We all have mothers. This is a necessary part of life. Some mothers are biological, some are typical. My mother was celestial.
For as long as I can remember, Mom kept a journal. One of my greatest desires was to read her journals. She always said I could read them when she dies, so this week I dove in like a champion swimmer. Her earliest journal began on February 2, 1977. She had three children and was 8 months pregnant with number 4. Her first words on that day were
“As our prophet has directed us, I am starting to keep a journal. I really don’t know how to go about it, but “ I will go and do the things that the lord has commanded for I know that the lord giveth no commandments unto the Children of men save he shall prepare a way for them that they may accomplish the things which he commanded.”
Some of the best entries from those early years--
“I’m afraid I overdid it. At 8 months pregnant the best position is not squatting on the floor. “
‘I’ve been so near to my babies today. They haven’t been any wilder than usual. Jumping off the stairs, couch, coffee table and on the beds. Putting blankets over their heads and running around the house screaming at the top of their lungs. ‘
‘Tracie just put safeguard in her hair, so I have to go now. ‘
‘I wish I could be a better Mom to my kids. They need piano lessons.’
‘Russell’s birthday is in three days. He went and had his hair styled. He’s so good looking I can hardly stand it.’
‘I’m in an incredibly bad mood. I think I’ll ask the bishop to be released as RS president and go get a job as a minimum wage person. The bishop told me to go
eat worms.’
‘Today is Russell’s birthday. He is 39. He has a tiny bald spot right on the top of his head.’
‘We went to the car auction today to get Jason a car. A car auction is, in reality, a parallel redneck universe.’
‘The trouble with being a mother is that you're too close to the forest to see the trees. You spend so much time with the mundane everyday little things that have to be done that you forget to stop and enjoy the sheer joy of being a mother. To memorize each expression and the little bodies so perfect in form, things that will be gone soon, never to return. ‘
I hope I’ll be able to keep up with this journal. One of my biggest faults is consistency. I seem to run out of steam on so many valuable things. I pray that this won’t be one of those things.
From February 1977, Mom faithfully kept her journal. I was able to find 22 of mom’s journals. From the age of 27 until last Monday, Mom wrote the things of her heart, her agonies, her pain, her worries, her triumphs, her miracles, but most of all, her soul.
As Adam spoke about, Mom never shared her burdens. She was able to bear them through writing. She poured everything on those pages. Her goals were all there, and her plea for God to help her accomplish them.
All my life I wanted so badly to read those journals. And this week, I have had the privilege of soaking them all in.
I’d like to share two stories about Mom’s journey as she wrote them in her journals.
The stories are intertwined, so just bear with me.....The first is about our family ended up in her mountains of NC and the second is about her art.....
Mom and Dad were married in 1972 in Kingsport Tennessee. They built a little house on Horseshoe Circle in King, NC . At that time, Dad worked for Bryant Electric ______________________ In 1980, just after Adam was born, Dad ________________________________ Mom Dad and five kids loaded up the 24’ Uhaul and drove to Orlando Florida. Mom wasn’t fond of Florida. In fact, she hated Florida.
In June 1983, after three years-Mom wrote in her journal......“The Florida years are fast coming to a close. It’s been three years. Today was my last in Orlando Fifth Ward. “
We again loaded up the 24’ Uhaul and headed north back to NC. One month later, mom writes, “The last month should go down in my history as the month of 30 years. We’re back in Florida. YUCK!”
The next 3 years were in Tampa Florida. Mom Dad, us five kids and a varying number of cats, dogs and hermit crabs were crammed into a tiny three bedroom house, in a cramped neighborhood. And it was so hot. Mom and Dad struggled financially, as any family of seven will do. Mom relied on her art and her faith to make ends meet.
In 1981, after a year in Florida, mom writes “I decided to quit painting. I have no more canvases. My brushes are all ruined. There is no money to replace it if I can’t sell what I paint. But I just don’t think I can quit. I’m addicted”
And three years later, 1984, she writes, “ I received my first check for my paintings. $800 Hooray! I guess I finally laid a golden egg.”
During that time, “The Florida Years”, Mom constantly refers to her dream of being an artist.
July 1981 “ Mom and Dad are coming today. I wonder how I’ll feel when all my sweet little ones are gone. I’m thankful that I have my painting. It will keep me from being totally devastated. In all my 30 almost 1 years of life I’ve never been truly alone. That’s a lot to be thankful for.”
June 1985 “What a tremendous thrill it would be to be able to stay home and take care of the house and kids and have a studio in my house where I can paint.”
July 1985 “ I want a big house on a big lot and I want to be in the mountains close to my family and be able to paint”
In 1986, after six years, Dad got a job in Hendersonville NC. So again, we loaded up the 24’ Uhaul, 5 kids and added two dogs to the mix and headed north, again. We had no where to live, so mom set out to find a home.
She found a good realtor and spent days looking for somewhere to live.
June 20, 1986 “I have my house!” I was with the boys all day and they were hungry and crying so I thought I’d turn around at the next road. The next place was the Church parking lot. I felt joy on seeing the church. I thought, wouldn’t it be just great if I could find a house close by? I asked the realtor if there were any houses in the area. She said there was a new listing she was planning on taking me to that afternoon. As she turned up the drive beside the church I knew this house was the one before I saw it. And when I saw it, I was thrilled. It looked just like something out of a Walt Disney World Village. And it has wondrous possibilities for becoming my long dreamed of and much yearned for art studio.
Then I remembered last Sunday night I’d seen a gorgeous rainbow. The most vivid one I’ve ever seen. A double rainbow. The whole six color spectrum was plainly visible and it was so bright it lit up the whole sky. I don’t ever remember ever seeing anything like it. It was almost as if I could reach out and touch it. And I wondered then if it had any significance. As I drove up the driveway with the realtor that afternoon, on the mailbox was a rainbow. On the front door was a rainbow. And one on the kitchen window with the words “The Promise”. And I realized that the house is part of the promise to me. The beginning. “
And so began the beginning. Mom turned the house at 2145 Pisgah Drive into a home that was loved by all. Over the next 25 years or so, Mom and Dad finished raising their hell raising children. Mom’s art was selling like hotcakes. With an empty nest, Mom and Dad made the decision to move closer to Dad’s work in Asheville. They built a beautiful home smack dab in the middle of heaven. Mom worked for a year to make the home her heaven also. And it is. She also had her studio. And painted and painted and painted. She had paintings in galleries throughout eastern NC, was commissioned by prominent doctors, lawyers for landscapes and portraits. She opened an Ebay store to sell her smaller works of art. According to Dad, Mom was the happiest she’d ever been, although her body was wearing out. Last summer, Mom had reconstructive back surgery to hopefully fix her lifelong back pains.
When Jason called me on Monday to tell me that Mom had died, my first thought was “No, she can’t be, she isn’t finished yet”. All us kids made a bee line for Weaverville to be with Dad. I know it sounds a bit deranged, but part of me was so excited to finally be able to read her journals. The first place I went was her bedroom. On the table next to her bed, was one of her many journals. And I opened it to an entry dated in April a year ago.
"To my progeny - know I love you - you are never far from my thoughts and prayers. And now it would seem I am YOUR angel - look for me in the sky. I will be as the butterfly or the rainbow in the distant cloud. You may feel the touch of my hand caressing your cheek or arms or gently blowing your hair. But fear not - I am there - always, always loving you..."
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