MAMMA'S LESSONS IN LIFE

   Lately I've been thinking a lot about the gifts my mom gave me. These were neither store-bought nor handmade gifts lovingly placed in beautifully wrapped packages. These gifts are far more valuable and long lasting. Like other gifts, some have been in "storage" for a while, but there are occasions when, like the decorations for a Christmas tree, I remember a particular ornament, there comes a special moment when one of Mamma's gifts is exactly fitting. I'm speaking of "Mamma's Lessons In Life", many of which were verbal, but others were taught by the way she lived as well.  

     Recently as I talked with some ladies, I was reminded that no matter how hard, bad, sad the circumstance, after sharing deep and true heartfelt empathy, from equally as far down in the depths of her loving heart, Mamma would find a way to help show a softer, better, more cheerful turn of the same situation. A good example was Daddy’s sudden passing from a heart attack. People said, "You mean Mrs. Libby, don't you?" It was a natural reaction because she was the one who had been in poor health. After the severe shock had worn off, Mamma’s attitude was, " It was better this way. If he had had a stroke, I couldn't have taken care of him, and that would have bothered him so much." She could always see a reason to be thankful. I don't know for sure, but I suspect it goes back to her having learned it at the side of her dad whom she called "Papa".  She often mentioned their relationship as being much like that of Laura and Charles Ingalls of "Little House On The Prairie" fame. 

     I learned responsibility through her giving me my own household duties although as I look back, she probably should have assigned more. I suppose she saw school and my babysitting as my main jobs, but if she asked or told me to do something, she didn't generally have to repeat it . . . although there was that one time when I, probably 12 or 13, asked, " Where are the goldfish?"

    "I wondered when you'd notice," was her response. "They died a week ago."  Oops.

      She gave me the gifts of laughter and words by telling funny stories, some true ones about family of the generations of her grandparents, creating such images that I could well imagine even some of their physical features. Though I’d obviously never have the opportunity to meet some, she brought them so to life that the longing lingers to this day. I’d so love to meet the grandfather whose word meant more to his neighbors than pure gold! Some of my favorite tales came from her own imagination, including the most amazing things our cat did and "said" from day to day while I was at school.  In addition, there were entertaining poems she'd memorized from her own school assignments. She gave me the gifts of song as she sang along with the radio, or would ask me to sing with her. Her talent for harmony was sweet to hear. That natural gift for music extended to her ability to fill the house with beautiful piano music. No money for lessons? Teach yourself was her way! I see a little bit of that in me, though more in venues other than music.

     She gave me the gift of encouragement by making sure I made use of my talents and abilities. I recall being 8 or 9 years old, sitting at a chalkboard that was on a stand, doing some fancy lettering. The effusive praise she gave may have been from surprise at how impressed she truly was! I was as well, so that made two of us! With the fancy letter-art craze of late, I've started to try the lettering again. Maybe I can make up for lost time and regain what may be a true talent! Without her reaction that very day, it's likely I'd have forgotten some of the pleasures of creating with chalk, pencil, paper, compass, crayons, glue, and scissors in that little house in the country. 

    One day I was home from school because I had come down with a cold. She asked if I’d like to learn to crochet and voilà! gone was the boredom of the day! In later years while working at a craft store, I used that gift to teach others including a left-handed lady who challenged me with, "I've tried three times and no one has been able to teach me."  I promised her if she took the class, I could teach her . . . and I did! Since I knew how the hook should feel in my hand, how to do the stitches, I taught myself left-handed crochet first! That way I could show the exact steps of crochet without aid of confusing mirrors, etc. After the third week's lesson, she went home having learned how to crochet. 

     Mamma also seemed proud of the neat way I wrapped Christmas packages and I loved doing them! I later learned she was really NOT fond of wrapping, so methinks her praise of my joy-filled work was two-fold! Mamma was like that, yeah she was!

     I don't know for sure what is the cause of so many sudden Mamma-Memories other than several recent opportunities to share some of the gifts she has given me. The gift of wordiness is one she and I shared. After reading this, you will be able to choose whether or not you call it a gift! 

      Thank you for the many gifts you shared with me, Mamma.

In loving memory:

Susie O. Libby, happily known as "Mimi" July 29,1904-March 1,1996

M Sue

7- 28-15

DECEMBER, THE 24TH

Dear Ones ~

    Against one wall of the living room of our Central Maine saltbox style house sat the piano that my mother, never having had a lesson, played. The times I’m currently recalling are the years of my first remembering, the years including my ages 2-8, the World War 2 years, when we lived in Garland, a typical New England village.

    In spring, kids got out last year’s riding toys – bicycles, tricycles, scooters, etc. – from barns and sheds, tried our growing bodies on them for size, hoping they’d fit for another year of riding around the neighborhood.

    In summer, being told by the owner of one of the two general stores, that my first-of-the-season-taste of peach ice cream was available instead of my always-favorite vanilla was a welcome, yet different version of “living where everybody knows your name.” Even though I was just a youngster, they knew I’d love that first taste of the peach ice cream. And, about the vanilla: was it REALLY better, more flavorful, in those days, or have my taste buds, like so many other of my body parts, lost something in the aging processes of the additional “three-score-plus-ten-years”?

    Fall of each year brought not only gorgeous colors throughout the whole area but also right into our semi-circular driveway and side yard under the line-up of maple trees that edged the outer side of our driveway. Once those leaves fell, kids and dogs had high piles in which to jump and play.

    Once the leaves had fallen, along came chilly rains and soon after, the snows that during those years, fell in earnest. Most years, we truly had a white Christmas as sung about so often by Bing Crosby on the radio in the aforementioned living room. We also had some sheet music on the piano. My brother, Kent, and I each had our own: his was “The Trolley Song” with Judy Garland and mine was “White Christmas.” As I recall, the front cover of mine was County Blue with a snow scene all done in silhouette that included a New England country church building with a steeple.

    Though I was young, and before I was able to read, I knew the words to White Christmas, likely from not only having heard Bing Crosby’s rendition, but also because of my mother's frequent repeats of appealing songs, I recall feeling a sadness for the person who was away from, and “longing to be up north.” I felt no desire to be where the singer was, only compassion for their being alone, away from loved ones. (Thinking back, it’s likely I related it to my US Navy brothers not being able to be home.)

    I also had a strong reaction as to WHY anyone would wait until “December, the 24^th”to write Christmas cards! Even I knew there was no way those cards were going out in that day’s mail and they certainly weren’t going to make it “up north” for Christmas! Well, guess where I am and what I’ve found myself doing this year!  “Oh, Me! Oh, My!” as my daddy used to say.

    It seems we’ve come full circle not only from the beginning of this message but also to the fulfilling of these words, “It’s December, the 24^th . . .”

Enjoy every minute!  ~ Marilyn Sue 12-24-2014

HE WILL EXULT OVER YOU WITH LOUD SINGING

    When we gather for worship we understand that God is in our midst, correct? We don't see Him as we see one anther, but we believe He is there. As part of our worship, when we sing, have you ever wondered whether God is singing with us? A couple of days ago, I came across this New King James Version of Zephaniah 3:17:

The Lord your God is in your midst,

a mighty one who will save;
he will rejoice over you with gladness;
    he will quiet you by his love;
he will exult over you with loud singing.

    I was looking for scripture to add to get well cards but when I found that verse, the last line nearly obliterated the beginning section! In searching through several books for the root word of "singing" as used there, I finally checked Bible Gateway where in forty-four English versions, I found the translations state "singing" thirty-four times, "shouts" seven times, and "with His love", "in praise", and/or "happy about" four times. Therefore, the majority of the translations indicate God sings! 

    With that newfound consideration, my worship in song has taken on a different meaning. If I have misinterpreted, I invite correction. If what I understand is accurate, I invite you to join me in the blessing of believing that God, our Heavenly Father chooses to join us as we lift our voices in praise to Him.

M Sue

10-6-14

ACCURATELY HANDLING THE WORD OF TRUTH

    I know what really matters is what actually occurs, but, do we pay attention to the words of the hymns we sing? I want to “accurately handle the word of truth”. (2 Timothy 2:15b (NASB)

    As I came across the words from this oft-sung hymn a few days back, the following thoughts came to mind: “On that bright and cloudless morning when the dead in Christ shall rise…”
Here’s what’s the scripture states…
Acts 1:9-11 (NASB)
9 And after He had said these things, He was lifted up while they were looking on, and a cloud received Him out of their sight. 10 And as they were gazing intently into the sky while He was going, behold, two men in white clothing stood beside them. 11 They also said, “Men of Galilee, why do you stand looking into the sky? This Jesus, who has been taken up from you into heaven, will come in just the same way as you have watched Him go into heaven.”

    There’s more. Another spoken as fact and from one of my favorite hymns: “The cross became so heavy, He fell beneath the load.” Does the scripture say that? John 19:17 (NASB) says, “They took Jesus, therefore, and He went out, bearing His own cross, to the place called the Place of a Skull, which is called in Hebrew, Golgotha..” where Luke 23:26 states: “When they led Him away, they seized a man, Simon of Cyrene, coming in from the country, and placed on him the cross to carry behind Jesus.” After the treatment Jesus had received, perhaps we could surmise he stumbled and fell, but we let’s be careful we do not take the words from songs, oft-spoken quotes, or images in our minds to state as scripture. Let’s stay alert to accurately handle the word of truth.

M Sue       9-25-14

SHARING A CUP OF GRIEF

   A friend posted a beautiful piece on FaceBook today that includes the phrase, “There is another side of grief.” It discusses there comes a time when it’s not just sadness, struggles, and sorrows. Since just this morning a stranger and I had discussed grief and how it affects each of us in different ways I found the timing interesting. Having a copy of this poem to give would have been lovely, but all I had was my own experiences, none of which completely matched hers, but I could share an understanding of God and grief.

    This woman had lost her son two years ago and seemed to feel she should be getting “over it”. That would have been enough, but she has also been a caregiver to her now also deceased mother as well as her husband whose health is what brought her to the medical facility where we met. I was able to express my belief that two years, particularly in the loss of her son (though I’d not experienced it), was nowhere near enough. She visibly relaxed. Or was it my imagination?

     I told of my experience with the shocking death of my dad. I was twenty-seven, he, almost fifty-seven when he passed suddenly from a massive heart attack. I’d seen him at Thanksgiving. This was the following March. We lived too far apart for easy visiting and my children were young and in school. I believe I handled my grieving naturally with multitudinous tears, some sleepless nights, foods not having their usual, etc. While the family gathered in the home of my parents for the funeral preparations, we set the table for coffee and foods delivered by well-meaning friends. What were the chances that not only was there was an empty chair when we all sat down, but also unknowingly, Daddy’s favorite light blue coffee mug would be on the table at that very place, leaving my mother more bereft than ever? None of us realized why she suddenly burst into tears and threw her hand towards that cup until she was able to explain. Grief. All these years later and that image has been etched as deep in my mind as the wrinkles in the skin have been to my face!

    Seven years passed and I would have guessed my deep grief had as well, but how little I knew of such. I went to my special box where I kept a collection of favorite things to search for a poem I’d once given Daddy because I wanted to share a copy with a person I’d just met. Following Daddy’s death, Mama had returned it to me, explaining he’d kept it on his desk where he spent hours studying his Bible. The poem, cut from a magazine and backed by a complimentary piece of construction paper, was about a camel kneeling at the end of a day to have his master remove his load, and kneeling again at break of day to have his load replaced. It fit my daddy’s life. It was just seconds before I found that construction-backed page and once it was in my hand, I not only burst into tears, but also into heart-rending sobs! Our teen son, just descending the stairs where he could see into the room where I was sitting, was as startled as I was shocked by my uncontrollable grief. As with my mother at the table that day, I had to try to explain the deep sensation of being overcome by a stunningly surprising grief.

    As a result of that day’s ability to grieve so completely such a long time after Daddy’s death, I came to the realization I must have continued “hanging on until I finally “let him go” during those mournful moments. I also came to the comforting conclusion that God has built within each of us the ability to accept what we can today, a little more tomorrow, and still more the next day, etc., as time moves on. However, what that also means is the amount of grief you may be able to absorb can be as different as your eye and hair color, height, age, etc. from the amount I can accept. Just as when we were babies we grew physically and emotionally at different levels, so too, we can grieve at different levels.

   Who’s to say how much time is the right amount of time for grieving? Let it be between God and you, between God and me. There will come a time when the other side of grief will come, the memories of happier days, the smiles, and yes, even the laughter shared.

Weeping may last for the night,

But a shout of joy comes in the morning.

Psalm 30:5b (NASB)

© M Sue       9-18-14

PETER PERSEVERED

2-26-2014

Last evening Milt Langston spoke about those we've read about in both the Old and New Testaments whom God called who basically responded by saying, "Not me. There are others better equipped to do what You're asking." He was talking about the lack of faith, so he included how often we hear about Peter's having literally stepped out of the boat in faith, yet how he sunk once he took his eyes off Jesus...but he also pointed out the many in the boat who basically said, "Not me. I'm not even going to try that!"

Peter had recently been on my mind, so the mention of him stood out more than the thoughts of the lack of faith in the other Old and New Testament characters.

Peter’s faith started with a not-to-be-deterred desire in his heart. His nature was such that once he was committed, even if he like we, became overwhelmed by the waves of the sea literally or figuratively, in his heart he immediately knew where to turn for rescue.

Ephesians 2:10 tells us, "For we are His workmanship, created in Christ Jesus for good works, which God prepared beforehand so that we would walk in them."

As with Peter and the others, God desires that we be willing to step out in faith to be the people He has created us to be. Are we more like Peter or the ones who stayed in the boat?

©M Sue

ARE YOU A HUMAN SPARROW?

    Did you ever consider how much we human beings are like sparrows sometimes? 

    I’m sitting here at my office desk watching at least a dozen sparrows in our fresh-cut grassy area. It’s obvious they’re finding all kinds of goodies (way more than they can use immediately) and while I’m thinking of how their Heavenly Father is feeding them, two of the little creatures start to have a tug of war over a …bug, I guess! They hadn’t much more than completed their disagreement than another two (who must have been watching their example) followed suit, repeating the action. At least no feathers ended up flying, only the birds when our little dog went rushing at the window reminding them he’s boss around here!

    In the meantime, I’m still sitting, wondering, Does God watch us with similar feelings as I was going through in observing those birds? Does He wonder why we’re fighting over nit-picky “bugs” when He’s supplying us with “banquet tables” the likes of which no ocean cruise ship has ever seen? And is He feeling rather heartsick to see the effects of one’s example leading to another’s attitude becoming action of, “Well, he/she did it, so I can do it, too”?

    You know, I didn’t realize how much we humans are like those sparrows until sitting here learning these lessons while bird-watching this afternoon. When Jesus said unless we become like little children, I am positive He didn’t mean in such a way as this!

© M Sue       9-11-14