What is Your Most Valuable Lesson from Childhood?

I’m assuming that we all have memories of repeated sayings of our mothers. Some of them are probably common to most of our experiences. You may have heard, “Pretty is as pretty does” or “You can catch more flies with honey than vinegar”. My mother was fond of saying, “If wishes were horses, we’d all take a ride.” She also quoted Romans 8:28 frequently, “For all things work together for good to those who are the called according to His purposes.”

Mom lived what she preached. She always exhibited a positive attitude, and she could find humor in her darkest hours. One of her well-used sayings was, “Nobody wants to be invited to a pity party." Then, ..."If you insist on having one, go up to your room, and when it’s over you can join the rest of us for some fun.”  If I came home from school, feeling sorry for myself for some reason, she would listen for a few minutes. Then the “pity party” speech came.

When Mom was homebound from lung cancer, she was constantly receiving calls from friends. I was present during a few of those calls. I only heard her side of the conversation, but that was enough. The callers always asked how she was doing, and I heard her say, “It’s lung cancer, and I only have one lung. We know what that means, and it’s not interesting. I want to hear about…

·       ... Tommy’s soccer game Saturday.

·        ...Sara’s decision; is she going to the University of Michigan or Ohio State?”

·        ...your yard sale last week” or…

·        ...did you and Jim enjoy your first ballroom dancing class?”

She didn’t talk about her illness and prognosis of death. She wanted to hear about life. She was interested in others. The calls were always filled with laughter.

Women, from her office, came to enjoy lunch with her each week. They would stop at a fast food restaurant and bring food. They sat around the table sharing tales and laughter. There was never any sad talk, no talk of illness, hospitals, or death, because Mom wouldn’t allow it. She knew that nobody enjoyed a pity party. Because all of the women from the office enjoyed these luncheons, they established a rotation system. Mom was missed at work, because she was one who brought joy into the workplace.

When Mom died, hundreds came to the funeral home. It was filled with a mixture of tears and laughter. One young woman said, “Your mom was the coolest woman I ever knew.” Mom would have loved that. One came to ask a favor. She said, “Your mom always wore silly jewelry to celebrate the holidays. The girls at the office wondered if they could each have a piece as a remembrance of the fun she brought just walking into a room.” Her boss came and said, “Your mom is the one who encouraged me to go back to college, so that I could be the boss.” Mom had written her a poem on the day of her graduation, and it was her most prized possession. The poem was framed, along with her diploma and a photo of the two of them together, in a prominent spot in her home.

A few weeks after the funeral, someone said to me, “I’ve never seen anyone walk through grief the way you have. You were so close to your mom; I don’t understand.” I smiled as I thought of mom. I shed my tears, but I didn’t allow myself to have a pity party. You see, Mom always told me to focus on my blessings, especially in the midst of turmoil. Mother was one of my greatest blessings, and she taught me through repetition and example. So, I couldn’t have an extended pity party. As mother would say, “It’s a solo event. Go up to your room and get over it. Then, come down and join the rest of us for some fun.”

Four Generations