Me Thinks

This happy lady is Phyllis Clements, my husband's aunt.  She recently passed away at the age of 106 and I loved learning about her during her funeral. Since then I have read the life history she wrote. Here are some highlights from her life history that made an impression on me:

I am grateful for my life--the bad times as well as the good. I do not mean, that I enjoy sorrow and suffering but without them I would never have known the manifestations of love both from friends and family but also from my Father in Heaven. 

I wish I could say that I never asked for anything he could not provide. On the occasion of LuNone's high school graduation, my parents had scraped together what they could to get her graduation things--an orange chiffon dress and beige shoes. I began to pull a long face because my shoes were falling apart, and I had a date (probably my first one). My father came and put his arms around me and hugged me close. "Don't feel bad, Sis," he said. "Next time it will be your turn." Then I really howled, not so much for me then, but for him. I hated myself. Oh, shoes! During those Depression years, I developed a great complex about them--shoes and couches, or davenports as we called them. I decided that someday I would have shoes to fill a closet and a davenport in every room.  

We had no radio, stereo, television or any means of making music at home except our voices. So we sang. We sang and sang. Devar and I sang together, alto and soprano. He had a clear, fine voice and mother taught us how to harmonize. We sang on the harrow. We sang after we had gone to bed, on the horses, picking our way barefoot through the brush and rocks on the dry farm.  

Later on, after I was married and Diane was ten years old, Denton got our piano for Mother's Day. It was not new either, but it has always been a good piano and all the children, including Patti, have learned to play on it. We decided that no matter what else we had to go without, the children should all take piano lessons, and they did. Sometimes we drove an old car. Our vacations were limited to quick family visits and our entertainment picnics and an occasional movie. Once we had to sell a good cow to pay for the lessons. But what an investment! The dividends have been so high in enjoyment and service, in culture and self-fulfillment. The piano still is the center of family gatherings. It is a bit more worn perhaps, but it has a good tone, a good touch and a piano tuner told me he would rather have it than a new one.  

Motherhood to me was truly an awakening. I can still see each one of our children as a baby, so small, so perfect, black hair and sturdy bodies. The protective feeling that came to me then has never left. It is almost like the fierceness of a mother lion with her cubs. I feel a need to protect and guard them against everything that would be harmful or ultimately bring unhappiness. Of course, I had never taken any motherhood lessons and I'm sure I made many mistakes. My heavenly parents probably shook their heads in despair as often as did my children. 

I too marvel at the generosity of God when He gave us this earth for a home. I have become fond and a part of so many things. Shall I not miss them when I go? How can I leave my gardening--the preparing of the soil, each spring and the planting--seeing the first leaves forming and the perfect flowers. I should feel more at home if I could take my quilt blocks and sewing machine. Do they have sewing machines in heaven? And how could I go and leave behind my paint box? Shall I not yearn again to put a picture on canvas once I leave this earth, and the books and the piano--and shall I even be permitted to record my thoughts if I leave behind my pen and notebook? Could I but pack my recipe box and take it with me. They have been so useful as family and friends have surrounded our table. I think I should like to take a warm blanket as I hate so much to be cold. But most unbearable of all is leaving behind the children, big ones and little ones, to grow without me. It has been such a joy sharing their lives in whatever way we have been able. There must be compensatory joys in heaven. At any rate no one ever seems to come back.  

I thought about my own home and the things I had used and lived with for many years and what could an observer see of my life, I wondered. Would they see in my kitchen the reminders of many family meals--of children and a husband surrounding our table? Could they know of our love of books and see children and grownups alike with their heads bowed over some of them in the evenings? Would they see out the kitchen door the flowers and bushes that were planted and cared for with love and appreciation, and would have to be left behind as we took our leave heavenward--the books, the flowers, and the baking supplies. O I should be so lonely without them. Perhaps they have flowers in heaven. But of this I am sure--I pray that I shall see my good husband and sturdy beautiful children surrounding my heavenly table.