What My Mom Told Me

On June 12, it will be two years since my mother died. I could tell you, I suppose, about the last two years of her life, how she fought, or how we prayed and begged God to stop the enemy troops that marched deep inside her body. Maybe I should tell you about the way we sang her home in her bed, and rubbed her feet and whispered to her as she drifted into Jesus' arms. I could tell you about the time since then, of the numbness that turned raw, of the loss that brought tiny new things.

But I won't.

Those memories are in a different memory-building than all the other memories of my mother, and the door is locked, and I don't have the heart to pick it right now. Maybe another time.

Sometimes I hear other people talk about Julie – sometimes I hear myself do it too – and she starts sounding less than real, like a statue of a saint. Now don't get me wrong. My mother was a saint. One look at our house with all the children and the homeschooling and 80 dozen ears of corn every year and the rabbits in hutches and the home business … sainthood was a requirement in her job. No, I mean she starts sounding one-dimensional and serene and haloed and wearing something satin and lemon-colored. That just wasn't her. Yellow wasn't her color.

I want to remember her today by telling you some of the things she told me. If you ask me, they are things every girl should know.

Find a way.

When I was in college, I went with my singing group, WCC, to Europe. It was lovely and I ate loads of Nutella and saw Notre Dame... and got terribly homesick. I remember one place we stayed – all I remember was how dark it was, and everything seemed upholstered in velvet, and I called her from a little box in the hall. I had no money, so called collect, told her what country I was in, the name of the building and asked her to call back at 10:00. (This was pre-google and instant knowledge.) Because I knew she would. I knew that no matter what, I knew she would find a way, never give up, get it done. I don't remember her making excuses for very many things. She found a way.

If it's important, it will be important.

When I had my first baby and was whining about losing the baby weight, she just said “If it's important, it will be important,” and kept doing what she was doing. Well, yeah. It took me a while to really grasp what she meant. If the size of my bum was all that really mattered, it would absolutely matter. It would be small and perfect. If, however, learning the secrets of my new baby were a teeny bit more important than that, the bum would have to just take a backseat, so to speak.

Fight for your family like a badger.

OK, she didn't actually say that. (see Mom, I am still 'twisting everything you say' as you used to accuse us of doing!!) But she did it. Case in point: when we were really small, my dad logged for a living (and was a park ranger on the weekends. He worked hard.) Anyway, on this momentous day, he forgot his packed lunch and was out in no-man's-land doing hard labor, foodless. Mom packed up the food, packed up us kids and we walked into the woods to take him his lunch. Across a creek. Up the bank. Over stumps. Under branches. (Mind you, I quake taking my kids to Wal-mart. This woman rocked.) She fought for what was important. It was us.

Memorize. Memorize. Memorize.

Since I've already misquoted her, I will continue. My sisters and I were always spouting movie quotes to each other (Mawage is what bwings us togever today. Lydia, oh Lydia, oh have you met Lydia. Sisters, sisters, there were never such devoted sisters.) and she was always saying, “If you kids could just memorize scripture the way you memorize those movie quotes!!” She said with a smile because we were memorizing scripture too. And, oh, how I've needed it. When I was pregnant with the twins, throwing up six times a day, I took to saying into the toilet as I knelt in front of it: Your grace is sufficient for me. Your strength is made perfect in my weakness (2 Cor 12:9). Quailing inside a scary MRI: The Lord is my shepherd, I will not want for anything. (Psalm 23) At moments of self-doubt: Fear not, for I have redeemed you. I have summoned you by name. YOU ARE MINE. (Isaiah 43: 1, emphasis mine) I tell my kids what she told me – hide them in your heart and when you need them, they will be yours for the rest of your life.

Champion the ones you love.

Tina Fey once thanked her parents for having faith in her that far out-measured her capabilities. If she thought they were laudable, she hadn't met Mom. My mom mailed countless support letters for missions trips, sent letters to camp before we went so they would arrive when we were there, sewed dresses so the girls would match, bought coon skins caps for the boys, taught us to drive stick-shift on winding roads, tirelessly fanned the little flames of talent in our lives, applauded, cheered, motivated, prayed. She championed us when we ourselves didn't see much to champion.

Make do.

I don't mean make do in the “make do or do without” sense of the word, although she knew how to do that. I mean that she rolled with the punches. No buttermilk? Oh – throw some vinegar in that milk there. No brown sugar? A drizzle of molasses in white sugar. A snap. Have you tried putting whole wheat flour in that? Tastes the same, much better for you. She was a seamlessly improvizational woman, doing hat tricks we never even realized she was doing. I learned it without even knowing I had. No flour to thicken the soup? Instant mashed potatoes. Tastes better too. Have you tried spinach in that? What recipe? This also works for rained out plans, missed directions, just about anything. Make do. Find a way. (And it is a surprising amount of fun.)

Celebrate the Days.

In our house, birthdays were a super big deal. Not costly parties or anything like that. Just good food and lots of people and laughing. And graduations. Baby showers. Bridal showers. Open houses. Well, Sundays, if it comes to that. My mom liked to make days worth celebrating. Her 4-H training to good use, we had lots of good, colorful food and people everywhere. It didn't have to be fancy or wildly decorated, or really even that tidy. Just lots of people having a rollicking good time. (And by rollicking good time, I mean speed scrabble.) Looking for things to celebrate in our every day lives makes every day something special and good.

This morning, Ellie declared Breakfast in Bed Day. Didn't know how to make dippy eggs? Oh, she was sure she'd figure it out. Threw it together. Had everyone around the table, laughing and talking with their mussed up morning hair, waiting for her to bring their breakfast(so much for the 'in bed' part). It made me smile. She's learning the Julie way already.