For Theora

I came across her picture today. 

 I keep the image protected

between the pages of my Bible.

I see her when I read

 the words she loved.

  I recall her tellings,

 her passing-ons

 of the one-room school house;

of the brothers,

sisters,

loving mother;

  of the farm work;

  of the loss

of brother Ernest;

 of the leaving home

 to work;

  of the courtship

 with the farm hand

 who would soon trade

 overalls for uniform.

    

 And I remember
what she told me
 of motherhood,
 of her dear children,
 of her husband -- wounded veteran.

 She told me
of his passing,
how she lost him
before I could find him.

And I remember
what I witnessed

 of widowed woman
 with work-weary,
twisted toes

 waitressing,
waitressing,
 waitressing; 

And I remember
 her moving
 far -- far
 out of reach
to live
with my cousins.

Ah! how jealous I felt!
 

 

And I remember
 her taking time

every summer season

 to drive up
from the South
 to see her children,

and her children's children,

and her children's children's children . . .
  my children.

  

Oh,
the anticipation
of these visits!

  My bedroom -- her guest room.

My twin bed,

with each
 of the various comforters

 that marked
 the chapters of my childhood.

 Holly Hobbie,
 the horse phase,
 frilly flowers,
comforted her.

 I would sleep on the floor

beside the bed
 on a thick blanket

 padded perfectly
with the envy

seeping out
from under
my brothers' bedroom door

 down the hall. 

 --Alone time with Grandma--

 A girl,
middle child's
only available taunt.

At every visit,
she'd help my mom
with the household chores --
dusting,
vacuuming,
drying dishes,

ironing our clothes --
even the permanent press sheets,
and our jammies.

At other times,
I'd find her in the kitchen

making her roast beef dinner
 and apple pies.

 

 

I'd hear her
 often
 talk to Jesus.

 I'd listen to her quiet prayers
 at night

 when she thought
 I was asleep

 on my pallet
 on the floor. 

She would
also talk
 about how
 others talked to Jesus.

 Her Bible
and religious biography

  always beside her

when she'd sit to rest
in the afternoons.

  She'd share

stories with me

 of people
she knew

 or people
she'd read about
who came
to know God

despite difficulties.

 

Once,
Grandma's troubled-in-mind
 sister

came to our house
 during Grandma's visit.
 

 I knew
Grandma
didn't get to see her
often.

 I watched
Grandma

 standing with her
 in the doorway

getting ready
 to say
good-bye.

Her hands
 on her sister's.
 

 Grandma's voice,

"Remember, Jesus loves you."

 I knew
 from her stories

 that many counted on her

 to get them
 to church,

to read to them
God's Word.

Grandma's voice again,
"Remember, Jesus loves you."

 

For many
of those early visits,

 she came
to us
driving
 an old yellow car.

 Its ailments
always
addressed
 in her prayers.

 I was
 too little.
I couldn't
 understand
what that car
 meant to her.
 

  Independence.

Connection.

Service.

 

 

 I only knew
 that it was

Grandma's prayers and duct tape

 that held it together.
 

For many
of those later visits,
she came
to us
in an airplane.
Safety
always
addressed
in her prayers.

 

I hated

each year
to say
goodbye
and wondered
those
later
 years
if
each
goodbye
was
the
goodbye.
 

 

I will always treasure

 that memory

of

 anticipation.

 

 

Looking
out the window

 hoping to see
 her yellow car

 pulling
 into the driveway.

 

 

 Seeing
her petite form
emerging

 from behind
the car door.

 

 

Wondering
what special gift

she'd have
 for me
 in the trunk.
 

Those gifts,

 those mere trinkets,

 were just accessories

to the priceless worth
 of mine inheritance

 -- her legacy --

 

 the knowledge
that an abundant life
can be lived

with a little bit of duct tape

 and a whole lot of prayer. 

for

Theora

1921-2014

 

 

 

 

Amy

Red, Pink, Hearts, Glitter . . . .

 

I loved Valentine's Day as a little girl.

 

 What little girl wouldn't?

Red, pink,

hearts, glitter,

paper heart doilies,

 the little cards I'd fill out

for each classmate . . . even the boys.

 

In fact, Valentine's Day may be the only holiday that

still pretty much has maintained

the same level of simplicity it's always had.

 

It's not been made into the preview day

of a national shopping event.

It's not been materialized

by the expectation

of countless wrapped packages.

It's not been complicated

by store-bought costumes and

fancy, glow in the dark treat bags.

 

 

It's still just a special day to tell loved ones

how precious they really are to you.

 

A little card,

maybe some flowers,

a favorite meal.

 

Perfect!

 

 

 I enjoy this holiday even more

now that emails and texts have replaced

 handwritten letters.

 

A handwritten valentine is

personal.

 

Hold-able.

 

 

For this Valentine's Day,

 I printed some vintage valentine images,

most of them with a tea theme.

I then added them to some crepe paper rosettes

 left over from a past project.

A few buttons and some ribbon were the final touch.

 

 

Some glittered cardstock, bright red ric-rac,

and some easy to use bottle-cap stickers

were all I needed for a mini-pendent banner.

 

 

Have a beautiful, blessed Valentine's Day!

 

"For I am persuaded, that neither death,

 nor life, nor angels, nor principalities,

nor powers, nor things present,

 nor things to come, nor height, nor depth,

 nor any creature,

 shall be able to separate us from the love of God."

Romans 8:38-39

 

 

 Amy