DEAR CARL
(Carl’s mom writes him letters occasionally. Carl is her only child. Carl’s father died when he was in college. Living in the Arizona, Carl calls his Mom in the Carolinas as often as he can on Sundays. Carl’s mom is in her 80s. She lives in a contemporary world with old fashioned values.)
Today your mom took a long look at herself in the mirror. I stood and thanked God for my multiple lines, pudgy curves, and grey hair growing beneath my Shirley inspired blonde hair. I thanked Him for legs that still move without a walker, arms that still can hang a few pieces of laundry, eyes that still see color and familiar faces, a mind that remembers familiar faces, a nose that can smell smoke and alarming heat, and especially ears that hear you say, “Aw, Mom, you are my forever girl.” Son, I am a little slower, have arthritis, must watch my sugar, and take a few meds, but I am healthy.
This morning before I stood before that aged oak mirror, I had a Face Time chat with Shirley. She had made sure before she left for the cancer center that I knew how to operate this fancy phone. She is struggling with her treatments. For the longest time it was hard for me to talk about it. It happened so suddenly. Thank you for listening so intently when you called and asked. She is younger than me by almost 15 years. She was a source of adventure, fun, and most importantly she led me to know Jesus this late in life. I need her back. The silly woman looked like a million bucks this morning, not much makeup but had on her lipstick, mascara, and drawn in eyebrows. She tells me the doctors are young and handsome. They call her Nana there. She never had children or grandchildren. The staff have truly made her feel special.
We are still hunkered down in our cottages with food being delivered, and neighborhood telephone check-ins. I find myself watching more TV news than I like. It is a different time in our country right now and I believe that we will establish a new normal. I find myself looking at the audiences, the people interviewing, and being interviewed. I try to imagine them at home with their own thoughts and home lives, as opposed to their postured appearances. I watch the daily update on our national pandemic, and I, too, check out the scarf lady’s trendy scarf of the day. When you were young you bought me a scarf from the five and dime store. It was a Mother’s Day present. I opened it up and immediately wrapped it around my neck, it was the brightest orange scarf with huge colorful parrots on it. Son, it was ghastly. I wore it with pride. You were so proud to buy it and wrapped it in the comic pages from the newspaper. I should leave it in my will for Donna. Joking, son. It found a new home after a few long months of donning it with you alongside me.
Memorial Day is coming up and we are expecting a drive by parade. Kids are making decorations for their cars. The office said they will stay in their cars but be waving and playing music. It does not take much to excite us old folks. In times past, we would have baked cookies and served punch to the kids, but this year we will stand on our front porches and wave back. The community is looking ahead to still honor Memorial Day. Patriotism is alive and well in these parts of my world. It is good that families are still teaching children a love of our country. We still are uniquely free, and we have a beautiful country. Those that died serving our country in the military deserve honor and recognition. I read this morning that we are to be like a soldier for Christ, and that we may even suffer. We may not be defending our country, son, but we are enlisted to serve Him by serving others. It may not always be easy but we should do it humbly like Jesus. Maybe if by serving others, caring for others, and praying for others, our country will be a little better for it.
Well say hello to Donna. It is hard to stay home these days but as you say she finds joy in seeing the delivery people throughout the week. Call me.
Love, Mom
2 Timothy 2:3 Endure suffering along with me, as a good soldier of Christ Jesus.
