I
found this picture not long ago among a pile of others, many of people I didn’t
know.
In
the background was the house of my early childhood, in the chair was my mother,
and it had to be me nesting inside her belly.
And
the chair she sits in---well, there’s a story there.
When
my mother died over a decade ago, my sister and I had the difficult task of
disposing of her belongings. With homes already established ourselves, much
went to charity, but a few things we took with us. I wound up with a set
of aging, peeling, metal porch furniture.
I
suppose I wanted it because my mother loved it.
Martin
Luther said, “Even if I knew that tomorrow the world would go to pieces, I
would still plant my apple tree.”
That
was my mother. No matter what else was going on, she’d still be out
gardening, planting roses, salvia, tomato plants, and petunias. Then she'd sit in her porch chair and enjoy her efforts.
We
put the furniture behind the studio where it sat for ten years. Then one day, I
ventured back there and saw if something weren’t done soon, we’d lose it. The
rust had eaten through the metal in many places.
I
told my husband I wanted the furniture restored for our anniversary. I never guessed
sand blasting would ever top my gift list.
The
metalworker we found fit the time-consuming job of restoration in-between other
better paying work. It took over four
months to make sure the work was done in such a way that it would last for
future generations. Last year in October, we picked it up.
With
decades of paint layers removed, I hardly recognized it, but yes, here was a
chair where so many memories were made--where I curled up with a kitten in the
spring, sat eating watermelon on hot summer evenings, or read a book in the early fall.
Then
I found the picture of my mother in the chair anticipating my arrival. Such a
gift.
Just
this week, another gift.
Somehow,
after my mother’s death, my sister and I overlooked an insurance policy my
mother had. This week after searching records, the company made a contact with
us after many years in order to pay the claim on this forgotten piece of
business. It’s a very, very, small policy. In the life insurance world, I don’t
think there’s anything smaller, but maybe it will pay a few dollars on college
expenses for the grandchildren.
How
poignant we found out about it just before Mother’s Day.
When
I see the woman sitting in the chair, I know she’d waited many years for a
baby. Her anticipation had to have been high for my arrival.
Little
did she know that in the years ahead, she would face terrible private
battles--many times struggling alone to overcome. It would have been easy to
give up, but she didn’t, and I think it likely
was for the benefit of my sister and I that she endured.
She
planted more than seeds in her garden. By her example, she planted the
knowledge in me that we can face many difficult things with hope and dignity.
So,
this mother’s day, I’ll probably spend time in the chair, her chair, which I’ve
placed on the patio beside my own petunias and salvia. I’ll be grateful for her
legacy of perseverance and bravery, her love of gardening, her gifts to the grandchildren
she loved, and so much more.
 |
| 1950's porch chair |
And
perhaps someday, another generation who faces a challenge bigger than themselves
will sit in it, too, remember, and draw strength and inspiration.
What has your mother planted in your life?
What has your mother planted in your life?
“Give
her everything she deserves! Festoon her life with praises!” (Proverbs 31:31).