Category Archives: Mamas and Daddies

These blogs are about moms and dads.

Mom: As Mom Would Say -By Karla

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Years ago, I was in church listening to a sermon when a pastor told a story about a woman who was cooking a roast. She cut the meat into two pieces and placed each in separate roasting pans. Year after year, the lady did the same thing. One holiday, the husband said, “Honey, why do you cut the meat into two piece? Does it make it cook differently?” The wife replied, “Ummm, I don’t know why I do that. Mom did it, so I’m sure there’s a reason.” Shortly after their conversation, the lady phoned her mom. Her mom paused; then she answered with the same sort of wording. “Ummm, I just did it because mom did it that way.” Luckily for the mom, her mom was still living. Out of curiosity, she called her ninety-two-year-old mama. Her mom kind of laughed, “Because I did not have a pan large enough.”

Mom and Music

That story cracks me. It is so true. The older I get the more I seem to say and do the things Mom did. I love music just like Mom. In the mornings, it peps me up while I am getting ready for my day. I listen to it often during my planning period at school, which helps me accomplish more. When I get home from a long day, music helps me concentrate to grade papers or get a second wind to clean my house. At night, I commonly set the timer on my Pandora app, so I can settle to fall asleep with my instrumental praise.

I can so recall Mom stating, “Girls, turn down the radio, or just leave it off please. I need some peace and quiet.” Just like Mom did, there are days I am driving home from school when I say the very same thing to myself.

Mom’s Sayings

At school, I have grown from the young and hip creative teacher to much more of a grandmotherly figure over the years. I seek every opportunity to affirm and brag on their accomplishments both large and small. However, I also fuss at them when they do wrong. I strive for my students to know that I love them unconditionally. In the instant world youngsters live in today, having to work for something is foreign to them at times. I have refrained from letting loose with Mom’s words, “I’m gonna pinch your head off!” But in recent years, I have found my lips mouthing her familiar words, “Don’t just sit there like a bump on a log. My mom would’ve looked at you and said, ‘Am I gonna have to lite a fire under your bottom?’” The kids seem to like my mom’s little country sayings, motivating them to get busy.

Mom’s Advice

Mom passed over fifteen years ago. During this time, many things have happened in my life that I wish she had been here to help me through. When I get into a mood, Mom’s words invade my mind. I have even said aloud, “Yes, Mom, I’m having pity party. And yes, Mom, I remember what you taught me. A pity party should only last so long! Don’t invite too many people because not many people really want to come. I remember that my sweet friends who are willingly to come don’t want to stay long.” So, I rest, and even pout a bit. Often I call Donna to vent or cry. Then I get a hold of myself to move forward little by little.

The other day my sisters and I were in a group text trying to encourage each other. I stated that God does not desire us to live with guilt after we have repented to the Lord. Continuing, I reminded the four of us that God does not want us to be trapped in a place that Satan wants to confine us, but to move forward to do His will. For a short moment, one sister commented on how wise I was. Another sister quickly deflated my pride stating my insight came from Mom. We had all heard her say so many times, “Satan, get behind me!” I just died laughing when that sister texted those words. I replied with my thoughts, “I used to think that Mom was kind of crazy when she declared those words, but the longer I live, the more I profess those words myself.” Mom was the wise one! We just try to follow in her footsteps.

I once saw a tote bag that said, “Sometimes, I open my mouth and my mother comes out.” I started to buy it because it is so very true and it cracked me up. However, I could hear Mom saying, “Just window shop, Karla, you have enough bags already.”

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Kindness: Always Stay Humble and Kind- by Donna

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They say opposites attract. I’m not so sure I believe that, but in my daddy and mama’s case, it was true. Their personalities couldn’t have been any more different. My mama was a loving, feisty spit fire. My daddy was a patient, laid back, funny man. I have always said I am 99% my daddy and 1% my mama. I am like my daddy; But, I don’t think I can live up to the size of his big, kind, humble and selfless heart.

My daddy loved to tell stories and laugh. He had a southern drawl and North Georgia mountain vocabulary like few I’ve ever known. I loved to hear him retell the story of when the tractor ran over him. “I knew I’z in trouble when that there tire runned over me. It sounded plum like a hound dog crunchin’ on a possum. I mean to tell you; I hear’d my bones a crunchin’. 

All Smiles

Daddy was such a smart, talented man; he could fix or build anything. Alzhimer’s eventually took that ability away, but it never took his grin or joy. He continued to be a happy man and wore a smile most of the time. When he entered the nursing home, the staff commented how they loved him because he was always joking with them. During weekend visits at the home, we all had tears from laughing running down our faces. My favorite quote is “a day without laughter is a wasted day”. Humor has always abounded in my family; I am thankful my parents passed down their sense of wittiness. 

At his funeral the pastor said, “Whenever I saw him coming, he always had that “Kenneth grin”. As he entered the hospital, which unexpectedly became the last week of his life, he continued to smile. The day before he left us, a nurse came in and said, “I never got to be your dad’s nurse, but I once came in briefly to assist a coworker. When we moved him, he grimaced from the pain, but after, he looked at me, smiled, and said “thank you. He is the most pleasant man.”

Kind Heart

My daddy also had a big heart. He was perpetually kind: always helping others, expecting nothing in return, and never wanting recognition. He was always ready, willing, and able to assist many widows from church. Free of charge, he cleaned gutters, raked leaves, and did repairs. He even drove one widow to and from her colonoscopy! (See blog: Only Human).

I was at the hospital for his last five days. Covid made things more difficult. I wore a drape, face mask, shield, and gloves, even when sleeping in the chair. With Corona restrictions, I found myself alone with daddy for his last two days. I listened to the constant beeps of machines and the sound of daddy breathing.

Every day the doctor would come in. At first it was always, “It won’t be much longer.” But, daddy’s heart continued to stay solid. The last three times the doctor came in, he would simply state, “That is one strong man”. 

Saturday Nights

Daddy was a hard worker. When not working at the Ford plant, he was outside laboring in the garden or restoring a car. But Saturday evenings were spent with us. My mind drifted to Saturdays long ago. He always washed and waxed the car, so it would be shiny and clean for church the next day. We often helped or washed our bikes beside him. Saturday’s supper was either T-bone steaks, homemade fries, and salad or Chef Boyardee pizza made by me.

We would then all go into the den and watch Hee Haw. After the blonde girl waved saying, “That’s All!”, he would get out his Kiwi shoe shine kit and “get to rubbin” his church shoes until they beamed. Meanwhile, mama rolled my hair with pink sponge rollers. Daddy was not one to read, but every Saturday night, he studied his Sunday School lesson.

When it was time for bed on Saturdays, he would get out the oversized Children’s Bible and let us pick a story. My two brothers and I got in one bed while he read the chosen selection. If it were my turn to pick, I would once again pick Daniel in the Lion’s Den.

When the story was over, we would go to our own beds, and he would tuck each of us in. Daddy would lie down beside me while I said my bedtime prayers. I had to sleep with a vaporizer a lot, but even with it on, I could hear him breathe. I think he occasionally dozed off from the long week of work. Then he’d kiss my forehead and whisper, “Good night, Donnie Boo.” 

As my mind drifted back, I noticed his breaths had become a little labored. He began inhaling and exhaling through his mouth. Now normally, that loud noise might grate on my nerves, but as I curled up in the chair to sleep, I found it comforting. It took me back to those Saturday nights of my childhood. I drifted off to the sound of his breathing, not knowing it would be my last night with him.

Strong Heart

During the next day, I sat in the chair reading a book and grading some tests. Later in the evening while texting a friend, I noticed the rhythm of his breath began to change, so I watched the monitor. His blood pressure and oxygen were going down quickly. A nurse walking by, noticed me standing over him with concerned eyes and entered the room. With a trembling voice I managed to ask, “Is he near passing?” 

She looked at the monitor, “Normally I’d say yes, but although his oxygen and pressure are dropping, his heart rate is still 121. He has a strong heart.”

When she left, I sat down on his bed and watched. The numbers kept going down, but his heart stayed steady. Then it happened. It began dropping too; 90, 89, 88…. At that moment the reality of being alone hit me. It was the loneliest I had ever felt in my life. 

“I don’t want to be here alone.” I texted my friend.

His response was: “You’re not alone. God has chosen you to be there”.

I realized the magnitude of that last statement. I was given the privilege of being with my daddy as he was going home. As I sat down on the bed beside him, I felt at peace. 

Take my Hand

Daddy’s favorite music were hymns, bluegrass, and old country. So, I clicked my Pandora app and selected the Statler Brothers station. I placed my phone on the pillow by his ear. Remarkably, the first song that began to play was Take My Hand, Precious Lord. Sometimes God seems so hidden, but other times He makes His presence clearly known to me. Not only was that the perfect song for the occasion, but it is what was already engraved on his and mama’s headstone. I took off my glove and rubbed his arm as I watched the oxygen and respirations flatline. His pulse was still 80. 

God always knows what I need. As the song ended, my all time favorite, Carrie Underwood’s version of How Great Thou Art, began to play. During this song, I watched his pulse slowly go down, down, down, until it ceased. 

I wasn’t surprised it took so long for his heart to give up; it was always the strongest, biggest part of him. 

Humble and Kind

Recently, I heard the song, Humble and Kind by Tim McGraw. Daddy came to mind. I can just hear him saying so many of these lyrics:

Hold the door, say “please”, say “thank you”

Don’t steal, don’t cheat, and don’t lie

I know you got mountains to climb

But always stay humble and kind

When the dreams you’re dreamin’ come to you

When the work you put in is realized

Let yourself feel the pride

But always stay humble and kind

Don’t expect a free ride from no one

Don’t hold a grudge or a chip and here’s why

Bitterness keeps you from flyin’

Always stay humble and kind

Don’t take for granted the love this life gives you

When you get where you’re goin’ 

Don’t forget turn back around

And help the next one in line

Always stay humble and kind.

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Childhood Memories: Fuselage -By Karla

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The WASPS Museum

When Donna asked if she could have her picture taken on the wing of the aircraft like her grandmother, the director of the WASP museum enthusiastically obliged. “Stay on the fuselage,” I heard her say.

What an incredible memory we made at the WASP Museum learning about Donna’s grandmother Marion and about the WASPS. Donna’s blog WASPS

To my knowledge, I had never heard that word before, but I immediately knew what the word must have meant. In my childhood, I heard the phrase, “don’t get off the black strip” every time I climbed up on the wing of daddy’s plane.

Transported back to my Childhood Memories

That one word uncovered such treasured moments. Being only eleven when Daddy died, I don’t have many memories of him. Of the remembrances I do have, his plane and the airport are present. Daddy had acquired his pilot license during his short stay in the US Air Force, while Mom earned hers as a means of taking care of her girls “in case there was ever an emergency while in the air”.

Many of my Sunday afternoons were spent at the airport. Sometimes, we would go up and “fly a pattern”, but other times we simply hung out at the hanger. The adults sat in the lounge sharing stories of the week while my three sisters, two of our best friends (Sarah and Martha), and I would play house, tag, or hide-and-seek around the planes parked outside. With the airport nestled in Copperhill, Tennessee, we often ventured out into the copper-colored gullies, just beyond the tarmac, where each of us claimed a ravine as a pretend home. 

Personal Search Party

One afternoon my older sisters went beyond the gullies because they apparently heard some kids having a birthday party and wanted to check it out. Since Mom’s voice was a little too far out of reach, she sent Daddy in the air for a private search party using the bird’s eye view. He did, they were recovered, and knowing Mom—they probably received a spanking for venturing too far.

Eating What?

Another day while playing hide and seek, I got hungry. I walked inside to grab the Pepperidge Farms snacks Mom ALWAYS brought. As I closed the heavy metal door coming back out, Martha was spotted beside the tire of her daddy’s plane. Everyone came running to base, and my oldest sister Lynn asked what I was eating. Looking at her like she was crazy, I said, “The snacks Mom brought.” 

In the way a big sister corrects, she replied, “Mom did not bring any today.” 

Proving her wrong, I marched over to the door and pointed to the square card table where Mom always set up snacks.. 

Lynn panicked! “That’s not Mom’s snacks; she didn’t bring any. That’s Shultz’s dog food!” (One of the adults had his dog with him.) 

The six of us stood there silently, wondering how much I had just eaten and how sick I would be. Lynn nudged me inside the door as the five of them glued themselves to the window, anticipating my outcome. Slowly, I walked over to Mom, waiting for her to finish talking. I shared the story and waited to see if I would be going to the hospital. I remembered they all laughed. Mom swooped me up and sat me down on the couch with Mrs. Sandy, Sarah and Martha’s mom, assuring me, I would live. 

Flying to Vacations

Being a pharmacist at Talent Drugs provided long hours with few days. However, every summer we flew to Myrtle Beach for a Wednesday through Sunday vacation.

In 1976, while riding in the brown and tan station wagon one evening, Dad proposed a spontaneous trip to Disney World in Florida. Sure enough, the next day much to our delight, by eleven Mom was picking us up at school, and we were walking up the plane wing—staying off the fuselage of course—and buckling up.  

Flying with His Best Friend

Sarah and Martha’s dad and Daddy were the best of friends. He and Daddy often flew together. Mr. Buddy was the local mortician at Finch’s Funeral Home. Mr. Buddy’s personality was definitely not the grim, stone-faced men that are often portrayed at funeral homes in movies. He was one of the joyous men I ever met. He and Daddy had many adventures of their own. Perhaps my favorite stories was their flight to retrieve a body that needed preparation for a funeral.  

On short flights when they had a body, Buddy would sit in the back seat, and they would lie the body in a stretcher that extended from the back seat to the folded front seat. However, this particular trip was a longer flight, and they decided having Buddy co-pilot was a good idea. Their next good idea was to strap the body in an upright position and buckle her in the back seat! 

When nature called and the plane needed a fill up, they landed. Daddy asked the attendant to fill-her-up, and they walked inside. Returning with their usual little glass Coke bottle and a pack of peanut butter crackers, the attendant had an alarming expression. 

“Uh, the lady in the back seat—she hasn’t moved since you’ve been gone! Not a muscle!” 

Buddy paid for the gas and added, “Well, if she had, then there would be some real trouble!” 

Daddy just shook his head. They latched the doors and took off. 

Tribute to a Friend

If I had a dime for every time Mr. Buddy flew his airplane over our house after Daddy passed, I would be a millionaire. I can still hear Mom’s call, “Girls, I hear Buddy.” All five of us, Mom, my three sisters, and me would run out of the house, throw our heads in the air, and begin waving. I think Buddy’s flights helped us know Daddy was a part of him and a part of us too.

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God’s Hands: Only Human–by Donna

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A few months ago I was eating lunch at my daddy’s house. I glanced over at his hands. What is wrong with his hands! Are they swollen? Those are not my daddy’s hands. As I ate, I worried that something was physically wrong with him.  Last July he was diagnosed with Alzheimers. But physically he was in good shape to be almost 79.

Then suddenly it hit me. Those hands are not the hands of the daddy I have known all my life.They were smooth and clean. My daddy has always been a worker. He was a mechanic at the Ford Motor Plant for 48 years. In his spare time, he had a huge garden and restored antique cars and trucks. A Jack-of-all-trades sums him up. If we needed anything, he usually did it himself. Whether it was new shingles on the roof, a burst water pipe, or a new set of brakes; he could do it. He also used his hands to serve others. In fact at 76, he was still climbing roofs and cleaning out gutters of several widowed woman at church. His hands even drove a widow to a colonoscopy appointment. He said, “I really didn’t want to, but I couldn’t tell her no; she didn’t have anybody else to take her.”

For years my daddy had black under his nails. His fingers and hands were cracked and calloused. It wasn’t that he was unclean; he scrubbed with LAVA soap before eating. But the years of physical labor couldn’t always be washed away. 

He is now unable to do all the things he could before. Sometimes the hands that held a wrench, drove a tractor, or rebuilt an entire car, can not fasten a simple button. I am sadly aware that someday his hands will cease to gasp at all. And at some point, he may not even remember I’m his Donnie-Boo.

Change

Over the last three years I have experienced a lot of change. During this time, while reading the Bible, the two words Lord (God) and hands appeared many times together. I recently Googled it and discovered they appear over 100 times.

Our heavenly Father will never let go, will never forget our name and will always be there. I am thankful for my earthly daddy’s hands I have had for all these years. His hands held the Children’s Bible from which he read a story each Saturday night. They removed his cap and placed it on his knee when he sat at the table to eat. His hands faithfully held my mama for over 44 years.

But, my daddy’s hands have changed because as good as they are, he is only human. There is no greater comfort than Our Lord’s hands.

Psalm 73:23 “Nevertheless I am continually with you; you have taken hold of my right hand.”

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Comfort: Shaking Like a Leaf- by Donna

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    A few Sundays ago, a young man, who is close to our family, came to my house. He was dealing with some things and came to share his heart. As he spoke, I glanced at the tears that sporadically trickled down his face. But, my focus was on his hands. Oh, how they were shaking. I noticed his entire body was quivering. I wanted to just hold him in my arms and comfort him. However, he was much bigger than me! 

    The next day in the car, the song “Hold me Jesus” came on.    

          ” Sometimes my life just don’t make sense at all

       When the mountains looks so big

          And my faith just seems so small

       So, hold me Jesus cause I’m shaking like a leaf

          You have been King of my glory

          Won’t you be my Prince of Peace.”

    When the lyrics, “shaking like a leaf”,  were sang, I thought of the boy who I wanted to comfort. I pictured Jesus holding him. He was in much better hands than mine. And it was clear from our conversation, that he knew God had him close. What a sweet and comforting thought. The Almighty holding us tightly when we need solace. 

The Shepherd

    This incident reminded me of a dark night years ago when I watched as Karla shook from despair. I remember feeling so helpless, but I knew God was there with us. All my life I have heard Jesus referred to as the Shepherd. “He tends His flock like a shepherd: He gathers the lambs in His arms and carries them close to his heart.” Isaiah 40:11. I believe our Shepherd was holding Karla close to his heart.

A Mother

     While looking at verses about comfort, I read Isaiah 66:13. “As a mother comforts her child, so will I comfort you.” This reminded me of a time I was distraught. It really spoke to me. The day after I brought my baby girl, delivered by C-section, home from the hospital, the Blizzard of ’93 hit Georgia. We were stuck in the middle of 200 wooded acres with no heat, no water, no phone, no power…not much of anything! My mama had come to stay a few weeks. We were surviving on peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and fruit from the basket someone sent as a gift to the hospital. The thermometer in the house, which only went down to 32 degrees, was bottomed out. To keep warm, we were all lying under blankets. Mama on the love seat, me on the couch and my husband on the floor. We all took turns keeping the baby warm. Whoever had her would lay her on their stomach and cover her in a blanket, leaving only a small air hole. When she would awake to eat and be changed, we would pass her to the next person.  

    So many trees had fallen that the driveway was not visible. We were stuck for five days, until someone came and “cut” us out. Trees had to be sawed and removed for us to get to a road. Living so isolated from everything, Georgia Power estimated our electricity would not be restored for another week. So, the sensible plan was for us to go stay with relatives in town.

Mama

Already emotional from hormones, this news devastated me. I wanted to keep my baby girl home. All her “new things” were at home, where I wanted us to be! I did not want to stay with relatives. Upset, I went in the bathroom and sat facing forward on the edge of the toilet lid. I began sobbing like a baby. My mama came in the bathroom. Amid my tears, I felt mama ease her small frame behind me, as she too straddled the lid. She encompassed me with her loving arms and just held me. I was twenty-six years old, being held by my mama! To this day, I cannot remember this moment without tears. Though we were both sitting on the toilet, it was such a precious memory.  When I think about Isaiah 40:11, that is what I picture. Just leaning back and letting Jesus wrap His arms around me and love on me when I am shaking like a leaf.

Revelations 12:4

    Life is hard. Sometimes we are the one shaking like a leaf, and other times we are watching someone we care about suffer. During the bad, we sometimes feel like God is far away. But He hasn’t left us. He will comfort us. He will comfort us like a shepherd, like a mother. And we have the promise of Revelations 21:4 “And God shall wipe away all tears from their eyes; and there shall be no more death, neither sorrow, nor crying, neither shall there be any more pain; for the former things are passed away.”  

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JOon2xQNZX0

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Fifteen -by Karla

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On January 22, Tuesday of this week, marked the fifteenth year of Mama’s death. She fought hard with her twenty-seven-month battle. I have often compared that period of time to crossing a very long bridge. Once we stepped on, there was no going back to the side in which we began. Like all journeys, some days were long and difficult filled with pain and some with pure agony. But, there were also sweet, precious times as well, desiring to make every moment a memory.

I have numerous words that could easily ramble into days worth of stories when I think of Mom. Her presence in my life is matched by no one else, and the period of days, months, and years that followed as I mourned her death were among the most difficult of my life.   

For several weeks approaching the twenty-second of January, I seemed to almost fixate on the number fifteen. How could fifteen years have passed since I had heard her laugh, watched her tear up for one less fortunate, or seen her red-headed temper flare a bit?

Honestly, I had fallen into the trap where I found myself looking around to see fifteen years worth of not having my mom while others still have theirs. Fifteen years that I could have been asking questions, learning more, and enjoying time with her. It is the stupid little things like “Mom, where’s the recipe for those cabbage rolls you used to make when we were kids?” The girls and I could have been watching so many “life lesson” movies with her. She loved the type of films where lessons could be learned. Sometimes, I have wanted to scream! Why?

Frankly, there are more days over these last fifteen years when I have felt her absence within. I have longed for her voice to cheer me and offer encouragement on days when I was overwhelmed. The need or reaction of picking up the phone for her advice has ranged from paint colors for the kitchen to “Mom, how did you do it! I only have two girls; you had four! How did you survive?”

Thankfully, I have learned to look up. During the weeks leading up to the twenty-second, I have realized that I focused on the wrong fifteen. My concentration of looking around and looking inward was not bringing me any happiness. Rather, I brought myself unneeded sadness. That is just like me to forgot where God has always told me to direct my attention…upward on Him.

This past week, I should have been thinking of fifteen blessing about Mom. Of course, I have many more wonderful things I could list than just these. But for now, with my eyes set on the right fifteen, in no particular rhyme or reason…here goes.

God, thank You for giving me my mom!  Mom blessed me by…

  • Making hot chocolate on snow days
  • Tucking me in bed at night
  • Teaching me about Jesus and taking me to church
  • Not “pinching my head off” like she said she was going to all those years, but forced me to take responsibility of my wrong doings
  • Teaching me the importance of hard work
  • Teaching me to eat my fruits and vegetables daily
  • Taking me fishing and reminding me to stop to smell the roses
  • Showing me that God is always by my side
  • Showing me how to care for people and giving to those less fortunate
  • Loving a good game of football
  • Reminding me that when I feel bad, brushing my teeth and washing my face makes me feel better
  • Giving me three wonderful sisters
  • Making me understand that family is a rare gift
  • Modeling being a mom who sacrifices
  • Teaching me why and how to respect myself and others

Now, I pose a challenge for you to do one of the following:

*Make a list

*Pick up the phone or write a letter if you are so fortunate

*Say a prayer of thanksgiving

*And perhaps…Post a few here to honor your mom!

 

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Mother’s Day: That’s My Mama —by Donna

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Thursday night, I sat at a college graduation. It was fun to watch families and their anticipation. The lady sitting in front of me, really caught my attention because she was having a difficult time containing her excitement. Many times, she said, “I can’t believe it. She did it!” About halfway through the list of names, she eagerly said, “It’s almost her turn.”  As she got her phone in position to video, I noticed the tears streaming down her face. Wow! She is so happy for her child; she is crying. But as her graduate crossed the stage in cap and gown, the grown woman yelled, “Woo, hoo…that’s my mama!”

My Mama

My mama lost her mom in a plane crash at the age of five. She was passed from family member to family member, so she never had a “true” mother growing up. It always amazed me at how she became such a wonderful parent, without an example. But, she chose to find and follow the influence of strong Christian women. She took wonderful care of us physically, emotionally, and spiritually—“That’s my mama!”

When I was an infant, I had a heart defect. She stayed up around the clock many long nights feeding me a spoonful of liquid every ten minutes so that I would not dehydrate. –“That’s my mama!”

When I was a toddler and it snowed, she was afraid if I went out I would get sick. Clever as always, she brought in the kiddie pool and filled it with snow so that I could experience my first snowfall –“That’s my mama!”

During the week of Thanksgiving, my daddy and brothers always went camping from Saturday to Saturday leaving the house to just me and mama. I loved the holiday and wanted to do it up big. Every Thanksgiving, she catered to me. We fixed enough food for an army, used the fine china, and adorned the dining room with Thanksgiving decorations. –“That’s my mama!”

When I wanted to wear a Santa hat every year during our Christmas shopping, she wore one too. –“That’s my mama!”

Later in Life

When I found the wedding dress I wanted, all except the sleeves that were hideous; she took care of that too. She bought it and redid the sleeves to exactly what I wanted.—“That’s my mama!”

Being terrified of needles, I have passed out many times at doctors’ offices.  So, during my pregnancies, she drove 92 miles from Fayetteville to Rome accompanying me at every doctor’s visit. –“That’s my mama!”

After each of my three children were born, she came and stayed for two weeks. She cooked, cleaned, and helped out with the newborns.—“That’s my mama.”

When my mama was lying in the hospice bed, withering away to nothing, she repeatedly asked if we were ok and if we had eaten. It was always about us, not her. – “That’s my mama!”

Jesus’s Mama, Mary

When Christ was hanging in agony, standing near the cross was His mama. When Jesus saw his mother and the disciple he loved, He said to his mother, “Woman, here is your son.” Then He said to the disciple, “Here is your mother.” And from that moment, the disciple took her into his home (John 19: 25-27).  I believe Jesus knew the significance of a mother. He knew their love, devotion, and even their mother-bear instinct was of utmost importance. Thus, upon His impending death, He showed his respect to Mary, His mom by honoring her even in His last moments. He made sure she would be taken care of the rest of her life.

Mother, mommy, mom, mama. In fact, some “mom” even go by the name of aunt, cousin, or friend. However, no matter what’s she’s called tomorrow is the day to honor them. Whether she is near or far, or even if you are honoring her memory, enjoy the day. I was blessed to have a wonderful, Christian mother who loved me with all her heart. I can proudly say, “That’s my mama.”

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Autumn: Golden Memories -By Karla

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On Saturday, my twenty-one year old daughter Rachel was home from college and took a short nap on the couch.  Awaken, she announced, “I swear that tree outside had green leaves when I went to sleep!  And now, it is yellow.”  We laughed but discussed how it truly seemed to turn golden overnight. 

That following Monday morning, I glanced out the window as I walked into the kitchen to make my hot tea. I promise you there was a golden tint outside. Dressed and heading to the car, the gold was still in the air.  It made me think of some the golden things throughout my life.

Golden Tunes

As you might have noticed from past blogs, I love music. Driving to school, I wondered about song titles with the word gold or golden.  I began humming and recalling some words to the song, Sister, Golden-Hair by America.  It made me smile. Of course, when I got to school I had to look up the song on YouTube, so I could reminisce. I do not have a special memory of this song; it’s just attached to an era of 70’s days at the Copperhill, TN swimming pool. Another great one is the Larry Gatlin Band’s song, All the Gold in California. With three sisters and a mom who loved to sing, there were many days the 8-track accompanied us as we rode alongside the River Road trying to harmonize. Later in my life, I can vividly remember Michelle Kwan ice skating to Sting’s Fields of Gold. I was an adult, but I cried. She was such a talented artist. I hurt for her that night that she didn’t win the gold, but glided on the ice with such grace.

Late Nights with the Golden Arches 

Surprisingly, another golden item that brings back so many memories is the McDonald’s golden arches. Late Friday evenings after ballgames, the band bus would pull into Mickey-D’s. About 75 famished high-school kids would invade the small dining room, probably disturbing all the poor souls who were trying to eat a meal. We hooped and hollered as if we didn’t have a care in the world. By this time in the evening, most of my food money had usually been spent at the concession stand during the game. But, I always kept enough money tucked in my navy band pants to have a golden-fried apple pie! Ah, the simple things in life. 

The Golden Boob Tube

In 1985, my sister Gail and I just to loved watching Moonlighting with Cybill Shepherd and a much less violent Bruce Willis. Kurt Cameron and his family began the series Growing Pains. This was one of younger Julie’s and my favorites.  That same year, MacGyver came on the scene (and his poster on Donna’s bedroom wall), and he could escape any situation with a pack of dental floss and a bottle of nail polish. But perhaps the funniest of shows during this year was the Golden Girls. Rose and her Saint Olaf stories always cracked me up!  

Golden Transformations

Many years ago, I was driving over the mountain from Dalton to Blue Ridge, Georgia. Because Mom had been sick with colon cancer for about two years, I had made this trip many more times than usual. I was tired and weary as I wove along the windy road. The gold, red, and orange shone so beautifully that day. She was still having some enjoyable days with family, but was no longer working and had slowed a lot. All the prayers I had offered for Mom’s healing were beginning to turn into the realization that God might soon give her the ultimate gift of health. To say I was sad, was beyond an understatement.

Alone in the car, I saw the golden hues a little differently that fall.  I cried and talked to God, and He talked to me. He reminded me that as a Christian death is as beautiful as these golden leaves that were fading. For the first time, I saw the beauty in the completion of this life as one nears their Heavenly life. So, I drove and began to start the process of grieving the beautifully golden transformation that was to come.

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“No, Karla, You Get To!” -By Karla

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I have hosted a small group Bible study in my home for almost five years, and we have formed a close bond. Last summer one of them mentioned going to the beach together. So, that October we were off on a long weekend adventure, had a blast, and began planning for this year the minute we pulled out the condo complex, where we had stayed.

Is It Worth All the Hassle?

As the October holiday approached this year, so did the hurricanes. Several friends looked at me like I was crazy when I told them I was headed closer to the storm. I quietly wondered if we would need to cancel, but I was so busy that I left the decision up to the rest of the group. They said go. For me, there were several factors:

  • It’s 9:30
  • I am just getting home from taking things to Rach in Atlanta,
  • It’s such a long drive there, a little over 700 miles round trip
  • I have so much school work to do
  • I haven’t even packed
  • It’s a lot of money for a short time.

Decision Made 

Meeting at my house at five o’clock, the five of us loaded suitcases, a cooler (packed with homemade chicken salad, waters, and of course, chocolate), computers for a little work, and seaside apparel.

Avoiding the five o’clock Atlanta traffic, we routed ourselves through Rome (Olive Garden with Donna) and hit Highway 27 southbound. The trip seemed longer than usual because of my recent tiredness and excitement to get there. So, I started wailing like a child and asked often, “Are we there yet?”

Never Too Old for a Road Trip Game

We giggled, and I proceeded to share a game that I had played on trips with the girls when they were young.

“My father owns a grocery store, and in his store, he owns something that begins with the letter –.” The other players ask yes or no questions until the mystery is solved. During the game, someone’s father got wealthy and must have owned a Super Walmart because hammers and fish tanks were added to the items for sale.

As we rolled on, we switched thoughts, “Do you remember the TV show ‘Chico and the Man’?”

Hey, “What about the ‘Rookies’”?

“What about ‘Sigmund and the Sea Monster?’” Then I proceeded to share the story of how I was once talking to a missionary and asked if he had seen that show, Semen and the Sea Monster!

We had laughed so much that it was time for a bathroom break, and a snack. Climbing back into the van, we continued. Games, laughter, stories, laughter, stop for a potty break, grab a snack, and repeat until 1am.

What Happens on a Girl’s Road Trip . . .

When we got there, we were quite saddened to discover that the Pirate Festival that had been where we stayed this same weekend last year had been canceled due to the weather. Yes, really, a pirate festival! Not our cup of tea, but it did provide some fun conversations.

We planted ourselves on the beach for about four hours Saturday enjoying blue skies. I walked feeling the sand between my toes and jumped the rough waves for at least an hour. But, I have never felt such an undertow! I kept a watchful eye on my friends lounging in their chairs so not to worry them. At one point while trying to move back nearer to them, they swear I was swimming without moving an inch!

Did I Mention It Was Windy?

The evenings were spent playing games and eating snacks: popcorn and chocolate, chips and salsa, smoothies and fresh baked bread with butter and jelly! The games, Like Wise and ImaginIff, brought some hoots and hollers of laughter. One of the questions was “name a cheesy town”. The other four ladies cleverly wrote Green Bay. I was struggling a bit, and invented Velveetaville. The reply to this was, “Hey, I think I know that song,” and she started singing only to discover the words were Margaritaville!

Important to Note: And if you ever play and have the category of gross things at the circus do not answer the bearded lady, elephant dung is the most popular answer.

How wonderful to have friends that want to pray with you and laugh with you too. What a blast we had and a bond we made.

Hard Choices

Mom had some famous words in our house. Often my three sisters and I would say, “Mom, do I have to?”

Her reply was always the same, “No, Karla, you get to.”

Packing my things for Thursday night at 10:30, I thought how some people would think over 700 miles for just two full days at the beach was crazy, especially when one of the days is forecast to be a total wash out.

But, packing, I looked up and smiled, “Yes, Mom, I get to go to the beach.”

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Not Home Yet. -By Karla

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Gary Chapman’s Five Love Languages is an intriguing read. I learned many years ago that one of my love languages is words of affirmation. My mom was wonderful for me in that area. I don’t imagine she had read the book, but she was always encouraging me to achieve or reassuring me when I was uncertain. In January, I wrote a blog entitled Give Me a K emphasizing Mom as my cheerleader. I hope as I grew older, I gave my mom the same support she gave me.

Being a mom is sometimes a thankless job. Some days are filled with being a taxi service; others are busied as the chef and the bus boy. We run from one event to another to support our children, and there are days in which our pay is smelly socks to be washed. Moms of little ones often get the reward of wearing their babies’ lunch, whether it be before it is digested or after!

Working with sixth through eighth graders, I usually get more eye rolls than hugs, and there are more sighs than thank yous. They don’t really like it when I have to correct them. In Japan, teachers are revered in such high esteem. I tutored a Japanese lady for about five years. It took me forever to help her understand that she did not need to bow to me. She was always thanking me. However in today’s America, gratitude for teachers is not always held in high-esteem.

I don’t mean to complain because I LOVE being a mom and teacher. But, sometimes these two jobs do not always fill my cup in the area of needed love. I give and give until my cup is empty. Pastor Scott recently shared a story that I am holding dear to my heart on days when I get few words of affirmation.

There was a missionary couple who had worked in Africa for many years. As they were returning to New York for retirement, they we tired, had little money, and their health had declined. Soon they discovered that President Teddy Roosevelt was also coming home from a big hunt and was on the same ship.
A band was there to greet President Roosevelt as they docked. Many important people came to welcome him home.
Later that evening, the missionary said to his wife that it didn’t seem right. After all they had done for others, there was no one welcoming and acknowledging their service. He felt his spirit breaking because he had been treated so differently, so unappreciated in comparison. I have served the Lord all my life and have gotten little appreciation. His wife told him he was wrong.
At her request, he went into their bedroom to talk with the Lord. He poured out his heart to God sharing how upset he was for the unfair treatment. In return he heard God say, “You’re not home yet.”

I too think Godly moms and teachers need to remember on those thankless days that we to are not home yet. For when we get to Heaven, our ultimate home, our cups will be overflowing. In the meantime, we should stay close to Him, reading His word and praying to help us persevere.

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