My mother is a very gifted writer. Her blog is Ruthlace, and she has just posted “Happy Mother’s Day 2008.” It is so good that I’ve linked it and have it posted below. Click over and read all her wonderful posts.

HAPPY MOTHER’S DAY 2008
Some of the articles and sermons I have heard on Mother’s Day would give one the idea that to become a mother is to become a saint.

We all would agree there are saintly mothers and there are self centered, even criminal mothers. Most of us as mothers find our place somewhere in between.

In spite of the seemingly endless nausea and misery of pregnancy and pain of childbirth, the incredible love that we have for that helpless and amazingly beautiful baby when it is finally born is awesome. There is something about motherhood that tends to bring out the best in most of us.

Most of us as adults have an emotional attachment and love for our mother. In cases where the mother has such personal problems as to neglect, abuse or abandon the child there is always unbelievable sorrow.

Just the thought of “mother” brings about great emotion in many of us. I remember one Saturday before Mothers Day when I was sitting in the sanctuary with our church music director. We were discussing the music for the next day and got into conversation about some of the old Mother’s Day hymns. She mentioned two old gospel songs, “That Silver Haired Mother of Mine” and “If I Could Hear My Mother Pray Again.” We both choked up.
I think all of us come to Mother’s Day thinking about our own mother and not about some honor due us if we also happen to be a mother.

It seems to me that mother love is more nearly like God’s love…unselfish love…agape love, than any other human love. Mother seems to see possibilities in us that other people seem not to notice. Just as God sees possibilities in us that we do not see in ourselves and others fail to see.

Charles Swindoll’s book entitled, Living Beyond The Daily Grind has a chapter, The Grind of Motherhood. Is there any one of us who will not agree that in addition to the many joys of motherhood and the endless rewards, motherhood is a four letter word called “Work.” Swindoll puts it this way; “the daily mounds of laundry, ironing, folding, cleaning , cooking, car pooling, being a referee, a coach, and encourager, a counselor, a cop, staying pretty, remaining tactful, loveable, compassionate, cheerful, responsible, balanced and sane…”

My daughter, Deborah Lewis wrote a book in 1990, later put out in paperback which I think is one of the best on the subject of Motherhood Stress. On the cover is a woman stretched out across two mountain peaks, with children walking across her, and the sub title is “Finding Encouragement in the Ultimate Helping Profession.” Motherhood is the ultimate helping profession and parents are encouraged to realize the importance of the job.

I was in my early fifties when my mother died at age 88. Even though I had a husband and seven children, I will never forget the sense of loneliness and loss I felt to realize my mother was no longer in my world.

My mother had a philosophy of life as a Christian, not to worry about things that “could not be helped” and to take each day as a new beginning. In her honor, I want to include :
A BALLAD FOR MY MOTHER
1. My mother grew old. . . had lines etched in her face
Worked hard all her life. . . with uncommon grace
She lived by the Bible. . . Each day and each mile.
She taught me her secret. . . of life with a smile.

Refrain: She said. . . Today is the first day. Of the rest of your life.
Don’t borrow trouble, With yesterday’s strife.
Take time. . . Smell the flowers.
It makes life worth while
Then pick up each new day.
With love and a smile!

2. Widowed while young. . . Mama worked in the mill.
Washed on a scrub-board. . . Brought wood up a hill.
She sang as she labored… to stay out of debt ,
She taught me a lesson. . . I’ll never forget.

Refrain: She said. . . Today is the first day. Of the rest of your life.
Don’t borrow trouble, With yesterday’s strife.
Take time. . . smell the flowers.
It makes life worth while .
Pick up each new day With love and a smile!

3. One day I said, Mama,. . . Your life has been hard .
You’ve buried two babies. . . Out in the church yard.
You’ve known all the heartache of struggling for bread,
She smiled through her tears and these words she said:

Refrain: She said. . . Today is the first day, Of the rest of your life.
Don’t borrow trouble, With yesterday’s strife.
Take time. . . smell the flowers.
It makes life worth while.
Pick up each new day. With love and a smile!

Her old fashioned teacakes? We ate the last crumb!
Her old fashioned flowers? She had a green thumb!
She lived by the Bible. . . Each day and each mile.
She taught me her secret. . . of life with a smile.
~Ruth Baird Shaw~

Today was my cousin Don’s memorial service in Georgia.  At the service, my mother and all my siblings and I were together for awhile.  It has been a couple years since we’d been altogether, and it was nice - even if it was for a sad occasion and even if it was for only a couple hours.  After the memorial service at the church and then visiting with family and friends and sharing a lunch in the church fellowship hall, we each went our separate ways again.  RT and I headed back to my mother’s to get our suitcases and fly back to Tennessee.  My oldest sister, Janice, and her husband started the long drive back to D.C.  My youngest brother, David, headed back to Alabama.  The others headed back to their homes in Georgia.  For a little while today, though, all our paths converged.  We went outside and had photographs taken of all of us together. 

I know all the grandparents out there will understand my fascination and obsession with my two grandgirls.  They are truly the lights of my life.  Our daughter and son-in-law wanted to visit friends in Memphis this weekend, and so we volunteered to babysit the girls.  I think they enjoy being with us because we so totally get into playing with them.  When we play school, RT and I take our turns being the students or the principal or the teacher - depending on what roles the girls want us to play.  We can play for hours.  So this weekend I was Principal Grandma Carol, and RT was Teacher PawPaw, and the girls were the students. 

It was fun and enjoyable - especially when the students and the teacher planned a special music and dance performance for Principal Grandma Carol.  The performance was held on the front porch.  We have two rather prissy little grandgirls who love to pirouette and dance, and they insisted that Teacher PawPaw do the same dances with them for the performance.  Words can’t express how much I wish I had a videotape of that performance.  Just pause for a moment to get the full effect of that visual.  60-year old very macho Paw-Paw dancing across the front porch.  The phrase “twinkle-toes” comes to mind.  I could have used that wished-for video as blackmail against PawPaw to get anything in the world I could possibly want.  

I have to admit, though, that I would have done the same thing if my role had been Teacher Grandma Carol.  The things we do for those grandgirls!

This is a poem my mother wrote.  Here’s her story about it: 

A few years before my husband died, we bought a cemetery lot in Conyers where his father and grandparents were burried.  Charles was still in a busy pastorate, but late one afternoon we finally went down to see the lot and to visit his mother who lived nearby.  As it began to get dark in the cemetery, I noticed lights going on in the homes near the cemetery.  It seemed like a parable to me, comparable to parents leaving lights on at night for their children.  I wrote:

The Light

My father always left a light  for me …
Against the nighttime shadows
Lovingly

He left the door unlocked
It opened wide
And I could safely find
My way inside

Beyond the grave
I see a light . . . I see
The Light of home.

God left a light for me
So I can walk through death
With faith . . . not fear
I see the lights of home
And God is near!

~RBS, 1980~

Yesterday was so much fun.  Well, all week for that matter.  It is my spring break, and I am in Georgia visiting my mother.  Four of my six siblings live in the same town as my mother.  So last night, there were five out of seven of us who were here for dinner together - along with my mother.  I made sweet and sour chicken, broccoli with cheese sauce, brown rice and rolls - and for dessert we had my famous apple pie.  Unfortunately I didn’t make enough food - and my nephew and his family got here late - saw the food was almost gone - and so they visited for a few minutes and then left to go elsewhere to eat - despite our protests that we could have more food ready for them in just a few minutes.  Sigh!  Usually we have so much food left over.  So I felt bad that they had to go somewhere else to get a meal.  They got here after everyone else had already eaten and gone back for seconds.  If they’d been here on time, they would have had plenty of food.

Anyway - back to the family visit.  I brought the two grandgirls to Georgia with me.  I love being with them, and it gives their mommy and daddy a few days together without childcare concerns.  They have been so good.  When their cousin, AG, was here last night, they loved having a little bit older girl (AG is in 4th grade) here to play with them.  I hope AG can come over again today.  This is her spring break, too.

In one of my mother’s guest bedrooms, she has two twin beds and one double bed.  That’s perfect for us.  The girls love having their own beds - and then I get the double bed - and they love having me sleep in the room with them.

And I loved sitting around with my mother and four siblings and talking.  It is nice being with my mother and visiting in between visits from the other family members.

RT flew down yesterday afternoon to join us since he had a business meeting today just an hour away.  The girls went with me to the airport, and we heard his plane first, then we saw it and watched it land.  They were literally jumping up and down in excitement as they waved at him - and after he was safely landed, he waved back at them.  Later, they sat in the cockpit and let him take their picture.  I’ll try to post one of the photos later.

When I mentioned that I would sleep with PawPaw in another bedroom last night, they both insisted they wanted me to sleep in that double bed in their room.  So that’s what I ended up doing - which was fine, really.  RT slept in the other room, and I slept in the girls’ room.

It is so nice visiting family and catching up on each other’s lives.

This is a photo taken in the 1960’s when we lived in Ellijay, Georgia.  My mother made matching robes for all the girls in the family, and she also made matching robes for all the guys in the family.  Somewhere I have the photo of all the girls.  Here’s the photo of the guys in the family: my older brother, Terrell; my father, Charles; and my younger brother, David.  My goodness, but my father was a handsome man!  And Terrell and David were both cute kids - and have, in turn, become handsome men.

I came across this photo of my parents when they were young.  I’m guessing it was around 1938 - the year they were married.  Maybe it was after they were married - around 1940 or so.  I’m sure that when my mother reads this, she’ll let me know when the photo was taken.  They look so young, so in love, so happy.  Aren’t they gorgeous?  I definitely come from “good stock.”

I was looking through the photos on my Photobucket album when I came across this photo:

The photo was taken on Saturday morning, November 29, 1986, at RT’s and my home in Tennessee.  It is a photo of my father and mother with five of their granddaughters.  When the photo was taken, we had no idea that in less than a week my father would die suddenly and we would all be gathered again  - this time in Georgia - for his funeral.  This is the last photo we have of my father.  When I see a meaningful photo such as this, I immediately start thinking not only of the events surrounding that photo, but also of all that has happened since the photo was taken.

The oldest granddaughter in the photo is my daughter.  She’s now married and has two little girls of her own.  The youngest granddaughter in the photo - the one my mother is holding (the daughter of my younger non-blogging brother, David) - just got married this past year.   She and her husband live on a farm in Alabama.  The curly-haired blonde immediately in front of my daughter is now a teacher/missionary in Kenya (and yes, with the situation in Kenya, we are all worried about her).  She’s the daughter of my non-blogging sister, Debi.  The one sitting in my father’s lap (The daughter of my sister, Beth) with her hands clasped in front of her face is now living on her own in California.  And the granddaughter standing beside the chair holding her doll is the daughter of my brother Terrell.  She is now living in New York City - working as a nanny and hoping to work in musical theater.

Over twenty-one years have passed.  Four new grandchildren have been born since my father’s death, along with lots of great-grandchildren.  My father had such a robust attitude towards life, and he loved his children and grandchildren.  I would give anything to share with him the joy I feel for my own grandgirls.  No major point here - just the observation that life goes very quickly.   

On December 31, 1974, RT and I were thrilled to become the parents of our precious Larisa, affectionately nicknamed Stinkeroo by her Grandshaw.  Before her birth, RT and I would listen to her heartbeat with a stethoscope.  1974 was before the days of periodic sonograms.  So we had no idea whether or not our baby would be a boy or a girl until after the birth.  We went into the labor room at the hospital knowing that we’d either walk out with a Paul or a Larisa - we didn’t know which.  Ever since I had seen the movie Dr. Zhivago, I knew that I wanted to name the daughter I hoped to have someday Larisa.  For awhile we toyed around with calling her by the nickname for Larisa - Lara - but then decided to stick with Larisa.  When she was born and we found out that our first child was a girl, we were so happy and we knew immediately her name.  The baby was our Larisa that we had been looking forward to for years.  She was basically bald for the first three years of her life, but as she grew, she also grew dark curly hair and beautiful brown eyes.  She was happy and energetic and a parent’s dream.  She thoroughly wrapped her dad and me around her little finger.

The above photo is one of my favorites.  It shows her enthusiastic and mischievous nature.  I’ve always loved her smile.

This picture is also a favorite.  It shows Larisa with her younger brother, Joey.  The pigtails were typical.  She was an athletic go-getter child - always interested in life, sports, being with friends, and she was/is a great sister to her brother.  They had their spats, but have always remained close to each other.

This is how she often slept as a baby - on her back with her arms flung out to her sides. As in everything, she put herself wholeheartedly into sleep, too.  She was confident and happy.

This is one of the photos from her wedding to Steve - along with their “baby” (at the time), Caesar.   Caesar passed on to doggie heaven quite a few years ago, and they now have two human babies - my wonderful grandgirls - pictured below. 

I first wrote about Stinkeroo’s birthday on December 31, 2005, and then on December 31, 2006, I wrote about her again.  I hope you have a wonderful birthday, my precious Larisa!

On the day after Christmas, my family had our annual Christmas get-together.  In addition to having the family altogether, it was also a mini-convention of bloggers.  There was Ruthlace (my mother), Daddy’s Roses (my sister, Joan) , Alone on a Limb (my brother, Terrell), Blue Star Chronicles (my sister, Beth) and The Median Sib (me).  I was probably a pest, but I kept asking until my brother, Terrell, sang “O Holy Night” for us.  I’m so glad he did.  Here is the history, lyrics - and you can click on this link to listen to the music.  My all-time favorite Christmas song.

The words and lyrics of the old carol ‘O Holy Night’ were written by Placide Cappeau de Roquemaure in 1847. Cappeau was a wine seller by trade but was asked by the parish priest to write a poem for Christmas. He obliged and wrote the beautiful words of the hymn. He then realised that it should have music to accompany the words and he approached his friend Adolphe Charles Adams(1803-1856). He agreed and the music for the poem was therefore composed by Adolphe Charles Adams. Adolphe had attended the Paris conservatoire and forged a brilliant career as a composer. It was translated into English by John Sullivan Dwight (1812-1893).

O Holy Night 

O Holy Night! The stars are brightly shining,
It is the night of the dear Saviour’s birth.
Long lay the world in sin and error pining.
Till He appeared and the Spirit felt its worth.
A thrill of hope the weary world rejoices,
For yonder breaks a new and glorious morn.
Fall on your knees! Oh, hear the angel voices!
O night divine, the night when Christ was born;
O night, O Holy Night , O night divine!
O night, O Holy Night , O night divine!

Led by the light of faith serenely beaming,
With glowing hearts by His cradle we stand.
O’er the world a star is sweetly gleaming,
Now come the wisemen from out of the Orient land.
The King of kings lay thus lowly manger;
In all our trials born to be our friends.
He knows our need, our weakness is no stranger,
Behold your King! Before him lowly bend!
Behold your King! Before him lowly bend!

Truly He taught us to love one another,
His law is love and His gospel is peace.
Chains he shall break, for the slave is our brother.
And in his name all oppression shall cease.
Sweet hymns of joy in grateful chorus raise we,
With all our hearts we praise His holy name.
Christ is the Lord! Then ever, ever praise we,
His power and glory ever more proclaim!
His power and glory ever more proclaim!