mary, Mary Magdalene and the disciples felt on Good Friday.  Did you realize that Mary and Mary Magdalene did their first century equivalent of making funeral arrangements?   They were headed to the tomb, not understanding what happened.  They only knew the One whom they loved died a gruesome death reserved for the very dregs of society.  Their Son, their Friend.  Gone.  I'm sure if they even remembered the words of Jesus from John 10:17, they didn't grasp them.  (This is why the Father loves me, because I lay down my life in order to take it up again.)  Or the words from John 16:22 (So you also are now in anguish.  But I will see you again, and your hearts with rejoice, and no one will take your joy away from you.)

My mother, every year on Easter and on April 16 mourned the loss of my grandmother.  Mom always said it was like two anniversaries of death and told me "You never get over the loss of your mother."  I thought she was exaggerating because wouldn't you learn to live without someone?

February 18, 2014, my boyfriend dropped me off at RCIA.  I made the decision last year to become Catholic and needed to be at the class.  We had been running errands in a town an hour away, spending much of the afternoon in the DMV.  He was going to check on Mom, then return for the rest of class.  When the phone rang, my first thought was, "Why is he calling?   He knows I'm in class."  I stepped out of the room, and heard, "I had to call 911.  She's unresponsive."  When I returned to the class, I was asked if I needed to go.  I explained I had no car.  Soon a second phone call.   A paramedic questioning me about her medical conditions.  My boyfriend on the phone telling me I needed to get home.  As I gathered my things, and grabbed a friend out of the class to give me a ride 10 miles up the mountain, I heard the lesson.  The Eucharist.   "This do in remembrance of me."  It's how we, as Christians, remember the death of Jesus.

The next time I heard my priest's voice, he was standing by my mother who had passed away.  Because my mother was not Catholic, he could not do Last Rites, but did a prayer of committal of her spirit to God.  The Scriptures were comforting, at least as comforting as they could be at the moment when my mother was gone.  I had fully expected to see her later that evening.  Sobs racked my body, though.  My boyfriend on one side of me, the friend who brought me home from church on the other.

It is two months today since Mom died.  It's hard.  I had to have follow ups to a mammogram because something suspicious was found.  I wanted her there so badly.  (Thankfully all was clear.) I have waited for marriage until I found the right man.  Mom met him, but she said last summer that she had two last things she was living for, one was to publish a book she wrote, and the second was to see me married.  My heart aches at the thought of a wedding now that neither of my parents are alive.

When my dad passed away, I had recently taken a trip to Israel with a friend who was Episcopalian and her Jewish boyfriend.  He stepped up and did the best he could of sitting Shiva with me -- every evening he phoned me.  It was comforting to know that someone acknowledged my grief beyond the time my dad's body was placed in the ground.

I learned more about Jewish mourning rituals at that time.  There's a tradition called avelut where, if your parent has died, you should avoid celebrations, parties, and the like for a year.  My boyfriend's step-mother called recently wanting us to visit on Easter, or for them to visit.  We live five hours away and rarely see each other.  I don't feel ready for a celebration.  I'm not entering the Catholic Church at Easter as I planned but giving myself more time. (I will elaborate on this in an upcoming blog post).   My heart is still shattered.  Although Christians don't follow Jewish mourning rituals, I feel justified in knowing the celebration I looked forward to may not be appropriate for me just yet.

Jesus is the Resurrection and the Life, but right now, I'm still living in Good Friday.  I'm feeling what the disciples felt after losing Him.   I'm sure someday I'll have more of an understanding of Resurrection, Eternal Life, and Heaven, but right now, I'm feeling grief.  Because of my Grandmother, even Easter Sunday has grief woven through it, but maybe, just maybe that's how it should be.  What if we didn't just celebrate the Resurrection on Easter, but remember how death hurts, leaves an ache that won't go away -- unless we see the Person again.

Reduce, Reuse, Recyle on Earth Day and Everyday!

FTC disclaimer:  This is a sponsored post.  All opinions are my own.

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I have recently upgraded to an iPhone through U.S. Cellular.  It's a fantastic phone, and I'm so happy that U.S. Cellular finally started selling the iPhone last year.  I've been an Apple girl for a few years, and it felt awkward to have my computer and tablet on one system, and my phone on another.  Now everything all works on the same platform!  It's so much easier to transfer photos to my computer, and I didn't even have the learning curve that often is associated with a new phone.  It takes great photos and I couldn't be happier with it!

Book Review: Girl At the End of the World

FTC disclaimer:  I received a copy of this book from the publisher for review purposes.  All opinions are my own.  This post does contain affiliate links.

Girl at the End of the World: My Escape from Fundamentalism in Search of Faith with a Future

Preaching to the crowds at nine years old was part of Elizabeth Esther's childhood.  As this book opens, that's where we find her, telling people they might die and face the judgment.  Added is the tip that if no one is paying attention shout the name of "The Lord Jesus Christ".  Already this book had me hooked.  After all, who wouldn't be curious about the life of a childhood street preacher?

The judgment may be at hand, so the church she grew up in made absolutely sure that everyone was ready for Revelation to be played out at any moment.  Setting up secret hiding places was normal.  As well as, in later years, learning how wearing a thong was a sin because God would see it.  After all, girls should be modest.  But hopefully by that time, the children would have had all the sin spanked out of them and they would be following what was taught.

Or not.  When Elizabeth Esther goes to high school, which is a public school after years in her church school, she discovers boys.  And defiles herself before marriage by doing the shameful act of kissing her secret boyfriend.  After all, dating isn't allowed, only courtship.  Even her clothes in sizes too big for modesty sake  doesn't keep the boys -- or friends -- away.  It is in high school she decides she wants to go to college -- to escape.  Of course, this idea doesn't fly with her dad, who as in most patriarchal systems, calls the shots for his household. 

She does escape, obviously, or she wouldn't have told the tale.  While I didn't grow up in a church this abusive, several things echoed true for me.   I remember thinking as a child I needed to find a hiding place to store a Bible because we were taught as small children at church that the Russians were coming and they were going to kill all Christians and destroy all Bibles, so that is why we needed to memorize Scripture.  (I didn't realize that if we were dead, it wouldn't have mattered how much we had memorized.)

This is an excellent book for those who have come out of any type of abusive church situation.  Learning to think for yourself after a situation like that is not just difficult, but frightening.  There's always the "What If They Are Right?" question stuck in the back of your brain wondering if you are the one who is wrong and not them.   It's also a fascinating read for anyone who wants to see what the insides of a cult are like.   It is a book that you can't put down.  It's a tale of survival, hope, and escape.  She learned to think for herself and no longer be brainwashed.

I loved Girl At The End of The World.

Connect with the author:

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Elizabeth Esther's blog

Elizabeth Esther on Twitter

Read part of the book here:

Seven Quick Takes Friday in Rhyme

1.

Thoughts were escaping me,
A fun blog post what could it be?
My boyfriend suggested I should do a hip-hop rap,
He can be a pretty clever chap.
So here it is, all in verse,
Trust me, my prose can be even worse.

2.

Last night was an annual book sale,
I go every year without fail.
This year bought 50 from Childhood of Famous Americans set,
Read half of them in my childhood I bet.
I was quite the reader even back then,
I can't wait to read them once again.

3.

Spring may be here, I really hope so,
Although the forcast says we may get snow.
We went geocaching earlier this week,
Coudn't find one that was located by a creek,
But this was behind a Wal-Mart store,
Beautiful scenery enjoyed before we cached more.

4.

Spring cleaning, chores, not so much fun,
The dryer vent is being cleaned while there is still sun,
Vacuum filter needs washed, stuff priced for a garage sale,
This stuff will get done, we cannot fail.
eBay mailings taken to the post office each day,
We ship as soon as our buyers make time to pay.

5.

Two scares from the doctor in the last week,
More testing I am going to have to seek,
Hope all comes back from that okay,
And hope $800 is all I have to pay
For more tests to make sure that all is fine,
Gotta keep healthy, this body of mine.

6.  

We had company twice as of late,
Hospitality is an enjoyable trait,
We bought a guest book for everyone to sign in,
Memory of their visit permanent with a pen.
For us to look back on years down the road,
No matter where we may abode.

7.

Trying to eat more healthily,
I am now drinking some black tea,
And I  hate chocolate -- really I do!
Dark chocolate is supposedly good for you.
Been eating a square once every day,
Still doesn't make the bad taste of it go away.



There you have it, a few minutes of my time,
And my Seven Quick Takes Friday all in rhyme!


For more Quick Takes Friday (which aren't in rhyme) Visit ConversionDiary.com

Spring Geocaching in West Virginia

Because of our harsh winters, it's not very feasible to go geocaching in West Virginia during the winter.  Now that spring is here (I hope!), we've caught three geocaches in the last week.  I'm pretty new at caching, only 27 found so far, but I'm enjoying it, it's getting me outdoors and I'm finding some interesting places I didn't know existed.

Here's a few photos of my latest adventures:

This is at the Battle of Rowlesburg Cache.   This is part of the WV Civil War Trail Caches and if you collect 8 stamps, you can turn it in for a special geocoin.   I've always wondered where the Battle of Rowlesburg was.  My great-great-grandfather was to be guarding the railroad, but legend has it that something happened and they allowed the Confederates by and they had to chase them most of the way to Pittsburgh! 

Believe it or not, this is a Cache at a Walmart!   Wal-Mart caches often have a bad rap, but look at the scenery!  Just beautiful. 

This is from the Brown's Park Cache.  I have been past this park hundreds of times, but have never stopped.   It's a fun park, and again, as you can see, a beautiful area!

Book Review: The Question that Never Goes Away

The Question That Never Goes Away by Zondervan Publishing

My rating: 5 of 5 stars


Philip Yancey was required reading in a Freshman Bible class in college, but it's because he has good things to say.  Twenty years later, he has written a sequel to Where is God When It Hurts (which eBooks were given away free of that book right after the Newtown tragedy).  His latest book, The Question That Never Goes Away revisits pain and suffering.

The timing for me to review this book (I received a copy free from the publisher) was unfortunately all too appropriate.  During the time I read it, my mother got pneumonia, was released from the hospital and seemed to be doing okay considering she had a chronic illness and passed away suddenly -- while I was at church, no less!  Then there was more drama that went on afterwards than in a junior high school.  While one person passing away is not like the war in Bosnia, the Newtown tragedy, or the Fukishima disaster that Yancey discusses, it is my very own heartbreak.

Obviously, there is no answer.   If you have ever spent time with a pre-schooler, the question "Why?" is asked incessantly.   I think as we age, we no longer ask why the sky is blue, but "Why did my mother die the way she did?"  "Why me?  Why did my test results come back like this?"   "Why am I 38 and still single?"   All are questions I have asked.  I think in some ways, we are still toddlers asking questions that really can't be answered.  The best we can sometimes do is just go on.

The spoiler to this book is this:  There is no real answer to Why.   Just like a child doesn't accept "Because I said so" we won't ever accept any answer as to why a plane disappeared because, now, the technical part is not what we are looking for -- we want to know the reasons that lives were changed.

This book may leave you with more questions as to why things happen, but at the same time it's comforting.  It shows the hope left in the aftermath.  Bad things happen, and will continue to happen.  But how we respond to our own suffering and the suffering of others is key.  A church has organized ongoing counseling for those affected in Newtown.  There are beacons of hope like flowers shooting up through an area damaged by forest fires.

While this book won't give you answers, I highly recommend it, and I do believe it will be comforting if you are asking "Why"?

Disclosure of Material Connection: I received this book free from the publisher through the BookLook Bloggers book review bloggers program. I was not required to write a positive review. The opinions I have expressed are my own. I am disclosing this in accordance with the Federal Trade Commission’s 16 CFR, Part 255 : “Guides Concerning the Use of Endorsements and Testimonials in Advertising.”

Purchase it here:

Sabi Pill Cutter Review

Disclosure: I got this product as part of an advertorial.

 When I received the Sabi Chop Cut-and-Take Pill Splitter I wondered how well it would work.  It is a plastic circular contraption about two inches in diameter.  I wondered how well plastic could chop a pill.   The instructions read to place it on a flat surface and use your palm to press down on the top.  Sounds simple enough.

Well, when I applied to review this my mother was alive and was taking a number of medications.  I thought this would be useful to have around.  Although I am strong enough to use this, she would not have been.  So if you are thinking of buying this for someone who is weak due to illness, you may be the one who has to use this for them and chop their pills for them

Additionally, it works very will with the type of pill it is intended for -- a long, oblong pill.   You have to very carefully place it in the cutter or you won't get a 50% cut on it, but it works very well for these.

If you are planning on using a round, small, or other shaped pill, you will not want to use this cutter as all it creates is a mess.  (Again this is not the type of pill it is intended for use cutting.)   However, I know for myself, do I really need an extra pill cutter around?  This isn't a common sized pill for myself (and like I said, my mother passed between the time I applied to review this and the time the item arrived for review.)  Even with her pills, I'm not sure I would recommend this as it only cuts one type of pill and has to be pressed so firmly with the palm of the hand.  But if you have difficulty cutting long large oblong pills, this is the pill cutter for you.

I received one or more of the products mentioned above for free using Tomoson.com. Regardless, I only recommend products or services I use personally and believe will be good for my readers.

100 oz of Diet Pepsi and Six other Quick Takes

1.  

My current guilty pleasure is 100 ounces of Diet Pepsi.   Unfortunately (or maybe fortunately) my closest Sheetz Store doesn't have the Fizz City where I can add vanilla or lemon to my Diet Pepsi, but I take a few of the True Lemon packets and fill it up.  First time I took this to RCIA, I asked the lady beside me if she could see the priest around the mug.  The smaller mug is only 52 ounces.  To fill up the larger one, it costs between 94 cents and $1.16 depending on where you go.  My boyfriend bought me this mug at Christmas for $9.99 (first fill free) in Alabama.  They aren't sold in my area and people are always commenting on my huge mug when I fill it up.

 2.

I was in Wal-Mart looking at a shirt that said "Lucky" on Saturday.  Not only is that the name of my guinea pig, but I enjoy entering contests and giveaways and have won several times.  It seemed like a good  "uniform" for next time I go to the national sweepstakes convention.  As I was looking at it, a lady came up to my boyfriend and me and offered to give us the shirt we were looking at.  It was only $5, and she didn't want to bother returning it!  How cool is that?

3.
I am gathering supplies to start on a cross stitch project of Micah 6:8.  It only says "Do Justice.  Love Mercy.  Walk Humbly."  But it's beautiful.  I figured I needed something to keep me busy after losing my mother.  Things have been crazy.  I wonder if life will ever get back to normal, and I learned there were a lot of lies told about me to my mother.  I wish I could talk to my mother one more time.  

4. 

Twice this week my boyfriend have eaten dinner at the Catholic Church 10 miles away.  The churches in that town rotate a free meal for anyone who wants to come every week.  It ensures that everyone in the community has a hot meal once a week.  There is a donation basket if you want to help with expenses and aren't needy, so it's a social time.  Tonight we went and had their annual Lenten Fish dinner.  For $8 we got a huge piece of fish on a sub roll, fries, stewed tomatoes, cole slaw, punch, and dessert.  Well worth the $8.  Plus it is even served to you -- no cafeteria style line, very much like a restaurant.  And I saw my high school youth group choir leader there.  

5. 

We had to buy a new stove/oven.  The glass cooktop on ours broke.  My mother won it in a contest a few years back.  It had been overheating since it broke and I didn't feel it was safe.  The delivery man was a distant cousin.  I pulled out the copies of photos I made for my mother's funeral and in one of them was my mom with his dad when they were about 10 years old.  I gave it to him as a tip since it was a copy and I had the original.

6.   

My boyfriend has taken to calling one of my fingernails "your gouger".   I tell him it's a useful tool.  He is threatening me with fingernail clippers.  I told him it's only a matter of time until it tears.

7. 
Life has been extremely hard for my boyfriend and me since my mom passed.  Please keep us in prayer.  And since life has been hard, I don't have a lot to write about at the moment, so I'll leave you with asking you to stop by my blog giveaway where I'm giving away to two winners -- each winner receives 2 coupons for Dial Deep Cleansing Hand Soap.  (USA only).  Just click HERE.

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