May Day Mishaps

Today is the first of May– May Day. May Day has a long history, with pagan origins tied to the celebration of late spring or early summer. In many European nations, there would be dancing around a May Pole, or May bush, floral garlands, and floral bouquets offered at various shrines, including to the Virgin Mary. In some communities, girls vied to be crowned the “May Queen,” while stories were told of fairies. May Day was popular in the United States for many years around the turn of the 20th century– with parades, flower baskets, and more. It is less popular in modern times, and many of the floral parades and festive outings take place around Memorial Day, instead.

When I was a child in elementary school, we made paper “flowers” and a small paper coronet with a loop handle for May Day. I remember making daffodils, hyacinths, and tulips out of construction paper and other craft materials, and making the coronet “baskets” out of decorated paper cones. We glued or stapled the pieces together to take home. Then, we were encouraged to loop the handle over the door knob at the front door of our house when we got home, knock, and run and hide around the corner. Presumably, our mothers or babysitters would see the gift of flowers and wonder who could have left them there. It was a fun game to play, and a way to celebrate the season of wonderful spring flowers.

Unfortunately, when we did this in kindergarten, my flowers got trampled on the bus. It was a rainy day, and my flowers fell in the aisle, where a boy stepped on them with muddy sneakers. They were ruined. I cried and cried, and another boy on the bus gave me the flowers he had made. It was a thoughtful gesture– one I’ve never forgotten– but I remained desolate. I told my mother the whole sordid story, and she told me that, in her day, they had picked wildflowers, such as violets and even clovers, and tied them with a string to leave on someone’s porch. Then she took me outside, and we made a small bunch of violets with a couple of “Dutchman’s Breeches.” I didn’t get to surprise her, but we had such fun looking for wildflowers together.

I loved this game so much, I decided to go a step further the next year. We made paper “bouquets” at school, just like the previous year. Mine stayed clean and dry, and I hung it on the doorknob and mom pretended to be surprised. But later, I took one of our juice glasses from the cupboard, and picked a nice bunch of my mom’s live daffodils and hyacinths, a couple of her irises, and a tulip. I tried to arrange them in the juice glass, but it was too short and small to hold all the flowers I had picked. I left it on the porch, near the door, and knocked and hid, waiting to see my mom’s delight at her “surprise” bouquet. But instead of delight, I heard her wail– “Oh, no! My flowers!” The glass had tipped over, the flowers lay limply all over the porch, and the glass had rolled onto the ground. I thought I had made a wonderful surprise. Instead, I had made a mess. I had picked almost all of Mom’s best daffodils, and all of her pink hyacinths. I had trampled some of her other irises to get to the one I wanted. She only had a few tulips, and I had picked the only red one.

My intentions were good, but my execution was poor. And the result was disappointing and hurtful to us both. Mom didn’t realize I was right around the corner hearing her dismay, and I didn’t realize my “gift” would fall so flat.

It’s been over 50 years since my “May Day Mishap,” but there are some lessons I have never forgotten:

Picked flowers die! Mom wasn’t angry with me for wanting to pick flowers, but she knew that picked flowers would wilt and die. In later years, Mom loved receiving hanging flower baskets, and planters with live flowers. And we had many memories of planting live annuals in the front yard or at graves near Memorial Day– flowers that might take root and spread joy throughout the summer months. In the same way, there are so many “showy” projects that vie for our attention– projects that may seem urgent or offer quick rewards like status or money. We are tempted to “pick” projects that will make us look good or feel good in the moment. But the really important projects are those that have lasting impact, even if they don’t “show” as well. We are wise to invest in “little” things that have lasting impact over “big” but fleeting activities and investments.
When giving gifts, it really is the thought that counts! My mom was just as delighted by the “second-hand” flowers I got from my classmate as she was by the the ones I made the next year. Not because his were “better” than mine, but because they demonstrated that I had a good friend at school with a kind heart. My “mishap” gift came, in part, because I wanted to give a “better” gift, not because I wanted to delight my mom, but I wanted to impress her. My mom was a saver– she saved all my old school papers, old valentines, birthday cards, and more. And she saved letters from her friends and family– over eighty years of them! Not because the cards and letters themselves were so wonderful, but because each one came with good wishes. She had an entire farmhouse of good wishes and thoughtful memories when she passed away in 2023.
Relationships are more important and more valuable than resources. I loved looking for wildflowers with my Mom that year of kindergarten. It’s one of my favorite memories of May Day. And I still remember the kindness of my friend, Ken, whose heart has since led him to the mission field on more than one occasion. No May Day flowers will last over fifty years, but friendships and relationships can and do!
Forgiveness is sweeter than flowers. I was so astonished to think that my error in judgment had caused my mother pain– and yet, when she found me, she hugged me tight and gently offered both forgiveness and correction. She demonstrated exactly the way our Father loves us. So often, I want to come to God with a bouquet of praise, or a basket of good works, leave it before His Throne and run away and hide. But God isn’t impressed by my flowers or my grand gestures. He wants to spend time with ME. Every year, he sends fields of wild flowers; in every season of life He sends friends, helpers, and other blessings. And, more than anything, He wants to share all of it with me. Not because I deserve it, but because He is so full of love and forgiveness. He wants to remind me to “come home” to His gracious arms. He is not waiting to scold me, punish me, or make me feel small. He wants to hug me, and with patience and gentleness, He will offer His Love, and correction. No matter what “May Day Mishaps” I may have.

This May Day, I am encouraged by God’s faithfulness, His forgiveness, and the power of His love. I hope you are, too!

May 1, 2024 0

What We Keep…

I’ve been posting a lot lately about going through my Mom’s “stuff.” Mom was a saver– a pack rat– a hoarder, really. She kept boxes and piles of useless things. But she also kept things that have value to those she left behind. My siblings and I have found old photographs, momentos, letters, documents, etc., that bring the past alive again..not just our past, but our family roots going back generations.

My mother with her mom and younger sister c. 1944

What prompts us to keep such memories; to hold tightly to faded papers, worn objects, shadows of days gone by? Sometimes, it is an unhealthy focus on past memories– good and bad– that keep us in the grip of “glory days” or old and festering wounds. But there IS a value to keeping a record of the past.

When I was young, we had dozens of books around the house, including Bible Story books. The stories of Abraham and Sarah, Isaac, Moses, Samson and Samuel, King David, Queen Esther, Elijah, and then Jesus, his disciples, the Apostle Paul…they were mesmerizing– and very instructive! God didn’t just give us Ten Commandments and a list of rules to follow. He left us with a rich tapestry of stories of real people, and their very real adventures. He has given us Parables, and Psalms, Prophets and Promises– the Bible is a living book that speaks to each new generation with timeless truths. I learned about the Faithfulness of God, His Holiness, and His Mercy in those pages.

The stories and photos that get passed down in families can also be instructive. I now have a baby picture of the grandfather I never got to meet, as well as a photo of him as a young man, and another candid shot of him wearing a milk bucket on his head (He was a dairy farmer)! I can see and sense his humor and love of family in new ways, and appreciate the way his life and early death helped shaped my own dad’s life. I have letters my great-grandparents wrote to each other when they were first married and starting their family. I have some of Mom’s letters when she was struggling as a single mother on a limited income. Many of these items I will keep–not only as a reminder of the past that shaped me, but to pass on to future generations. Other photos, letters, and objects have been given to certain other family members– it is part of the legacy THEY will pass on. Still other items I will let go– they have served their purpose and other items will take their place.

The little country church I attended as a child.

It has been tempting, with the amount of “stuff” that my Mom kept, to just throw everything out. Much of it has to be cleaned off, sorted, identified– and room must be found to keep it! So I also have to look around at what I have been hanging on to, and ask, “Why?” What lessons to I want to pass on? What objects tell an instructive story about my life? What impact will I have on others in the years to come?

One of the most difficult things to go through are the photos and letters my Mother kept. She kept nearly every letter and greeting card she ever received. They meant that much to her. Not the actual cards and paper– the thoughts, the love and connection–the people they represent were her greatest treasures on this earth. And I can’t keep them all. I don’t have space, and many of the people are strangers to me– her elementary classmates, co-workers from years gone by, great-aunts–people long since dead and, with my mom’s passing, forgotten by most. But I will keep some, because they are a testament to Mom’s love of others– her deep and abiding love for everyone who touched her life, and allowed her to touch theirs. I have thrown out, recycled, or given away many of Mom’s clothes and books, and I’m working to give away the thousands of unused greeting cards she had stockpiled but never sent. But most of all, I will keep the stories– stories of God’s faithfulness in her life; stories of how He worked in and through her life to touch hundreds of others; stories of how God’s Love blooms in the simple acts of kindness and baby steps of Faith; in the ordinary joys and tears and minor miracles of daily life.

And I will hold tightly to the stories of my childhood– of Moses and the Burning Bush; of Jesus the Good Shepherd; of David trusting God to face Goliath; of the women finding an empty tomb on the first Easter Morning. One of the pictures I inherited is a print of Jesus on the Road to Emmaus. Two men are walking along, talking to a third man. Such a simple act. Such an ordinary occurrence. But this is no ordinary walk– the man in the middle is the Risen Christ–the One who conquered death to bring eternal life to the two unsuspecting travelers. The print hangs on my wall now. The print itself is not of much material value– but the story! That is worth my life– to keep, to share, to cherish, to proclaim to those yet to come!

July 26, 2023 0

Happy Birthdays

Today marks 90 years since my mother was born. She didn’t live to see this birthday; she died back at the end of February. But birthdays were important to my mother– hugely important. She never forgot a birthday. Mom was pretty sharp into her later years. She might forget someone’s name–for awhile. She might forget a few details about what happened yesterday or last year, but she didn’t forget to take her medication. She would eventually remember that name she couldn’t come up with earlier in the day. And she had an elaborate system of calendars, date books, and directories to help her remember birthdays.

Mom had a large desk calendar. Each day’s “square” was covered in her handwriting– names, numbers, etc., reminding her of birthdays and anniversaries of her relatives, friends, neighbors, and church family. If she knew your name and birthday, it was on her calendar. If she knew your age, it was on there, as well. If she knew your anniversary, it was there, too. If she knew. your birthday and/or anniversary AND your address, you received a greeting card– and it generally arrived on the exact date! Mom did this for literally hundreds of people each year.

Today hits me hard. Not because Mom made a fuss about her own birthday–even special ones like a 90th. She enjoyed getting a card or gift, or having some cake or ice cream on her birthday, but that’s not what I miss. I miss the absolute joy she had in remembering others, and in being remembered. I can still see the look of childlike glee on her face when she and a friend were both surprised with a birthday party a few years ago. She was delighted for her friend as much as for herself. I can remember her insistence that certain cards be placed in the mailbox on certain days, so that they would not arrive too early or late, but just at the right time for someone’s special day. I remember shopping with her for box after box of greeting cards. Even though she bought “in bulk,” filling a basket or cart with multiple boxes of cards, she was very choosy about them– looking over the designs and the messages inside each box. Often, she had “buyer’s remorse” about a particular box of cards: she wasn’t satisfied with the tone or the greeting. In a box with four different designs, she might send out cards with two of the designs and just leave the others untouched.

Birthdays were important to Mom because individuals were important to her. She wanted every person she knew to feel loved, remembered, and special. Because they ARE! Not just by Mom, but by the God she loved and served.

Mom loved birthdays, including her own. But Mom had another birthday. Mom won’t celebrate another earthly birthday– she won’t get any cards or ice cream today– but she is celebrating her “other” birthday today. She did not knew the exact date, but she was born into eternal life when she accepted Jesus as her savior, and that birthday has no end. It is much more important than her earthly birthday, and fills her (and all who love her) with a greater joy. I can only imagine the gleeful expression on her face at this moment that “was” her birthday, and in every moment since she went “home.” And it’s in large part due to my Mother’s witness and influence that I also have a “second” birthday. I don’t knew its exact date, though I remember it was a beautiful summer day. Later this year, I will celebrate my earthly birthday–and it will be a bit sad without Mom’s card and her smile. But I know that we will someday share much more than a cake with candles, or a greeting card or a wrapped gift.

Mom taught me to appreciate birthdays– and to share the joy of wishing others a “Happy Birthday.” And to anyone celebrating an earthly birthday today, “Happy Birthday!” But I am looking forward to the day that I can share eternity with all those who have a “second birthday” in Christ! I’ll see Mom again, but even that will pale in comparison to experiencing God’s presence and the love He lavishes on His Children!

Just think– God loves you so much that He never forgets your earthly birthday. He not only knows your birthday, He remembers the exact moment of your conception, and every moment since! He knows you and loves you so much that He wants you to have another Birthday into eternal life with Him! And that is better than any earthly birthday card, cake, gift, or party you could ever celebrate! If you have a “second” birthday, even if you don’t know the exact date, I want to wish you a “Happy Birthday” as well– today and every day!

May 19, 2023 0

Souvenirs or Baggage?

My Mom died recently, and my brother and sister and I are cleaning out her estate. This is by no means a small task, as my Mother saved EVERYTHING! All of our elementary school report cards, 4-H Awards programs, class play programs, thousands of photos (mostly unidentified), post cards from all of our vacations (including places we re-visited!), ticket stubs from movies and football games and banquets, our old baby shoes, broken toys, recipes clipped from magazines and old boxes, letters we sent from college, and letters sent to her when she was in high school. She even saved such things that her own mother and grandmother had saved! Souvenirs and memories, all tucked away or piled up throughout her house.

My mom was what is known as a “hoarder.” She was pathological in her collecting bits and pieces of everything that went on all around her. She had clothing she had never worn. She had Christmas gifts she had opened and put back in their wrapping, but never enjoyed. She had books she had never read, DVDs she had never watched, and pots and pans she had never used. She had stacks and bags and boxes of memories she always meant to sort through– someday.

As she grew older, she sometimes would lament that we, as her children, would be burdened with the job of sorting through all her “stuff.” Even so, she wouldn’t let us touch any of it until the last months of her life, when it was obvious that she would never be able to do it herself. And we weren’t to throw anything out– only make an attempt to organize it all!

Of course, now we are throwing out the majority of what she kept. Much of it was damaged by being stacked and stored in the haphazard way it was. Some was damaged by a leaky roof, or mice. Many of the things that are damaged were once useful, and might have been useful yet if they had not been hoarded and held back. Blankets and towels that might have been passed on were left to be chewed up or rotted. Books and photos are warped or stained.

I loved Mom, and she was a great woman of God– a prayer warrior and evangelist. But she was human. In this part of her life, she missed some great opportunities to bless others with the resources she had. She even missed the opportunity to enjoy many of the things she obsessively stored for “someday.” Moreover, she saved many things that weren’t useful. Old boxes and jars of spoiled food, old bills and advertisements, expired credit cards and driver’s licenses.

I have been reminded of many things as I’ve helped go through Mom’s “things.” There are many wonderful memories that still can be found in all of her souvenirs. I found an old storybook– one of my favorites–about a Mama Bear and her naughty, curious little cub. “Why do you love me?,” the cub asks after getting into trouble yet again. “Because you’re my little bear,” she answers as she cleans the wounds and lovingly carries her cub home. Love transcends mischief. It transcends things like lost opportunities and hoarding tendencies, and the frustrations of life.

But sometimes we hang on to things, not out of love, but out of pain or desperation. Mom was a child of the Great Depression. Her family had to move a lot when she was younger. She was forced to give away toys and clothes she wanted to keep; forced to leave old friends and make new ones; forced to make things “last” when new things couldn’t be had. She spent many years having to be frugal and careful to make small memories last a lifetime. She became obsessed with collecting “souvenirs” of even the smallest events, even tragic ones, and holding on to what was “good enough,” even if something better was offered.

Photo by Carlo Ju00fcnemann on Pexels.com

Many of Mom’s “souvenirs” have become baggage for those of us who follow. And many of our “souvenirs” will be baggage for those who follow us. Some of our scars will be passed down to our children. Some of our hopes and dreams will be unrealized–unopened and unused gifts that “might have been.” Others objects and experiences will be pleasant reminders of the love that lasts beyond our own lives and limitations. But objects, in themselves, cannot take the place of the actual experiences of joy, love, and peace they are meant to represent.

God wants us to hold fast to certain things. Truth. Hope. Love. Faith. But He calls us to let go of other things. Bitterness, resentment, anger, self-pity. I know that in my final days, I will probably find that I am still carrying some baggage. But I hope that I will find more souvenirs– good memories of a life enjoyed, goals accomplished, and relationships that have stood the test of time. Mom had those in abundance. But some were hidden among the baggage–treasured memories of those who loved her, and those whom she loved, surrounded by the baggage of heartache and longing. I pray that those who follow me won’t have to search among the ruins to find my souvenirs, or hunt through piles of souvenirs to find my treasures.

May 3, 2023 0

Testimony

Yesterday at church we were challenged to share our testimony. I have shared my testimony several times, but I haven’t shared it in this space in a long while (if ever), so here goes:

When I was about 4 1/2 years old, I became a big sister. I was excited about this, but after my younger sister arrived, I had a terrible time with jealousy and resentment. She was tiny and adorable, and she had my Dad’s blue eyes (they later changed to a greenish/hazel color like mine, but everyone commented on her eyes, and never on mine). One day, filled with this resentment, I made a rather impulsive decision to poke my sister in the eye with a sharp stick. At that age, I wasn’t completely aware of the danger and damage I would have done, but I still knew it was wrong. I didn’t succeed– my mother caught me in time and got a stern talking-to about what had almost happened. Not wanting to face punishment and Mom’s anger, I burst into tears and said I was sorry. Surely a show of remorse would make everything all right. That’s how it worked on television, and it had worked for me that way in the past.

But this time was different. Mom was frightened by what might have happened, and unimpressed with my tears. She explained quite clearly that what I had attempted could have ended in disaster, and that no amount of “sorry” would have undone my action. I had to face punishment (probably less severe than I deserved, but it felt awful at the time). She also explained that she was both frightened of and disappointed in my action. She would tell my father, who would also be ashamed of my behavior. Now I was truly frightened. What if Mom and Dad never got over their disappointment? What if they stopped loving me? Not only that, but Jesus had seen everything: He knew what I had been about to do and WHY! I had learned about Jesus in Sunday School. He was kind and gentle and loved all the little children. What if He stopped loving me after He saw what I did? What if I had succeeded in hurting my sister and it could never be made right? What if I said I was sorry, and no one believed me? Even Jesus?

I can still remember the feelings of terror and shame– that kind and gentle and Holy Jesus might be disgusted with me; that my resentment and anger had separated me from Him, and that I could not “undo” it or “sorry” my way out of it. Certainly, I was coming to realize that He had (through my mom) stopped me from completing my evil plan –WHEW!– but He KNEW that I would have done it. And I wouldn’t have been sorry for my jealousy, or for my sister’s pain in that moment. Not really sorry. I recognized in that moment that I wasn’t a nice person or a good or righteous person. If Jesus loved me, I didn’t deserve it.

Mom must have seen the change in me, because she stopped and took the time to walk me through the lessons I was still learning in Sunday School. We are all sinners, and unworthy of the love and blessing of a Holy God. Yet Jesus came and offered to love us– to love us SO much that He was willing to die to remove the sting and shame of Sin and its consequences. And Jesus’ love is SO powerful that it can take a rotten, sinful heart and cleanse it completely. Mom and Dad could love and forgive me. But it would involve more than just saying, “I’m sorry.” I had to mean it. I had to choose to let Jesus take control of my resentment, and my wrong thinking, and ask Him for forgiveness. In fact, only Jesus can offer complete and everlasting forgiveness! I am not a righteous person; others can see that I am not a righteous person– yet Jesus can see me, not as I have been, but as I can be– perfected through Him! I asked Jesus to do just that– to come into my heart; to live in and through me; to renew me and change my mind and heart to be more like His.

Photo by Efigie lima Marcos on Pexels.com

Jesus Loves ME– this I KNOW
For the Bible tells me so.
Little ones to Him belong.
They are weak, but He is strong!

I had sung this song many times, but now it made sense to me in an entirely new way. That was over 50 years ago, and I must admit that I have had moments of failure and embarrassment; times when I have chosen my own will and emotions over what I know to be right. I have had moments of doubting whether Jesus could still love me after things I’ve said and done. But time after time, I come back to that simple truth that Jesus, for reasons I cannot explain or fully understand, Loves Me– He Really Loves Me! His offer of forgiveness isn’t phony or conditional or limited. Not because I deserve unconditional love or a thousand “second chances.” Simply because HE LOVES ME!

Photo by Nashua Volquez-Young on Pexels.com

And He Loves You, too! Right now, right where you are, just as you are– He Loves You! Whether you’ve never known that, or been sure of that, or whether you’ve had moments of doubt because of something you’ve said or done (or left undone or said)–Jesus Loves You! And He wants to give you a New heart and a New Life– one that is free of lingering shame and fear; one that is eternal and filled with joy and peace!

That is my testimony. That is what I know from experience to be true of God– more true than anything else in the world.

April 25, 2022 0

Tag: mothers and daughters

May Day Mishaps

What We Keep…

Souvenirs or Baggage?

Testimony

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