Motherhood’s Grace

Happy Mother’s Day to all the precious mothers!

Rose with bug
Photo by Dana Bicks LLC

 

I’m old enough now to visit back in time to four different generations of mothers. Seasons change, but the way of life is different. My great-grandmother was a genuine, simple lady who lived up to her name in Milford Mill. With her silver hair spritzed, a dress down to her ankles, and black two-inch chunky heels, her apron went on at sunrise. She handmade everything – bread, biscuits, cinnamon rolls – you name it. I can remember making orange juice with her for breakfast, and not the kind in a bottle.

Her daughter (my grandmother), on the other hand, never came out of her bedroom until she was letter perfect. Sometimes she moseyed around in a housecoat like she was going out somewhere. She often prepared a lovely, super Sunday meal fit for a family of twenty, even if it was only four of us at home. Grams, I called her, loved to cook. She’d open the pantry closet, grab a box of something, add water or milk, and she stirred away. My old Grams was quite the debonair lady! You could smell her cooking the minute you entered Baltimore city limits. She was a lady of stature, and she enjoyed boyfriends until she was ninety years old.

My mom, on the other hand, was quite a different story. She became a socialite and never looked back. Fast food was a regular meal for us throughout the sixties and seventies. She made a good cooked meal just occasionally as both my parents were committed to different lifestyles.

Yes, Mother’s Day is much different as viewed through the eyes of this old child. The pace of life has a lot to do with it, I’m sure. Years slip by, and people pass, but a mother’s ways are hardly forgettable by their family heritage.

This Sunday’s weather has rain on the horizon once again, but I’ll still celebrate the liturgy of all mothers, past, and present, who transformed our spirit. In all my tiny world of generations, though, God only now shows me the meaning of the pure love of motherhood. Our families are spread hither and yon, but my passion for this particular mother is absolutely like none other. She gives herself to the utmost degree – no matter what day or time. I simply hold this precious love for the one I call my wife, deep within my soul.

Now I am old, and I only wish the mothers of my past knew the love I’ve found today. Blessed by God, hopefully, they’re watching from above. Just maybe they were the angels that brought her to me. No matter, I celebrate motherhood’s grace 365 days a year.

Rose with bug
Photo by Dana Bicks LLC

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My Beloved Brother

My Beloved Brother pic 1


It was the end of World War II, and a marriage was performed quietly at Pensacola Naval Base Chapel. Future in-laws congregated in the vestibule while the bride, dressed in white with a three quarter length skirt, prepared for the ceremonial “I do’s.” A young man in his mid-twenties, dressed in formal blues, stood quietly waiting for his bride. But amid this festive day, a disgruntled undertone lent to the day. Sadly, both sets of parents weren’t impressed with each other.

The wedding went off without a hitch for Jean and Jane, despite the family problems. They were issued a weekend pass for a honeymoon and then back to Naval Officer duties on Monday. With influential in-laws, you could only expect eventually, one or the other would be drawn into a situation of ‘blood is thicker than water.’ Marriage wasn’t enough to tame family discord, so maybe a baby would calm the hearts. Grandparents, though, who try to control tempers can sway thought processes.

On May 9th, a Mother’s Day gift from God was born – a baby boy. He laid hopelessly anticipating his destiny in life. This bright little child was occasionally tossed between feuding grandparents while his father was on patrol guarding our country. The little boy grew up in the exploratory era of the sixties. World events such as walking on the moon, Woodstock, and Vietnam persuaded his life’s decisions. After a tour in the Navy himself, his life became a mystery.

Now, in the spring of his beginnings, he had a child to raise, and he matured into manhood overnight. His fragmented father figure died young by his demise, so the young man turned to peers for directional guidance. Some decisions were right, and some were wrong, but somehow, he made it – my big brother.

In His glory days, God saved him. His life now welcomes children who look up to him. It is a characteristic he was deprived of because our father died at an early age. Today, he watches the seasons change as God grants him another birthday. Feeling the aches of age (which hasn’t been his friend), my beloved brother sits alone and relives the days of vigor and vitality.

Seventy-two years strong, he has survived many years of difficulties and created lots of memories. He will lovingly remain impressionable to me – even though we came from the same loaf of bread, we still spread the butter a little differently. Where would I be if it hadn’t been for that little boy born in the turmoil of his loving family? Thank you, my beloved brother, for the best gift I ever had was YOU! Happy Birthday!

My Beloved Brother verse


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