Tag: Memories

What’s in a day?

~ Denise ~ 3 Comments

Sometimes I need to be reminded of a few things so I don’t forget.  Of memories and lessons I’ve learned. Memories I blogged and lessons learned.

Originally Posted: May, 2011

This post has been floating around in my head for at least a year now……that’s right a year, seriously.  I might as well say up front, it probably still won’t come across the way I want it to, but I figure it’s been floating around in there for so long, I may need the space that this has taken up for some other things, and so it is time to just “word dump” it so to speak.

What has been floating around in there?

Gee, I can almost feel the laughter and general overall snickers that are coming through right now at that question – however, I shall laugh at myself along with you because I know that at any particular time I am completely random.

What I am referring to is Mother’s Day.

Why, you might wonder would I ponder on that for so long?

Mother’s Day has evoked many emotions in me over the years.  (I suspect it has in many. It appears to seem that way to me because well, you can get some pretty strong reactions sometimes).

So….pretty much that is what I’ve been thinking about….all those emotions I’ve felt.

When I was younger, being raised as a Jehovah’s Witness we didn’t celebrate any holidays or birthdays.  That is just the way it was and still is for JW’s as far as I know.  I didn’t think about holidays or celebrations until I was old enough to realize and think about what “I” was missing.  So, quite frankly since “I” wasn’t involved when I was younger, Mother’s Day wasn’t even in my radar.  I don’t know if my Mother did anything to acknowledge Mother’s Day to my Grandmother after she converted to being a JW to marry my Father, because Mom was not raised a JW.  Since Mom and Grandmom are gone, I can’t ask.  I’d like to think she did, as they were close, but as Gus said in the movie Big Fat Greek Wedding “I don’t know, I don’t know, I don’t know.”

Sigh.  I’d like to know the answer to that question.


When I was around five I was taught how to play the piano by my Great-Grandmother.  I have fond memories of the music played, the piano and times in her front parlor. My mother inherited not only her upright piano but much of her music as my mother was one who loved to sing. One of the pieces of music that my Mom inherited was a piece  titled “Mother”.  My Mom told me that she sang that piece to her mother at church one time when she was around 12.  I remembered that.  I liked knowing that. I sensed the strong emotional connection she had to the song along with her memories. After my Great-Grandmother’s death I used to play that and some other pieces in the basement on the old upright piano that Grammie taught me on.  I know that my Mom used to listen to me playing the piano upstairs over an intercom that we had. Sometimes I would sing along with the song.

I have that old piece of sheet music. It is worn and tattered. I haven’t played it in a while, yet I can hear the words and music sometimes and it can bring back the memories of me playing it in the basement.

I like to think she heard me singing to her.

When I moved out of the house in my early 20’s, and started living on my own, started living a life that was separate from the JW’s, finding out who I was, holidays and celebrations became important for me to understand.

While I may have started celebrating holidays and birthdays, I still didn’t do anything to “upset the apple cart” so to speak when it came to my immediate family.  I wasn’t “in your face” about it with them.

There are a few exceptions where I celebrated a holiday with my Mom.  Mother’s Day was one.  Twice she let me acknowledge that day with her.  Usually, it was “you know, we don’t celebrate holiday’s”.  But twice, she let me.  Once was when I said I wanted to take her out to eat with my Grandmother for Mother’s Day.  I picked them up and drove them to the Safari restaurant (I wonder if it is still there?) for an early dinner complete with cocktails and conversation.  We spent all afternoon together.  I don’t remember what we ate, but I can tell you as a struggling single person living in an apartment, that was one credit card purchase I do not regret!  I would do it all over again!  I can still remember how happy and pleasant that afternoon was for all three of us.  I also remember Mom being particularly happy and pleased about the day.

I remember both of their smiles from that day sitting at the table.


The other Mother’s Day she let me acknowledge was close to her death.  By then, Craig and I were a couple, and I remember Craig and I stopped to visit her and I took her a pink sweater.  This was the Mother’s Day before she died.  I had bought myself one like it in white.  I bought her a pink one.  I thought the pink one was more cheerful.  She needed something cheerful.  Maybe I was the one that needed to see something cheerful on her.  I don’t know, I don’t know.  She said she liked it, and after she died I kept it and the white one I bought for a long, long time.

Eventually, you realize the memories are in your heart and your head, and you can let go of some “things you’re holding on to”.  I don’t remember when I gave away the sweaters, but one day I did, I didn’t need them anymore.

June ’83 My sister, me, Grandmom & Mom (Mom found out she had cancer 6 months later)

Mother’s Day after that I continued to celebrate with my Grandmother who had always been someone that I enjoyed celebrating holidays and birthdays with.  She was such a blessing and joy throughout my whole life.  (I’ve talked about her and her influence in one of my previous blogs here).


Becoming first a step-mother and than having babies changed the way I thought about Mother’s Day.   It made me look at things differently.  I was blessed to have my Grandmother with me during my early days as a Mom.  She did her best to keep me grounded.  She was the matriarch of the family.  She was my mentor.  She showed me Jesus.

I confess though, there was a time when Mother’s Day evoked a not so nice emotion

…….jealously, greed, envy.

Sometimes I would see all the hype and hoopla about “this is how it should be” or I would see friends getting treated in a way that I thought was better than I was being treated, or I felt like I was missing out on something because of my situation, and then those sinful feelings would appear.  No use pretending that isn’t what those feelings are.  Just plain sin.


I didn’t like it.  I don’t like to admit it.  But it’s true.

So then, I got to thinking, wasn’t I just back to being the kid I was again when I was little?  I mean, wasn’t I making it about the “I” again?

What was the origin of Mother’s Day after all?  Did or does it have anything to do with the fact of me being a Mom?  Why was I thinking about me, and not about my Mom?

The history of the American Celebration of Mother’s Day began with Anna M. Jarvis remembering her mother in 1908.  Anna petitioned the church where her mother had taught Sunday School for over 20 years to have a day to celebrate Mother’s, to remember her mother and in honor of peace.  Her request was honored and on May 10, 1908, the first official Mother’s Day celebration took place at St. Andrew’s Methodist Church in Grafton, West Virginia and a church in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania.  (Check out more details here.)

Anna wanted to remember her Mom.  Anna never had children of her own.  I don’t see that she intended the day to be about that at all.  She wasn’t thinking about herself.  She was thinking about her Mom.

Now, I know there are a lot of people who love/loved their Moms, but there are just as many that don’t know/knew their Mom’s, or who don’t/didn’t get along with their Mom’s.

I hate to say know that I fell/fall in those categories…as a daughter, and as a Mom on some days.

Sigh.

I’ve read blogs about dysfunctional families, (really, don’t we all have them), where they are blasting their Mom’s sometimes, I’ve read blogs where there is a sweet appreciation for what their Mother’s have done for them.  I don’t get a sense that they always get along, just that they have grown to appreciate them for the individuals they are.  I have friends who don’t know who their Mom’s are, and some who know their Moms, but really don’t like them sometimes.  I know some who love their Mom’s dearly.   I know friends who have a relationship that can only be defined as cordial with their moms.  I know friends who want a deeper relationship with their Mom, but realize that what they have is “all they will get”.  I have friends who grieve for lost Moms.

I understand.  I have been all these women at times.


Psalm 139:13-16

“For you created my inmost being; you knit me together in my mother’s womb.  I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made; your works are wonderful, I know that full well.  My frame was not hidden from you when I was made in the secret place.  When I was woven together in the depths of the earth, your eyes saw my unformed body.  All the days ordained for me were written in your book before one of them came to be.”

God choose my mother.  He choose your mother.  For a reason.  God has our best interests at heart.  Does it make sense some days?  No.  But then we have that pesky human brain always trying to make sense of things.

I need to remind myself at times there are certain things I won’t understand.  I need to trust in the wisdom of God.

Mother’s Day.  It’s not about me being a Mom.  It’s about my Mother.

Yes, society has hyped it up and Anna M. Jarvis herself didn’t like what society had made the day become.  In 1923 she filed a law suit against New York Governor Al Smith.  She was increasingly concerned over the commercialization of the day in the flower and card industry.  (See related link here)

But isn’t that what Satan would like to do with something that’s done in love.…turn it back to sin..make it about stuff, greed, envy and jealously.  Oh, he’s ‘good’ at what he does isn’t he?

Well, I’m choosing to make it about the love.  I’m choosing to remember the good.

I know my Mother loved me the best she could.

I choose to thank the Lord for giving me the Mother that he gave me and the precious memories that I have.

qqq My Mother, probably in her early 30’s

That is what Mother’s Day is truly about – remembering to thank the Maker for the Mother he choose for you.  I was blessed to have her.  I was doubly blessed to have a truly wonderful Grandmother who filled that role in my life in so many ways.

Thank you Lord for the blessings you have given me in life.

Here’s in remembrance of you Mom, Happy Mother’s Day!

Here are the lyrics from my original piece of sheet music as best as I can tell:

M-O-T-H-E-R – A word that means the world to me.

Words by Howard Johnson. Music by Theodore Morse

I’ve been around the world, you bet, But never went to school, Hard knocks are all I seem to get, Perhaps I’ve been a fool; But still, some educated folks, supposed to be so swell, Would fail, if they were called upon a simple word to spell.  Now if you’d like to put me to a test, – There’s one dear name that I can spell the best: –

“M” is for the million things she gave me, “O” means only that she’s growing old, “T” is for the tears were shed to save me, “H” is for her heart of purest gold; – “E” is for her eyes, with love-light shining, “R” means right, and right she’ll always be, – Put them all together, they spell “MOTHER”, a word that means the world to me.

When I was but a baby, long before I learned to walk, While lying in my cradle, I would try my best to talk; It wasn’t long, before I spoke, and what the neighbors heard, My folks were very proud of me, for “Mother” was the word.  Although I’ll never lay a claim to fame, I’m satisfied that I can spell the name.

“M” is for the mercy she possesses, “O” means that I am never on my own, “T” is for her tender sweet caresses, “H” is for her hands that made a home, “E” means everything she’s done to help me, “R” means real and regular, you see, Put them all together, they spell “MOTHER”, a word that means the world to me.

OSS Update

~ Denise ~ 3 Comments

I’m getting reading to go back to the park tomorrow.  Making some cookies. 🙂

Last time, I was able to take a few pictures on the way into the park without being noticed or making anyone uncomfortable.

Here we are on the street before we turn into the park, and you can see the line is already forming.

Heading to Finley Park

Here is part of the car caravan with the food and stuff!  You can also see some more people walking to join the line already formed.

“C” has given permission not only to use his name (hooray!), but also to be photographed.

Let me introduce you to our friend Chuck!

Chuck and Denise
Chuck and Denise

Continue to pray for Chuck as he deals with his diabetes and rheumatoid arthritis.  He was interested to hear about the prayers for him from my new blogging friend Miss Whiplash who even blogged about OSS on her page.  He thought it was “cool”.

“J” talking with Craig

Sorry for the “sideways” picture.  I was putting my camera away and took a few shots without realizing it.  Tee-hee.

Dawn said she would provide a picture for me of her and her boyfriend Ernie or let me take one (next time maybe?).  She showed me her paperwork for some upcoming surgery she is having on the 24th of this month.  She told me which hospital she would be in and what time the surgery would be for them to correct the damage that was done on her previous operation.  I told her I wanted to come see her in the hospital.  She was surprised, and pleased.  She made sure I saw everything I needed on her paperwork so that I could find her.  Her boyfriend Ernie was not with her as he was selling his plasma so that he could get some money for food (Ensures, or milkshakes) that she could eat for the week.  She is still only able to eat liquids.  She told me he was eating lots of peanut butter sandwiches prior to selling the plasma and that you can do that once a week.

(I was reminded of a young girl I knew a while back that had sold her blood plasma for some money to pay her bills.  It was the first time that I had heard about something like that.  It made my heart sad at the time that she felt she had to do that (it still does when I think about it).  There were some of us that rallied around her with some help.  I remember hoping that it would be enough that she didn’t ever have to do that again, and that she would come to us for help when she needed it.)

Apparently it is not uncommon for the homeless to sell their blood plasma.  It provides cash they need.   I believe they get around $30-35.  (Side note:  I was told it is also common for local college students to do the same thing).

Something to think about before picking up that casual purchase….would I give my life’s blood for it?  Hum.

While I was talking to Dawn, I kept being drawn to a petite woman sitting off to the side.  I have noticed her before, but she usually leaves quickly.  This time she was sitting close to us…sort of just hanging around.  I didn’t want to just stop talking to Dawn and be rude, so I was waiting for the right moment to leave to meet this lady.

It happens that Dawn started asking about the dog that one of the helpers took home two weeks ago.  There was a homeless man that was willing to go into rehab, but had a dog named Lucky.  Dawn, Ernie and Chuck were encouraging him to get into rehab, but he was worried about his dog.  Once he realized someone would take care of Lucky he was willing to go to rehab.  Dawn said he heard he was in rehab, but was wondering about his dog.  She was asking so she could get word back to him. So, while they were chatting about Lucky, I wandered over to meet this petite lady.

I noticed that she had a bag with some knitting needles and some yarn stuck out of it.  Well, I can knit and crochet, so this led to an opening topic.  We spoke a little about knitting.  She showed me her work, and also showed me a beautiful purse she had knit. She said she works with scrap pieces of yarn.  I asked her if she minded if I brought her some scrap balls of yarn that I had from projects.  (I usually don’t throw them away, because I think someday I’ll use them….someday usually doesn’t arrive, haha).  Anyway, she said “That would be really nice, I have not been able to purchase yarn for a while, maybe when I get back home”.  I asked her where “home” was.  She said “Germany”.

Wow, Germany.  Makes you wonder how she ended up on the streets of Columbia, South Carolina.  Maybe she’ll share her story when she feels comfortable.  I asked her name.  Let’s call her “B”.  I’m anxious to learn more about her and pray for her safety.

People were starting to pack things up and carting things off to cars.  Someone called my name.   I told her it was really nice meeting and talking with her.  She said likewise.

I turned to help pack some things, and she quietly crossed the street and disappeared up the hill.

I think that she is friends with “S” and “T” and I knew that they had gone to the library.  I hope she has someone to watch out for her on the streets.  Pray for her safety.

These trips downtown certainly can bring up memories or stir your emotions.   What a blessing and opportunity! It continues to makes me appreciate what I have, where I’ve been, what I’ve learned and look forward to what I will learn.

Blessings everyone!

Another one of those camera shots from the hip I didn’t know about! 🙂

His name was Bryan

~ Denise ~ 4 Comments

They were just a few moments, just a few words, just a few things.  Words of greeting.  Words of encouragement.  Food for the belly.  A scratch on a dogs head.

We were just beginning to know his story.  He had learned to trust us enough to ask for help when he felt afraid and wanted a ride to another location.

Caring and loving of his only companion, his pal, his dog.

We had been wondering how he had been doing on the streets, because with his dog, he didn’t make use of the shelters, and we had been having  some particularly cold weather.  He had talked about going back to New Mexico.

Now, he has been found, having died from a stroke, his faithful companion beside him.

I didn’t really know what exactly I would think, or who I would be talking to when we started going downtown and feeding the homeless at the park…it is sort of  something you just start doing.

I do know that a strong impression I get is they really want you to recognize them.  They like if you remember them.  I mean, don’t we all like to be remembered?  Imagine, (well, I remember when) if you are feeling down on yourself, and people don’t even look at you, or acknowledge you, it’s like ‘remember me?’ So, I have been really trying to remember their names, and the pieces of their stories they tell us.  Isn’t that how people know they are important to us, when we remember stuff about them?  We may not always get everything right, but when we put forth the effort, it means something, you know?

I’ve been learning a lot of things from my new friends.  (I’ll try to blog about that some more.)  I’ve just been thinking some though about Bryan’s last words to us.

He had asked for a ride to the interstate  because he thought he wanted to get back to New Mexico.  He talked about how pretty it was.  He talked about some other things, but when we all shook hands, his last words were  to us “God bless you”.

You know, sometimes you think you are helping people in some small ways, and they turn out they are blessing you.  You think you are being God’s hand’s and feet and maybe it’s the other way around sometimes.

Too often the assumption is made that the homeless aren’t “spiritual” or “Christian”.  Well, I’ve had some pretty “spiritual” and insightful conversations with a few individuals.  Oh, they don’t fit that pretty little box that society has for them, but that doesn’t mean they can’t be “Jesus with skin on” too.  Maybe, just maybe their ministry is walking around in that pit of despair helping those who need it.   Don’t tell them to get out of the pit, or tell them how wrong they are, maybe they are supposed to be there helping the others.  Maybe, that’s their purpose.

I am sure there is much more for me to learn from our new friends.  Right now I’m just going to remember the last moments with Bryan.  Remembering him talking with us.  Remembering his eyes.  Remembering him talking and petting his dog.  Remembering his blessing.

Operation Soup and Smokes

A great book to read about homelessness

Aunt Jean

~ Denise ~ 1 Comment

I got to visit my Aunt Jean last October.  She is really the only relative on my father’s side of the family that keeps in contact with me.  She is also a hoot.  Always has been.

Jean was the Aunt that I went to stay with on the weekends sometimes when I was younger.  She stayed up late, slept in late, and was always fun to be around.  She still does and is all those things!

Some fun facts about her…she loves the color blue…she constantly knits…active on her laptop….she has a great laugh…and she has a great sense of humor.

While we were visiting her, and we were taking pictures, she said “Hey, take one without your glasses, and we need to stick out our tongues!”  I don’t know why, she just gets ornery like that…(I guess it runs in the family).  Anyway, we did, and this is the result:

She said, “Hey, let me look at that”; wasn’t satisfied that her tongue was not “sticking out enough” and had Craig take it again!

I love Jean!  Talked to her late in December.  She had celebrated her 89th birthday in November!!  We talked for a bit.  Talked about her life growing up, talked about her computer use, talked about her Facebook account.  🙂

She said to me “Who would have ‘thunk’ I would have make it 89 years?  I’ve outlived a lot of the people that I didn’t think I would.” (Then she laughed to herself – I wondered who she was thinking about).  Then she said,  “I’ve had a good life”.

Jean writes in a journal everyday.  She is much better about journaling than I am.  I go in spurts.  She said if “nothing happens, I write ‘nothing happened today’.  (I laughed the first time she told me that.)  When we visited, she was telling us about reading in her old journals, and actually found a journal from 1988 and opened to a page talking about when she and Web came to visit us.  We had just been talking about that and she was having just a teeny bit trouble remembering the details.

That was a precious moment and memory we were all able to share.  God’s hand at play there.  Okay, you can call it a coincidence if that makes you feel better, but I know what it was.  🙂

Saturday Morning Chat

~ Denise ~ 4 Comments

Had a nice visit with my Aunt and Uncle (my mother’s brother) two Saturdays ago.  Well not an actual visit. It was more of a phone visit.  I just had the urge to call Saturday morning and well, did it.  We talked for a good hour.  My Aunt is battling ovarian cancer.  Her spirits are high though, and we caught up on things, and talked about family…both living and gone.

It was a bittersweet conversation in some ways because July 5th was the anniversary of my mother’s death 26 years ago to the same disease.  Since I was on speakerphone I was able to hear my Uncle’s comments too about my mother.

I never really talked much about my mother, and it was a few years ago that I realized that it was partially because I never allowed myself to fully grieve for her.  Grieving for her used to involve guilt.  Thinking about her death reminded me of pain.  Not just the pain of losing her, but the pain from the period of my life.   It was when she was fighting cancer and dieing that the the JW’s were fighting against me and in the process of disfellowshipping me.

The JW’s disfellowshipped me while Mom was still alive,  and my Grandmom told me that  she told my Mom she thought the whole thing was ridiculous, and that Mom shouldn’t go to the Kingdom Hall (what the JW’s call their church) when they publicly announced it; but Mom went anyway.  My mother was stubborn, she wouldn’t let anyone know if you hurt her, she would hold her head up.  Mom and I didn’t talk much about the whole disfellowshipping process.   Dad was the one who usually had something to say to me about it, usually the one who voiced his disappointment.  I distanced myself from home, because I always felt like I was disappointing them when I came home, not good enough.  (Why can’t  Dad’s sometimes realize saying “I’m disappointed in you” can mean the same as “you’re not good enough”?)  There were some “fine-upstanding JW’s” that told me that perhaps my mother was sick because of my behavior.  So guilt was with me.  I visited Mom.  But looking back, I used my work as more of an excuse than I needed to.  I could have spent more time with her.  I protected myself from the pain.

I was there though, at the initial surgery delivering the first cancer blow, at the last surgery, when they just closed her up saying they couldn’t do anything, and in the room when she drew her last breath.   At my mother’s funeral, many visitors came to pay their final respects.  For a while I stayed at the casket with my father and my sister and brother.  All but two of the JW’s that I known growing up passed by me in silence.  One or two would look at me with disapproving frowns.  I wasn’t particularly greeted standing with my father, sister and brother at the casket;  and when I overheard my father introduce my siblings to people and completely ignore me, I left and sat with my Grandmother off to the side.  I didn’t know if anyone else noticed the whole thing, I just remember having my head down, trying to hide the tears until I could control them and put my head up again.  I found out later that it was obvious to others, and my mother’s brothers were furious.  So to protect myself emotionally from that pain I didn’t think about that time.  Unfortunately, I didn’t think then about my mother.

I didn’t realize it back then, but God was continuing to direct people around me, encouraging me not to give up on Him.  (My initial reaction to the disfellowshipping was anger against God.  It wasn’t until later that I realized it was a denomination, not God that I was mad at.)  Two such individuals were my Aunt and Uncle.  Actually, most of  my mother’s side of the family, one of my father’s sisters and one niece came to support my wedding day October of 1984; three months after Mom’s death.  My father, brother and sister would not attend.  My Uncle walked me down the aisle, and my Grandmother filled the shoes of my Mom.  My mother’s family has always continued to love and support me.

The other part.  I’ve worked through that.    Parents that are supposed to love you unconditionally that don’t, well – you have to forgive them for it or it will eat at you.  I didn’t tell Dad I forgave him.  He really doesn’t talk to me.  Forgiving people who hurt you eases your pain.   Part of the process was to realize the mistakes that I did make.  Accept the grace.  Then the hard part…forgive myself. That took the longest time.  Understanding the grace, realizing my sins, confessed, have been forgiven andforgotten.  Grace – undeserved, given freely as a gift.

Sins forgotten. Pain eased. I’m not going to lie and say that sometimes it doesn’t cause a certain degree of sadness to think of memories associated with those times.  However, I can say that there is no pain, no anguish.  I feel a sadness for the individuals who really don’t know any better than what twisted “truths” they have been taught.

Now I can sit and talk about Mom and we can remember pleasant memories.  However, I can also sit and talk about her battle with cancer and her last days.  I can talk with my Aunt and Uncle about the conversations they had with her.  These conversations though while sad, can still bring joy because the pain is gone.

I don’t want to forget…

~ Denise ~ 2 Comments

We want to remember things that make an impact on us, but too often, as time passes, the memory fades.  But there is something that happened last week when I was at the CIY conference in Tennessee that I don’t want to forget.  I don’t want to forget the memory or the feeling.  I could feel the brokenness, I could feel the pain…and then I felt it change.

I’m remembering a young man, I don’t know his name or where he was from.  It was the last evening and there were many young people who gathered at the stage to either accept Christ, reconnect with Him or just lay their burdens at the foot of the cross.

Michael asked me to go and pray with two of our students and I was there with them.  It was after I was finished praying and hugging on them, that I became keenly aware of a young man near me in great pain.

His young body was shaking from great sobs and his head was hanging low.  While still hugging one of our students I just felt compelled to reach out to this student and placed a hand on his back.  I could feel the sadness and brokenness coming from him.

I remember when I touched his back it was as if he didn’t feel it at first, he didn’t even flinch.  But then as my hand warmed on his back and he quieted, he just gave a big exhale and completely relaxed.  The boys from our group left and joined the others so I continued to just keep my hand on this young man.

The young guy turned around and looked at me with a sort of half ashamed/sheepish look and I smiled at him like I would with my own kids,’ like you’re loved and it’s all okay’ and gave him a big hug.  He just broke down and hugged me like nobody has ever hugged him before.  Then he broke off and disappeared into the crowd.

I don’t remember saying anything to him, the band was playing, it was awful loud, but if ever I felt like Jesus with skin – that was it.  I felt honored for Jesus to use me to love on one of his children.  I saw His child with His eyes.

Then He opened my eyes to other kids standing around me who just needed a loving hug or touch on the shoulder.  A petite girl who I hadn’t even noticed close to the stage alone, smiling when surrounded by hugs, another crying girl to my left, who changed from sad crying to happy crying as friends came to surround her in hugs.

So, no I don’t want to forget those memories or those feelings.  I want to tuck them away.  To come back to again.