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A Mother’s Dream

On By AnnIn Family, Letters to Septanna, Nature8 Comments

Soon I will be traveling to spend a special birthday with my youngest, a beautiful woman now of 24 years. By this time next year she’ll have a child of her own crawling around, maybe tottering some first steps. I recall the wonder and anticipation I felt awaiting her arrival. And I remember the instant love, a mother’s bond, a determination to do whatever I could to see that she had a chance for a meaningful life.  I would give my life for my children. I suspect that many mothers–and fathers–feel this way toward a new life entrusted to them.

That was about the time when I renewed my interest in protecting the earth, our home planet, to preserve its vitality for generations to come. I wanted my children to experience the beauty of nature, to revel in the wilderness as I had when young. I wanted them to grow up with principles, and goals, and a sense of justice for the good of all, even wild creatures of God’s creation.

I imagined that mothers the world over held high hopes for a new baby, though the hopes might differ in their content. How would my hopes for a child in Kansas differ from the hopes of a new mother in Haiti? What hopes do new mothers harbor today? What hopes do you have for your new sons or daughters?

Below is a poem written when my youngest was weeks old. Thanks to my good friend, Lynne Hunter, for the photos from Haiti.

A Mother’s Dream

From a Kansas perspective                                            From a Haitian Perspective

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Her brown eyes filled with wonder at the moment of her birth

And they have yet to lose the spark that miracle did place.

I wonder, Baby Girl of mine, as you arrive on Earth

What is your future?  Can I see a hint within your face?

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His brown eyes filled with wonder at the moment of his birth.

But will that spark begin to dim, this miracle a waste?

I wonder, Baby Boy of mine, as you arrive on Earth

What is your future?  Will you be granted one with grace?

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My girl, I thank the Powers that be for your sake on this day.

There is a list for which you’ll never have to pray.

A home with food and clothing and a roomy place to play,

Security for all you need to make a life each day.

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My boy, I thank the Powers that be for your sake on this day.

There is a list for which you’ll never have to pray.

A character built up through need, through learning to say nay;

You will be patient, understanding, quick to share your play.

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And yet, my child, there are some things that I would ask for you.

Dear God, please give her challenges enough to grow within.

Spare her the clutter of a life empty of all that’s true;

Too many options, too much ease, affluence her great sin.

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My child, there are a lot of things I ask in your behalf.

Kind Father, grant his needs be met so he’ll become a man.

Give him this year good nourishment.  Protect him with your staff.

See that he grows to have a chance and thus fulfill your plan.

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My little child, whose birth inspired in me unequalled awe—

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I’d give my life if I could know your innocence will prevail.

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Lord, give her character built by patience; teach your loving law—

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Dear God, protect him; let him grow; our hope do not impale.

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My girl, refuse a life of idle ease.

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                                                            Son, learn to fight. Do not let go of things you need.

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                Daughter, reject the load of justices denied to others so we can live right.

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Grow up my son.

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Be strong, my girl.  Choose your road with care.

 

His brown eyes filled with wonder at the moment of his birth

And they have yet to lose the spark that miracle did place.

I wonder, Baby Boy of mine, as you arrive on Earth

What is your future?  Can I see a hint within your face?

20110527_180 (2)

Her brown eyes filled with wonder at the moment of her birth.

But will that spark begin to dim, this miracle a waste?

I wonder, Baby Girl of mine, as you arrive on Earth

What is your future?  Will you be granted one with grace?

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Christmas is a family time

On By AnnIn FamilyLeave a comment

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I baked cookies yesterday.  Funny how simple things flood my mind with memories.  The recipes are family traditions.  Using recipe cards hand-written by my parents or grandmother, I find myself thinking of them.  Their contributions to our holiday table continue long past their days on earth.

Many memories of Mother involve simple, delicious, baked goods.  She was known for fixing a certain apple coffee cake whenever any of her progeny visited—and sending it home with us.  In a visit with my younger sister on the sixty-second anniversary of their wedding, we noted how this same recipe has found its way into the next generation or two.  Mother would be pleased.

Grandma Georgia baked cookies.  Her son, my dad, was a cookie lover.  In his retirement years, he mastered his mother’s recipes and shared the products with the rest of us.  Keeping the tradition, I pulled out the recipe for molasses sugar cookies and whipped up a batch.  The smells and the tastes coming from my oven brought Daddy and Grandma vividly to mind.

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Somehow, I ended up with my grandmother’s recipe box.  It is full of recipe cards in her own handwriting.   The collection is precious beyond words.  Gone from earth more than twenty years, it’s almost as if she lives within those inked cards.

Expert cooks from my past also provided recipes for contentment and success in life.  Ironically, their lessons become more clear the longer I live without them.

Christmas is a family time and I find myself missing my parents very much.  Through memories and traditions, they live in my heart.  My children scatter across the miles to establish homes of their own.  Some of these traditions live in their lives also.  We weave threads that show up in tapestries that link different generations together.  It’s hard to predict when the connections will show up in the lives of our children.  But when they do, it’s like Christmas any day in my heart.

Thank you, Mother and Daddy.  Thank you, Grandma Georgia and Grandmother Mary.  I remember you at Christmas time with deep gratitude.