I did not want to let this momentous day go by without honouring my mothers, both amazing women of faith for whom I will be eternally grateful for having been loved by them. Here they are…my tiny Mum and my mother-in-law with my talented son, Benjamin, as The Mad Hatter.
My Mum was a small woman and considered her life small, her contribution to it small. A quiet, behind-the-scenes girl, living in the shadow of her husband: a stay-at-home Mum caring over the years, for 8 kids, with few friends and contacts outside of her Sunday church going. She lived caring for her family in her quiet faith. She was oblivious to the impact she had on those around her.
She was a card giver. When Mum went shopping for greeting cards, she was relentless in her search for just the right card for the person she was purchasing it for and testament to that, even as her daughter, I have kept every card she gave me. They were always beautiful. She could write in a card what her confidence would not allow her to say in person and she wrote words of great wisdom and encouragement and could touch someone’s life in a deep and personal way through that gift she did not recognise in herself.
Mum loved her things. They were important to her. She had a cabinet of collector’s porcelain dolls, a doll’s house she had been given to assemble and decorate, meticulously done and everything fastidiously ordered and clean. Her home was her pride. To visit her, the fine china and beautiful supper cloth were formally set on the table with several treats and biscuits, sweet and savoury ready for tea. She had a gift for hospitality yet seldom invited anyone in and rarely called anyone on the phone yet was thrilled when any of us took the time to visit or call her.
After a time in hospital following cancer treatment, she was returned home only to find she had lost the capacity to manage her own care in independent living. We had to return her to hospital with plans to arrange ongoing care. As we drove out of the retirement village she just said, very quietly, “Goodbye house”. She knew in that moment that she would not return. It broke my heart, yet she was not distressed. Sad obviously but not distressed. It was a simple realisation that she was “going home” and suddenly all that had once seemed important wasn’t anymore.
After Mum passed away in 2012, we stored her furniture for a time. A year or two later I found her bedside table drawers, covered in our garage, exactly as she had left them. Her drawers were filled with her KYB study notes, her Bible and a huge selection of cards at the ready for any given situation. Her Bible was well worn and inside the front cover were 2 handwritten notes. One was her handwriting, a note of God’s faithfulness and encouragement she had written to remind herself in her last months of life. The other, in a hand I do not know, was a poem called *His Plan*, stating God’s perfect plan for us, executed to the finest detail. She had absolute confidence in the God who would sustain her. She has left a legacy of faith, quiet determination and unwavering trust in God. Quite a footprint for someone so small.
What more can I say! Amen.
Now my husband’s mum..and my second Mum from the age of 15.
Almost the opposite in stature on all levels, Mum was outgoing, proud, adventurous, a force to be reckoned with if you dared stand against her truth on any matter. A migrant from Holland, Mum came from a very conventional faith and upbringing to Australia with her then fiance and his brother to make a life here. They knew no English. She a dressmaker, Pap a baker, and they made their way as pioneers , doing it tough but revelling in the freedoms and adventure of it all. Friendships were forged with surrounding neighbours, many of them fellow migrants and lifelong relationships were laid, with Mum being the driving force. She worked hard, honoured her friendships always, was loyal and independent.
Their beginnings in half a house, was heaven to her. She had a fierce pride in what was hard won. They didn’t have the best but it didn’t matter and she readily shared whatever she had.
Mum had a solid faith in God but unlike my mother, where nothing was ever questioned, after church on Sundays, the sermon was debated, discussed and sometimes debunked, usually at Pap’s hand. Mum would tolerate this to a point and then make it abundantly clear if the boundary was crossed. The basis of her faith in God was not to be questioned. However there was no fear in calling to question another’s interpretation or delivery of their faith.
Mum had 3 rounds of cancer. When asked the first time if she ever asked God “Why me?”, she answered matter of factly, “Why not me?”
Each time she faced her health dilemma head on, no fuss. Do what had to be done and get on with it. That’s not to say she didnt struggle but her life had not allowed for any self pity…. A Stoic. Not having had the luxury of allowing herself to be emotional, much of her struggle was never voiced or written.
Her last months were demanding on her reserves of stoicism. She was weak but not beaten. Ever practical, we would sit in the evenings and sort through her belongings, labelling artwork, listening to the stories that went with each piece of jewelry, laughing at memories . Other residents from the village would come and sit with her during the day but walk away having been encouraged rather than being the encourager. She carried herself with poise and an inner strength that came from her faith.
She knew when her time had come. She looked around her unit as she was being taken to hospital and declared she had no regrets. She had been happy and grateful for her life.
We, as a family, have a wealth of Mum’s art and handiwork as reminders of her giftedness and her memoirs of her amazing life. My kids always referred to their physical makeup , coming from their Dutch heritage, as being “built by Smeg”…solid, dependable, immovable. Their Oma’s faith was undeniably in that category, as well.
Do I draw a long bow to try and refer to the two trees in this blog? Both of these women were anchored in their belief in God. In many storms here in the mountains where the soil is shallow and the root systems of tall trees are only a shallow basin, it doesn’t take much of a storm to uproot them. When the roots are deep and strong, the tree can withstand the storms and stand strong. So, I will leave you with this verse from Colossians 2:7
“Let your roots grow down into Him and let your lives be built on Him. Then your faith will grow strong in the truth you were taught and you will overflow with thankfulness”.