The Eighty-Fifth

Mom passed away six years ago today. I wrote this on December 18, 2010  which would have been her 85th birthday. Miss you, Mom.

My mother would have turned eighty-five years old today but her body gave out fifteen months ago. Her mind didn't make it that long as it fell prey to Alzheimer's. Her descent was rapid and heartbreaking...but that's not what I want to tell you about Mom. December 18, 1925 was a Friday and Calvin Coolidge was President. She was born at home on a peach farm in rural Arkansas, the second of what would be four children, each spaced at six year intervals. Her folks, Jord and Ruth McClure Chesshir, were natives of the small town of Nashville in Howard County and my mother grew up surrounded by countless cousins, many of whom lived on the same country road and most of whose families were also in the fruit business. She was not named for six months, simply referred to as The Baby, a fact that still tickles me. In her childhood pictures, she always has this very shy smile, almost a Mona Lisa-type expression. She met Dad, almost four years her junior, while attending a small Christian college in Searcy, Arkansas. Now, they seem like an odd match due to personality differences but in reality, they were as perfect a couple as I have known.

They moved around, my mother and father. From their married beginnings in Arkansas, they migrated to Brooklyn, relocated to Nebraska, spent a year in California, came back to Nebraska, headed southwest to Texas, and ended up finally in St. Louis. Dad was a minister turned professor turned marriage counselor. Mom taught elementary school for a number of years but she wore so many hats. She was a Cub Scout Den Mother, a preacher's wife, the mother of three biological and two foster kids, a noted speaker, the mentor of the unsure, and the friend of the downtrodden. She was a great cook and played hostess with grace even when she financially was playing with limited resources. She would read the Bible for hours- I have her last one sitting by my bed. Its inscription reads:
Presented to: Nelda, my best friend and beloved companion

By: Roger

On: Christmas, 1987

She lived her life by that Book and taught us to do the same. We could make her cry. I remember causing tears twice after I had reached legal maturity but still have no logical explanation why she was upset the second time, an event which swirled around a food processor. It might be due to the fact that there is no logical explanation why a mother would love her child so desperately that the most unintended wounding could cut so deep. The Lord gave us mothers and gave them the capacity to devote their existence to their families, often to their own detriment. I don't remember Mom having new clothes when we were little; she scrimped so we could get by. In Revelation 19:8, we're told that the white linen worn in heaven stands for the righteous acts of the saints. I'm sure Mom now has a closet full of the most beautiful dresses. We watched her sewing them every day of her life down here. Happy Birthday, Mom. We miss you.

Applicable quote of the day:
"Most of all the other beautiful things in life come by twos and threes by dozens and hundreds. Plenty of roses, stars, sunsets, rainbows, brothers, and sisters, aunts and cousins, but only one mother in the whole world."
Kate Douglas Wiggin

God bless,
Steve
Luke 18:1
http://www.hawleybooks.com/
E-mail me at steve@hawleybooks.com