Just like your mother

I had not been dating Rich Suhey very long when he met my mother.

He told me that if I was going to grow old like her - he looked forward to loving me for a long time.

Unfortunately, he passed away when she was only 76 (a year older than I am now) but if he were still around, my guess is that he'd say he was glad he stuck with me (she is now 99 years old).

I do look like her but more than that this week I've been reminded how much I am like her  and I've seen that my daughters are like me

I had a vehicular accident on Thursday.  I needed stitches in my head and had the joy of spending the night at Memorial Hospital because of a little brain bleed.

The first thing I did was like my mother:

As I waited for the ambulance, with some blood making its way down my neck, I realized that someone I knew had arrived on the scene  It was Alexis, the winner of the Key Club Scholarship at Christ Church Academy  A few days ago I had given the award to Alexis but did not have a certificate with me  That certificate was on the front seat of my car ready to be mailed.

I saved a stamp.

I was also happy to be able to introduce Alexis to my friend Joe who had come to the scene when I called him with the news of my accident.  ("This is Alexis", I said - "I've been telling you about her")

Later that day I recounted this story to my daughters.

They laughed as they reminded me of the time that we had a structural fire on our family's property in the middle of the night.  My mother went into the house and made lemonade for the firefighters.

We both seem to focus elsewhere in what seems to be a crisis.

You are just like grandma, they suggested.

And then I told them something else. Earlier that day a nurse had asked if my head hurt.

My response:

"I am aware that I have a head".

I gasped,

Those words have come out of my mother's mouth so many times.  And I have absolutely hated it.  

Which is what I told the nurse.

"We always become our mothers", she had said.

So I sadly told my daughters - you are likely to become just like me - as I have become just like your grandma.

These are simple remembrances.  In reality, my mother has always had a strong Christian spirit of love and caring for others  Both of my girls have that as well as does their younger brother.  

During my recuperation - Renee wanted to find a way for me to have chicken and rice (something my mother always did for me when I was puny); Becca took me for a quiet visit with her children and in the emergency room, Tray was very firm, but kind encouraging me that I really did need to go to the hospital and spend the night.  It was as if my mother was speaking through him (better safe than sorry, she would have said).

This has been an experience!  My car is ugly and I'm probably faced with decisions as to what happens next.  I've been forced to be still - yeah right.  And I really don't like my independent spirit being quieted.

However,  It has been a time for me to put what my mother taught me through the years into practice.

That's the importance of Romans 8:28 - God has a plan and He's working it all together for my good  (and I think the good of those closest to me at this time in my life).  My responsibility in this is to accept the love and care (Joe brought me chicken and rice soup; Debbie brought me flowers, and many persons have called and texted) that I am offered and to know that all will be well.

I recently have taken on a new mantra "Life is Good and God is better".  There surely is a reason for it all.

            May your life have enough sunshine 

           to make you appreciate the shadows

PS Becca and Renee also asked if I suggested to the woman who helped me at the accident - her name was Candy - and I meet for coffee

The END? No the BEGINNING

When I learned that Ray Parker no longer wanted to be married and that my children and I would not be a part of his life, I was beyond devastated. My dear Aunt Thelma sent me a card with this message: 

“Sometimes what seems like the end…. Is really just the beginning”.  

Those words have provided comfort and peace in my life for many years.

So many times, I’ve felt like something was over and I felt very sad, sometimes even destitute.  And I often draw from those words of encouragement.

I imagine that’s how the followers of Jesus must have felt on this day in history.

Even though Jesus had been telling them, it was more than they wanted to take hold of.  Surely Jesus was going to come into His kingdom as a King.

Why in the world this day has become known as GOOD FRIDAY??? It’s a horrifying day in History. Cicero called Jesus’s death on the cross “cruelty a most disgusting penalty” and Josephus said” it was the most pitiable of deaths.

 And yet hear Jesus' words:

“It is finished – not it’s finally over"

It’s as if he said “For this, I was born, and I have come to the world to bear witness to this truth”

On this day we remember the steps and the horror  - So we leave the story with friends coming to take Jesus down off of the cross and take his body to a tomb.  We all know how difficult it is to leave our loved one’s body in a cemetery or even a columbarium. 

Except – “It’s Friday, but Sunday’s coming”

                                               May your life have enough sunshine 

                                               to make you appreciate the shadows

Tell me a story

Have you ever heard this little song?

"Tell me a story, tell me a story, tell my a story before I go to bed

Tell me about the birds and bees; tell me what makes a chicken sneeze

Tell me a story before I go to bed"

My daddy used to sing that to us.  Now I have a very dear friend who tells a great story. If only I could get him to put those stories on paper.  The first time I met him he told me someone had told him he should write a book - and said he wouldn't know how to do that - and of course, I told him I knew a little widow woman who could write. . .

In the meantime, this week I read the book,, Chilled in Chattanooga by Deborah Malone.  Ir's fiction and a mystery.  I don't normally read that genre.  HOWEVER. . .

Reading about the place I lived from 1972 to 1979, the birthplace of my children, and one of my very favorite towns made me begin to remember that I have some of my own stories - particularly relating to that time in my history.  And the book I read reminded me. . .

It was May 1976.  Ray Parker had just received his Doctorate from Luther Rice Seminary in Jacksonville and as was our custom we were going part of the way to Chattanooga on Saturday afternoon and the rest of the way on Sunday.  

Sunday - that meant we would find a church.  We were in a small town in south Georgia.  I don't remember the exact location..

Now independent sort that I am, my choice would have been to find a church that was not our "denomination" so the girls (Becca was 5 and Renee was 2) could worship in a different setting.

Oh no.  Had to be a Baptist church.

But -- let's be sure it's not one of those who might be handling snakes as a part of their worship (that's what the story in the book reminded me of - a feisty little grandmother had actually done that. But I digress).

As Ray and the girls and I went up to the front door of the church we met the minister.  He was in his 70's and that seemed elderly then.  He was also a bit frail.

"I've been out of the pulpit for a few Sundays", he said, continuing that he had been ill and that this was his first Sunday back.

Ray told him that he was a minister.

About halfway into the service, the minister cane to the pulpit:

"I'm not feeling well and I'm going to ask Rev. Parker to come up and preach.

I don't know what you know about "preachers", but most of them have what is called a candy stick in their pocket.  This means they have a message they can preach on demand.

It was Mother's Day.  Do you think his candy stick was geared toward mothers???

To Ray's relief, the congregation sang all four verses of "Holy Spirit, Breathe on me".

And fortunately, there were no snakes in the church.

That was so long ago.  Sometimes I forget life as the wife of a pastor.  But all these years later I can remember some of those experiences with a smile.   

Usually what I write on this blog has some sort of a message.  I've been pondering why I thought I needed to tell this story today.  Who knows?

EXCEPT

I know we all have stories. . . and our stories should be told!  

                                               May your life have enough sunshine 

                                               to make you appreciate the shadows

PS - This year marks the 40th anniversary of the time that I stopped being a minister's wife.  It seems appropriate for me to say that the sunshine of those forty years has surely made me appreciate the shadows.  As I often say "Have you met my children?"  Thanks be to God!!!

 

 

"You're supposed to prune it?"

 "So, when's the last time you pruned this sago palm?"

"Uh - never", I replied.

We were getting my backyard ready for a necessary extension of the drain pipe that is on the back of my house.  This is in addition to loads of dirt that keep showing up in hopes that we can make the backyard level.

I've actually enjoyed the project.  Before it was finished there were four garbage cans ready for pick up on yard trash day.

As I have been working I've thought of the fact that we are just a few days away from what we now know as Palm Sunday.  According to Scripture, it was a day of celebration and proclamation as people lined the streets with palms and even their cloaks paying homage to Jesus as He rode a donkey through the town. 

As I snipped the fronds off of the Palm I wondered about the process for securing the palms that were strewed in front of the kingly procession.  

I have always loved Palm Sunday.  I love the pageantry, the celebration, the music.  Each year I listen again and again to "The Palms" by Jean-Baptiste Faure.  I have a special memory of the Junior Choir singing that with the Adult choir at Glendale Community Church when I was in the third or fourth grade.  I remember that we carried palms.

Back to my Sago Palm.

Yes, I know that sometimes we need to take the growth away to make room for new growth to come forth.  (You might remember how aghast I was when my yard man pruned my crepe myrtle). And by that same token, I do know that sometimes we need to remove something from our lives to make room for something else.

One of my Lenten Disciplines for years has been to take a piece of clothing from my closet each day for 40 days and then give those clothes to an organization that would provide clothes for those who need them.  An interesting thing this year is that I realized sometimes I need to give something I really liked instead of what I didn't.  That's where the sacrificing comes in.  So some of the shoes I really liked - have made their way to the bag.  

And now Lent 2022 is about to be a memory.  Holy week begins with the swaying of palms and the words from Scripture that are referred to as "the Passion".  I first experienced the reading of the Passion when Rich Suhey and I went to Mass at the Basilica in St Augustine in 1997. It meant much to me then and continues to.  The music, the discipline, the tradition - all are part of what is a wonderful season.  Two years ago I added this tradition:

Holy week begins with celebration - ends with desperation and defeat - only to be met with celebration - when the sun rises on Easter morning and we all respond  - The Lord is Risen indeed -

But I'm getting ahead of my story. . . 

                                              May your life have enough sunshine 

                                               to make you appreciate the shadows

 

 

 

.

His Plan is Better

 I read the email with joy. 

My friend, Beth, was going to be ordained to the Diaconate.

She had asked that I be one of the chalice bearers at her ordination.

I was honored to be a part of this very special night in my friend's life.

If being a part of the service was not enough, the seat I had during the service was the icing on the cake.  

I watched as Beth's parents listened with pride to each part of the service.  I listened as they both took part in the liturgy by reading first the Old Testament and then the New Testament portions of Scripture. I could see the love that Beth's daughters and her husband had for her.  It was wonderful.

 I wanted to be a deacon once.  Actually, before that, I wanted to be a priest. And before that, I wanted to be a minister's wife.

 And I am none of the above.

Well, I was a  minister's wife but that's been forty years ago. Truth be told I've spent way too much time bemoaning the fact that what I thought to be God's call on my life only lasted 15 years.  It took the death of the minister to make me come to grips with the fact that my life has turned out so much better and I have had so many wonderful opportunities to serve the Lord.  While I was waiting for one more apology for what he had done to "ruin" my life, I should have been writing him a thank you note for what he did to make it better.

However, that's my story and this is about Beth (who has her own story - but it's not my place to share it).

In the 15 years that I have known Beth, I have seen the way she's listened . . .  and heard God's voice (through her own personal study of Scripture and from people and circumstances in her life).  Last Thursday night was just the beginning.

And the one truth that Beth and I share is that we agree

(Artwork by Allie Blain)

Romans 8:28 - which is to say - His Plan is BEST!

                                          May your life have enough sunshine 

                                          to make you appreciate the shadows

Not human "doings"

 This is how my life looks these days.

Truth be told, it has not been an easy change for me.

I've spent three or four days recently trying to figure out why I felt uneasy.   

Yes, there's one big issue that looms over me.  My mother is almost 99 years old.  Life is not the same.  In many ways, I grieve her loss even though she is still alive.  The  Pandemic took its toll on her...and on me, since I've been her main visitor...and she's always been so much a people person.  

I've had to learn that I cannot be consumed with her.  That's not been easy.

Other than that.  My children are well.  One grandchild is having an experience that makes her grandmother a bit jealous.  She's student teaching in Vienna. That's the one place I'd love to visit.

I have a part-time job that I enjoy.  I have dear friends who I spend time with regularly.  My health is good.  What in the world is wrong with me? 

Back to my mother -- she's always been the one who helped me figure out what was wrong with me.  

One of her favorite Paula stories has always been of the day that I slammed the vacuum cleaner down in anger and sobs and she asked me "What in the world is wrong with you? "  My response  "You're the mother you are supposed to know".

I was sharing my current angst with my friend Deborah  

I said, "no one needs anything".  Her response: "Right.  For years there's been someone -- someplace that you were supposed to be helping".  

Then she said something that was profound.  She thought I had heard it before but it was new to me

"We are not called Human DOINGS.  We are called Human --- yes - BEINGS".

Hum

That made me respond with a Bible verse. . . 

"Be still and know that I am God" (Psalm 46:10)

. . . And remember a time more than 50 years ago when I had been having a similar experience -- I was a freshman in college -- and everything things seemed out of whack.  My boyfriend and I went to church -- and in the stillness of that service, I realized what I needed - 

I needed to BE STILL

And now I need to learn the very first word of that verse

I need to learn to BE!

May your life have enough sunshine

to make you  appreciate the shadows

PS I have found a couple of small opportunities to reach out to others but I'm endeavoring  - really endeavoring -- to just BE.

 

Happy Birthday, Bert

 The Mandarin Volunteer Fire Department

     "If I hadn't gone to work for Bellsouth, I would have been a fireman", said former Mandarin resident, Bert Wasmund.

     "My family lived on the corner of Loretta and Mina.  My dad, Don, who worked at the shipyards until his death at age 60, was a volunteer fireman.  We could get to what was then the fire station at the north entrance to Mandarin Road on State Road 13 in about 4 minutes", he continued.

     Bert said he enjoyed the camaraderie of the other fire fighters as well as the rush of adrenaline as they hurried to a call.  This was before consolidation.  Many areas of Jacksonville and Duval County had volunteer fire departments.  "It was just what people did", said Bert.

     He remembered his most frightening fire.  That was when the Dutton Salvage Company on Philips Highway burned.  There were a lot of paint cans and old military equipment at the huge "junk yard".  

     "Volunteer Firemen from throughout Duval County came to fight the blaze", he said.  "Fortunately, the only loss was what the Salvage company lost financially and there's always more junk", he continued.

     Bert remembered a 1950 Dodge Power Wagon that was their fire truck.  "It was four-wheel drive, carried 450 gallons of water and was equipped with a front mount pump.  There was a ladder rack on the top with a couple of extension ladders and the tools of the trade included."

     "The original fire house had a second story but was not built out", he said.  "We would go up there and practice carrying someone down a ladder."

     When it was time to build the current fire station, Bert was on hand to help.  It was a volunteer effort.

      He helped dig the foundations, set the concrete blocks and carried the five gallons of concrete to the men who were working on the scaffold.  When it was complete, it had three bays, a small office, bunk beds, a few chairs and a television set.  And there was a new 1958 LaFrance fire truck.  Later a tanker from Camp Blanding was added.

     Bert counts his experience as a volunteer fireman among his greatest memories.  

	The button from Bert's Fireman's hat

 He moved from Mandarin in the early sixties.  I met him in about 2004 through Kiwanis.  I learned that his mother, Miss Winnie, had been the nursery worker at the Episcopal Church of Our Saviour for many years.  Sometime later I learned through a mutual Bellsouth connection that he had been one of our Mandarin's  Volunteer Firemen.  

      As we talked, I watched as Bert's eyes light up as he talked about his childhood friends, Cary and Bill Morrow, James Folds and Joe Walsh.  His recollections made me want to know more about some of our Mandarin "oldies".