Sometimes my mother’s passing still lurches me into sudden panic, like catching my shoe on the carpet. I flail. Even after I find my footing again, it takes a moment for my heart to remember that everything is alright and I still know how to walk.
The process of going through my mom’s things has been difficult for reasons far more than grief, but this summer, Hubby and I have done the hard work. We are nearly done with the bedroom (which is to say… we haven’t thought about the basement except as a theoretical “when we’re ready, we’ll…”).
As a rule, I have moved quickly through Mom’s things. I haven’t stopped to read all the old letters she still hoped to respond to. I haven’t waxed nostalgic over nik-naks, patti-waks, sheep, and snowmen. Newspaper clippings, photos, grandchild drawings, anything specific to someone who might want them? Boom – into a tote. Very few things have caused me to stop and grieve.
Her Rudy gave me pause. And many tears. Have you ever been poked relentlessly in the chest by stiff broom bristles because you couldn’t help but hug a dorky Christmas decoration?
Her forest green shirt with winter snow and cardinals gave me pause. I can see her in that shirt so clearly.
But overall, I’ve not stopped to hold things and reminisce.
The other day, as we finished the last corner of the room, I stumbled upon Mom’s old journals. Initially, all I could manage was to open a single tome and hold the pages of familiar handwriting to my chest. More than any other keepsake, it felt like “mom.” Her handwriting. So gentle. So beautiful. So fluid. So much like mom herself. When my tears waned and I was able to breathe deeply again, I allowed myself – finally – to pause. To really pause.
It was a journal I would not have chosen. The cover was busy – purple-spined, painted fruit and flower design, and a framed reminder of the fruit of the Spirit (Galatians 5:22,23); the paper scratched against my skin like sandpaper; the page size was too narrow. It lacked everything I look for in a sacred writing space. Mom clearly loved it.
The inscription made more sense than anything in my world this past year: To my lovely Daughter, Heidi. Aug 8 -04. Mom Moore. Of course Grandma would have chosen a fruit of the spirit-themed journal for Mom!
I read the first several entries with true joy, eager to figure out the best way to share the words with those it might bless – my siblings, my mom’s best friend, my pastor. How do you split a journal twelve ways?
It was the entry from Monday, May 5,2005 that hit me like a tsunami.
Sarah and I went to Jer’s “Uncle Donuts Chocolay Café” for breakfast. We had just ordered our breakfast when I saw a blue pickup truck drive through and I thought it was Jim and Wilma. When I saw them walking towards the Café, I got up to greet them both with hugs. They joined us for breakfast. Wilma talked about El Salvador. She and Jim had just made a trip there. Wilma worked a sewing machine to make quilts and they ministered to the missionaries. Jim also helped build a building. While she talked, it was as though I was transported to another time and place – much like when God’s Spirit stirred up within me that dream of being a nurse. At that time it seemed impossible. Yet within several years of that time, I was sitting at NMU in classes. And somehow today, there was a settling in my spirit that God has called some things to be – to minister to poor children. And although I don’t understand how this will come to pass, I feel assured that it will. Wilma looked deep into my eyes. Did you reveal something to her, Lord? Help me to work diligently today as you prepare me for tomorrow.
And in one moment, I wept, for my mother went to Heaven before she could get to El Salvador.
And in the next moment, God showed me just how faithful He had been in fulfilling the desire He had spoken to Mom’s heart.
From my heart to yours,
A difficult task and a difficult time. Hugs
Thank you, Sadje. Yes, it is difficult – but God is so faithful.
And we need to hold onto our faith
Sarah, this was fantastic. Left me with a few tears of my own. Thank you
Aw, I didn’t mean to make you cry. But I’m glad this piece resonated with you. I sure do love you!
Beautiful in thought and word. Thank you for sharing your gift to us, especially in such a tender moment.
Thank you, friend. It’s hard not to write about the moments when God makes His faithfulness so obvious. <3