Think with me as I muse for a moment and compare life stages to each portion of the lenses in a pair of tri-focal glasses. Stage 1, childhood through youth, consists of things that are up close – self centric - like the view through the reading portion of the lens; stage 2, young adulthood, consists of a wider view of self and now includes others, like the view through the middle portion of the lens; and stage 3 “mature” adulthood consists of the longer view like the top portion of the lens. I think of stage 3 as a rich blend of ingredients folded together - the past into the present and the present into the future, the combination which now makes up my “mature” adult view of life.
Somewhere in young adulthood I may have glimpsed that future time and thought it so far away that I certainly didn’t give it too much thought, even as I heard the mature adults in my life discussing the aches and pains that come with stage 3. And then (much too suddenly) I began to experience those same aches and pains.
Nevertheless, Stage 3 is not a bad stage in which to be! I’ve done with the growing up struggles of childhood and youth (thank the Good Lord) and have waded, swam and even been rescued from the deep, sometimes sweet, sometimes treacherous waters of marriage, childrearing, teen managing, empty nest survival, giving my sons away to their chosen spouses, and have arrived at the breathless, almost heart stopping moment of seeing the sweet tracing of my children and even myself in the faces of their children.
Viewing Life through My Tri-focals
Some musings, experiences, lessons learned and favorites from my life.
To God Be the Glory
Now with experience and time as my teacher, I find I want to share these Stage 3 lessons I’ve learned as I have viewed life through these tri-focals of mine. Lessons from past, present, and future that helped produce the beautiful, tasty meringue of the life that is mine. It is my hope that some young woman or young man may stumbled upon these lessons and find help and hope for his or her own past, present and future. To God be the glory and so I begin…
A Sweet Place to Be
A sweet place to be – this grandparent, Nana-stage - to experience the pure wash of star shine into my heart that breaks out onto my face in huge smiles! What precious baby smiles, sticky kisses, bear hugs and new little ones to enjoy in a way it was not possible to enjoy my own children. My husband and I, so busy with the hard stuff – learning to make room for the new little people in our lives, the late night feedings, the mound of diapers to wash, and the often confusing path to becoming the kind of parents we hoped we would be that, ahhhhh, we simply enjoy these new, like our own, but not our own, little ones and leave the hard stuff to their parents!
Another sweet discovery is the tender, deep love that the two of us, my husband and I, have for each other that would not be as rich if not for the hard times, the sweet times, or the length of time spent together. I look at present-day marriages and am saddened by the fact that some couples will never get to the place of companionship and love with which we are blessed to enjoy simply because they did not give their marriage enough time.
The kind of love we now share has less to do with physical attractiveness and blazing passion and much more to do with contentment, deep caring and commitment to the Lord and each other. The gray hair (or no hair), wrinkles, enlarged waists and slowing gaits actually add to the sweetness of what we now share. The foundation of trust and support for each other has made us confident in our love, the kind of confidence that is lovelier than physical beauty and finer than the greatest physical passion.
Another sweet discovery is the tender, deep love that the two of us, my husband and I, have for each other that would not be as rich if not for the hard times, the sweet times, or the length of time spent together. I look at present-day marriages and am saddened by the fact that some couples will never get to the place of companionship and love with which we are blessed to enjoy simply because they did not give their marriage enough time.
The kind of love we now share has less to do with physical attractiveness and blazing passion and much more to do with contentment, deep caring and commitment to the Lord and each other. The gray hair (or no hair), wrinkles, enlarged waists and slowing gaits actually add to the sweetness of what we now share. The foundation of trust and support for each other has made us confident in our love, the kind of confidence that is lovelier than physical beauty and finer than the greatest physical passion.
Early Influences
I was born into a rural Baptist preacher’s family – the first born –in the Byram, Mississippi area. My father and mother were serving a small church at the time and my little family lived with my mother’s parents. My grandparents on my father’s side - Little Granny and Granddaddy - operated a small truck farm and my grandparents on my mother’s side - Big Granny and Pawpaw - ran a dairy that had the first mechanized milking machines in the area.
Granddaddy fought in World War II and suffered from shell shock, a condition which took him in and out of the Veterans Hospital in Gulfport, Mississippi many times during the years I knew him. Little Granny crocheted beautifully and between the income from the things they grew, Granddaddy’s pension, and the sale of her crocheted items, they seemed to get along very nicely.
I have such pleasant memories of times with them. I stayed at their home a good bit during my preschool years. Little Granny, an avid gardener, grew beautiful flowers that filled beds and borders around the home place. I can recall the beauty and fragrance of her peony garden near the house and the great fun I had poking the seed pods of touch-me-nots just to see them burst and dispense their seeds around the flower bed! As I got older and visited Little Granny during the summer, she would spoil me so by scraping a cold, sweet apple with one of her silver teaspoons, and feed me the delicious pulp! She also taught me to crochet which led to my love of working with my hands to make something beautiful.
My Granddaddy, perhaps because of his condition, was a very quiet man and I really don’t recall that much conversation passed between us. What I do recall is that he made a tent consisting of a sheet hung over a clothesline and anchored to the ground. Could anything be better than that to a small girl who loved cozy places? I remember that often in the cool of the afternoon, he and I would visit a certain fallen log in the corner of the yard. Together we would sit quietly – he playing “Red Wing” on his harmonica and I close beside him drinking in the music and the comfort of his presence. Just “being” with him was his legacy to me.
Granddaddy fought in World War II and suffered from shell shock, a condition which took him in and out of the Veterans Hospital in Gulfport, Mississippi many times during the years I knew him. Little Granny crocheted beautifully and between the income from the things they grew, Granddaddy’s pension, and the sale of her crocheted items, they seemed to get along very nicely.
I have such pleasant memories of times with them. I stayed at their home a good bit during my preschool years. Little Granny, an avid gardener, grew beautiful flowers that filled beds and borders around the home place. I can recall the beauty and fragrance of her peony garden near the house and the great fun I had poking the seed pods of touch-me-nots just to see them burst and dispense their seeds around the flower bed! As I got older and visited Little Granny during the summer, she would spoil me so by scraping a cold, sweet apple with one of her silver teaspoons, and feed me the delicious pulp! She also taught me to crochet which led to my love of working with my hands to make something beautiful.
My Granddaddy, perhaps because of his condition, was a very quiet man and I really don’t recall that much conversation passed between us. What I do recall is that he made a tent consisting of a sheet hung over a clothesline and anchored to the ground. Could anything be better than that to a small girl who loved cozy places? I remember that often in the cool of the afternoon, he and I would visit a certain fallen log in the corner of the yard. Together we would sit quietly – he playing “Red Wing” on his harmonica and I close beside him drinking in the music and the comfort of his presence. Just “being” with him was his legacy to me.
Big Granny and PawPaw
Pawpaw was a Frenchman who came to America and settled in New Orleans. Big Granny was born in Mississippi and at the age of 8 her mother dropped her off at an orphanage in Pontotoc. Pawpaw drove a milk wagon and delivered milk to his area customers. Big Granny had grown up living with foster families and had to work hard at whatever task they put before her (often farm work) so she was as strong and capable as any man and worked right along side my grandfather in the dairy business. She and Pawpaw employed a few black gentlemen and women to help with the dairy. My mother often told me about the closeness among the families and of the fun times she had with her playmates. I’ll never forget her telling me that skin color among the children simply wasn’t an issue.
Big Granny would entertain me by fashioning “frog houses” in the wet sand outside the dairy barn. She would bury her foot in the sand and carefully remove it leaving the imprint of the little “frog house.” Funny, I never saw any frogs move in! One Easter she hid a sweet little doll with a tiny pink bed and blanket in the border grass for me to find. As I grew older I spent part of each summer with Big Granny and PawPaw after they sold their dairy and moved to Hot Springs, Arkansas. There they managed a two-story apartment building. I recall taking swimming lessons, visiting the I-Q Zoo, walking downtown with Big Granny and having Sunday School on top of the mountain. Many times from the screened public porch on the second floor of the apartment building, I would watch as a blind man led by his guide dog would fill his water jug with spring water from a spigot outside of one of the bathhouses.
I honestly don’t recall a lot about my PawPaw. He and Big Granny didn’t seem close and never seemed very affectionate to my way of thinking. He was much older than she. He would call me, Cheree, in that lovely French accent of his and I loved the sound of my name pronounced that way. He would sit outside the apartment building in the afternoons, reading magazines, smoking his pipe or a cigar. I can still recall the permeating smell of PawPaw’s cigar whenever I rode in his aqua and white Nash Rambler. He was always busy in the apartments working to make the tenants happy. My favorite picture of him, a full profile of him sitting on a park bench, resting his hands on his walking cane seems to reflect the sadness I think he probably felt.
I knew my Big Granny was a bit gruff and sometimes would talk sternly to me and then love me up, and over the years I realized that the trip to the orphanage she and her mother made when she was only eight years old colored her entire life from that point on. She later revealed to me the abuse she suffered from the hands of workers on the farms where she was being fostered. I think she never felt worthy around many people and except for the grace extended to her by Jesus would have been a very lonely woman. In my mind’s eye, I can see her sitting in her chair or on the couch holding her Bible and reading it for long periods of time. The wonderful Words of Life she read on those precious pages made her life meaningful and connected her with the Father who adopted her into a family that would never give her up. She often gave devotionals in her church and one of the devotionals she wrote was read at her funeral – Stepping Stones to Heaven.
Big Granny would entertain me by fashioning “frog houses” in the wet sand outside the dairy barn. She would bury her foot in the sand and carefully remove it leaving the imprint of the little “frog house.” Funny, I never saw any frogs move in! One Easter she hid a sweet little doll with a tiny pink bed and blanket in the border grass for me to find. As I grew older I spent part of each summer with Big Granny and PawPaw after they sold their dairy and moved to Hot Springs, Arkansas. There they managed a two-story apartment building. I recall taking swimming lessons, visiting the I-Q Zoo, walking downtown with Big Granny and having Sunday School on top of the mountain. Many times from the screened public porch on the second floor of the apartment building, I would watch as a blind man led by his guide dog would fill his water jug with spring water from a spigot outside of one of the bathhouses.
I honestly don’t recall a lot about my PawPaw. He and Big Granny didn’t seem close and never seemed very affectionate to my way of thinking. He was much older than she. He would call me, Cheree, in that lovely French accent of his and I loved the sound of my name pronounced that way. He would sit outside the apartment building in the afternoons, reading magazines, smoking his pipe or a cigar. I can still recall the permeating smell of PawPaw’s cigar whenever I rode in his aqua and white Nash Rambler. He was always busy in the apartments working to make the tenants happy. My favorite picture of him, a full profile of him sitting on a park bench, resting his hands on his walking cane seems to reflect the sadness I think he probably felt.
I knew my Big Granny was a bit gruff and sometimes would talk sternly to me and then love me up, and over the years I realized that the trip to the orphanage she and her mother made when she was only eight years old colored her entire life from that point on. She later revealed to me the abuse she suffered from the hands of workers on the farms where she was being fostered. I think she never felt worthy around many people and except for the grace extended to her by Jesus would have been a very lonely woman. In my mind’s eye, I can see her sitting in her chair or on the couch holding her Bible and reading it for long periods of time. The wonderful Words of Life she read on those precious pages made her life meaningful and connected her with the Father who adopted her into a family that would never give her up. She often gave devotionals in her church and one of the devotionals she wrote was read at her funeral – Stepping Stones to Heaven.
Family Influences
A brother and two sisters were added to our family and I took care of them as my mother had to work outside the home to help provide for our family since a rural pastor's salary was very small. She worked for most of my growing up years. I learned early to cook and take care of the little ones. Once, when I was in the seventh grade, Mother had left a whole chicken for me to cook for dinner that night. I had never cut up a chicken and had never been shown how to do so, but by imagining how each piece looked, I actually "found" all the pieces and fried it up for dinner! Over the years I learned Mother's best recipes that I still use today - homemade pancakes, corn bread, hush puppies, macaroni and cheese and my favorite, Everyday Meatloaf, from the pages of the famous Better Homes and Gardens red-checked cookbook.
Mother probably had the most influence in my life. She loved to read and saw to it that I and my brother and sisters had plenty of reading materials. She signed up for children's book clubs and often read aloud to us. When all four of us were confined to bed with the measles she read an entire mystery novel to us and help us cut out castles and small paper people from brown paper bags to make our convalescence easier to bear.
She loved to have fun and her laugh came from deep within her. She was always a hit at "tacky parties" and church socials. Many of my favorite pictures of her are from her teen years; pictures of her and her friends at parties hosted at her large farmhouse. She sang a lovely alto and played the piano. She and my father saw to it that I had the opportunity to take piano lessons and to have a good instrument in our home at great cost to the family budget.
She would have made a fine nurse or doctor as she was always up to the task of caring for those who needed her. She learned to give shots and administered them regularly to a member of one of our small rural churches who suffered with intense migraines. She also volunteered her time to work with a young man who broke his neck in a diving accident. She was tender and caring. Upon learning that a nearby family of many little boys was without power and food, she went into high gear and fixed a huge plate of her famous pancakes for them. The little boys (we later learned) had visited several homes in the neighborhood asking for leftovers for their chickens, when in reality they were the ones who were hungry.
Another time, I can see her stopping our car to help an elderly gentleman who had fallen on the roadside. She tenderly helped him up, found out where he lived, and returned him safely to his home. She often cried along with those who mourned and laughed with those who laughed. Even though a pastor's wife is often lonely, she managed to keep her spirits high. Those unspoken lessons are indelibly traced on my life. I am so thankful.
Update: I received one of those email forwards (some of which are not memorable) that is a real tribute to my mother. Here is the text of "When You Thought I Wasn't Looking:"
When you thought I wasn't looking I saw you hang my first painting on the refrigerator, and I immediately wanted to paint another one.
When you thought I wasn't looking I saw you feed a stray cat, and I learned that it was good to be kind to animals.
When you thought I wasn't looking I saw you make my favorite cake for me, and I learned that the little things can be the special things in life.
When you thought I wasn't looking I heard you say a prayer, and I knew that there is a God I could always talk to, and I learned to trust in Him.
When you thought I wasn't looking I saw you make a meal and take it to a friend who was sick, and I learned that we all have to help take care of each other.
When you thought I wasn't looking I saw you take care of our house and everyone in it, and I learned we have to take care of what we are given.
When you thought I wasn't looking I saw how you handled your responsibilities, even when you didn't feel good, and I learned that I would have to be responsible when I grow up.
When you thought I wasn't looking I saw tears come from your eyes, and I learned that sometimes things hurt, but it's all right to cry.
When you thought I wasn't looking I saw that you cared, and I wanted to be everything that I could be.
When you thought I wasn't looking I learned most of life's lessons that I need to know to be a good and productive person when I grow up.
When you thought I wasn't looking I looked at you and wanted to say,"Thanks for all the things I saw when you thought I wasn't looking."
I gave my Mother a card that pretty much said this and I'm so glad I did!
Mother probably had the most influence in my life. She loved to read and saw to it that I and my brother and sisters had plenty of reading materials. She signed up for children's book clubs and often read aloud to us. When all four of us were confined to bed with the measles she read an entire mystery novel to us and help us cut out castles and small paper people from brown paper bags to make our convalescence easier to bear.
She loved to have fun and her laugh came from deep within her. She was always a hit at "tacky parties" and church socials. Many of my favorite pictures of her are from her teen years; pictures of her and her friends at parties hosted at her large farmhouse. She sang a lovely alto and played the piano. She and my father saw to it that I had the opportunity to take piano lessons and to have a good instrument in our home at great cost to the family budget.
She would have made a fine nurse or doctor as she was always up to the task of caring for those who needed her. She learned to give shots and administered them regularly to a member of one of our small rural churches who suffered with intense migraines. She also volunteered her time to work with a young man who broke his neck in a diving accident. She was tender and caring. Upon learning that a nearby family of many little boys was without power and food, she went into high gear and fixed a huge plate of her famous pancakes for them. The little boys (we later learned) had visited several homes in the neighborhood asking for leftovers for their chickens, when in reality they were the ones who were hungry.
Another time, I can see her stopping our car to help an elderly gentleman who had fallen on the roadside. She tenderly helped him up, found out where he lived, and returned him safely to his home. She often cried along with those who mourned and laughed with those who laughed. Even though a pastor's wife is often lonely, she managed to keep her spirits high. Those unspoken lessons are indelibly traced on my life. I am so thankful.
Update: I received one of those email forwards (some of which are not memorable) that is a real tribute to my mother. Here is the text of "When You Thought I Wasn't Looking:"
When you thought I wasn't looking I saw you hang my first painting on the refrigerator, and I immediately wanted to paint another one.
When you thought I wasn't looking I saw you feed a stray cat, and I learned that it was good to be kind to animals.
When you thought I wasn't looking I saw you make my favorite cake for me, and I learned that the little things can be the special things in life.
When you thought I wasn't looking I heard you say a prayer, and I knew that there is a God I could always talk to, and I learned to trust in Him.
When you thought I wasn't looking I saw you make a meal and take it to a friend who was sick, and I learned that we all have to help take care of each other.
When you thought I wasn't looking I saw you take care of our house and everyone in it, and I learned we have to take care of what we are given.
When you thought I wasn't looking I saw how you handled your responsibilities, even when you didn't feel good, and I learned that I would have to be responsible when I grow up.
When you thought I wasn't looking I saw tears come from your eyes, and I learned that sometimes things hurt, but it's all right to cry.
When you thought I wasn't looking I saw that you cared, and I wanted to be everything that I could be.
When you thought I wasn't looking I learned most of life's lessons that I need to know to be a good and productive person when I grow up.
When you thought I wasn't looking I looked at you and wanted to say,"Thanks for all the things I saw when you thought I wasn't looking."
I gave my Mother a card that pretty much said this and I'm so glad I did!
Dark Times Come
Around the time of my senior year in high school, my mother learned she had a brain tumor. She and my father traveled to New Orleans, Louisiana where she had surgery on a one-for-the-medical-journal's tumor, followed by a summer of radiation therapy and later by a second surgery. A final surgery, performed with the hopes of saving some of her failing eyesight, left her blind for the remaining years of her life. She had finally become a stay-at-home mom but at great cost. The surgeries had taken their toll on her brain as well as her sight and her sense of taste. My family suffered much distress as our wonderful mother was no longer able to be the mainstay of our family. My brother and sisters suffered far more than I as I was in college at the time.
This time during the life of my family became a sad, dark time, during which my Dad, suffering from emotional/mental stress and various health problems lacked the ability to be strong for my mom and the other children. The family splintered into pieces. I had benefited from a family life that for my brother and sisters became very different and very difficult. They suffered through days of darkness as my Dad plunged into deep depression with breakdowns, ravings, and resulting dismissals from churches he tried to serve. Neither my mom nor my dad were able to take the reins of the family to lead and nurture my siblings and in the more formative years of their lives, they experienced many troubling things.
This time during the life of my family became a sad, dark time, during which my Dad, suffering from emotional/mental stress and various health problems lacked the ability to be strong for my mom and the other children. The family splintered into pieces. I had benefited from a family life that for my brother and sisters became very different and very difficult. They suffered through days of darkness as my Dad plunged into deep depression with breakdowns, ravings, and resulting dismissals from churches he tried to serve. Neither my mom nor my dad were able to take the reins of the family to lead and nurture my siblings and in the more formative years of their lives, they experienced many troubling things.
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