Pianos and Ponies

Dear Jesus,

You certainly know how to make children happy.  A day or two ago, Brenna came riding up to the back porch  on her "borrowed" horse White-Tee. I took this picture of her docile steed and her joyful face. It reminded me of another little girl and an old piano.

You recall the piano, I'm sure. It was an old upright that had been in a little clapboard country church for decades. Its varnish was cracked and its keys were yellowed, but the tone and tune even after being moved in the back of a pickup truck were fine.

Rachel had wanted a piano since she could talk. She ached for one of her own. She asked us again and again, but at that time we really couldn't afford to consider it. When your daughter wants something so badly it is painful to say no.  We told her that there was no way we could buy her dream for her, at least for a few years. We told her to pray and tell you  about her wish. That night she prayed for you to send her a piano.

She must have had great faith because the next afternoon the phone rang. It was Rachel's Grandma. Her church was purchasing a new piano and had to move the old one. She wondered if Rachel still wanted one. If we would come pick it up within a week, she could have it. We did, of course, and that old piano was a thrill to Rachel. She learned to play on it. When she was teenager she was able to buy a better instrument. But that first one was her own personal miracle and her faith and talents grew.

Brenna wanted a horse to ride. This beautiful and calm horse is her personal miracle. She keeps him and rides and trains him, but for now he belongs to a neighbor. The neighbor even provided a saddle and tack and a request that she keep the horse in our pasture and ride him often.

Jesus, you are good to bless us with such things. You show us that you know our needs and our hearts' desires and that you care, even about dreams like pianos and ponies.

Love you,
Elece

A Baby Born

Dear Mama,

This week I was the grandma. I rushed to Audra's house to keep the children while she gave birth to another little one. This time she was experiencing a slow labor with long gaps in the pain. The work was worrisome. The hours passed slowly. Eventually, the contractions picked up and soon my third daughter was birthing her third daughter.

As the baby was born to us and we saw her little self all wet and soft, we realized the awesome power of life, and at the same moment felt the complete helplessness that defines us as humans. The baby girl was well prepared for her earthly journey. God built into her all that she would need to survive her lifetime. Her heart, her lungs, her stomach and internal organs, her skin and hair, her brain, and even her ears and eyes would  make her able to grow, walk, read, talk, explore, and work in her spot on the planet.

Yet, we could do nothing for her except to love her and make her comfortable. We could not guarantee her to be strong and well. We had not given her breath or made her blood flow through the arteries and veins.We could not keep her alive if God deemed otherwise.

It is hard to be the grandma knowing what I know now. I know that this new baby's infant days will pass quickly and that before her parents can imagine it, she will grow into a toddler and then a little child twirling in the center of the living room showing off her pink dress ruffles to Daddy. In a few more months (or so it seemed to me) she will turn thirteen, and a few minutes later go off to college and/or head down the aisle as a bride. Before long, she will be calling her Mama to come assist with her own baby's introduction into the world.

My girl will try, as I did, and as you did with your brood to make them happy and healthy. She will try to never miss a day of fun and learning. To make every day count, but time marches unmercifully on.

I helped my daughter and I watched her suffer and strain and I saw the tears of exhaustion turn to tears of joy at the sight of her precious baby. I was honored to be there. I was happy to be there, and terror stricken, and dismayed, all rolled into one grandmother.

I laughed. I cried. I hoped. I feared. And I thought of you, Mama, and how much I have always depended on you. How much I needed you and still do. I hope that I am as good a mama to each of my daughters as you have been to me.

Love Your Third Daughter,
Elece

 Audra with her new baby girl, Madison Louise.

Mimosa Morning

Dear God,

The morning was bright and beautiful. The sky was clear and blue with billowing white clouds. I drove through the park alone just out wandering and then I saw it, a mimosa tree. What a creation!

The pink and white flowers are so much fun, like fist-sized firework bursts, a tiny golden pollen speck on the tip of each red streamer. The green buds of future blooms are like little side bursts.

The leaves are compound, a delicious green, each leaflet edged with golden sunlight. It is a spreading tree which branches out low to the ground and a cheerful sight to those who stop to notice. I want you to know I do notice. I love your handiwork, your art, your creations.

That mimosa morning reminded me of how intricate and diversified the earth's foliage is. It brought to mind the scripture song we sometimes sing about you. Great is the Lord and greatly to be praised, in the city of our God, in the mountain of His holiness. Beautiful for situation, the joy of the whole earth is mount Zion on the sides of the north, the city of the great King. I love the words "Beautiful for situation."

Oh, Yes, beautiful.

Love you, 

Elece

Dear Carpenter,

Have you ever wondered what happened to your old tool box? Probably, you left it in the detached garage beside the first house you rented forty-five years ago.I wish I could ask if you made the box yourself and if it was always painted sage green.

You might be irked to know that I bought the odd antique at a garage sale for two dollars. The straight rod that formed the handle and fit in the holes at each end was broken and held in place with masking tape. I tried to fix it, but gave up and removed the handle altogether.

The lids were still hinged in place, so I folded them open before I filled the base with broken pottery pieces and covered those with potting soil. I filled it with purple petunias which have bloomed happily where once screw drivers, hammers, a hand drill, chisels, sand paper, and nails mingled.

I know you haven't forgotten this tool box. Surely, you set it aside with a bit of nostalgia when you purchased your first metal one to replace it. Maybe, you thought your grandchildren would like to see it someday. So you set it on the garage shelf where it collected up rolls of fishing line, random extra tools, and a 3-in-1 oil can. A mud dauber built a stucco apartment on the underside of the lid and it was forgotten.

Years later, someone cleaned junk from the garage and took it with a load of salvageables to the sale, where I saw it and invested two bucks in my love of the mysterious. Every antique has a story and a mystery. I can resist neither. So, I thank you for the fun and though you may be miffed at my turning your manly toolbox into a flower planter, you have to admit, it does a beautiful service.

Still Friends?
Elece

 

Dear Ronee,

Thank you for being such a close-as-family friend.  I know that at any time I could knock at your door and you wouldn't mind answering. I might be wrong, but with you I feel secure that you aren't pretending to be nice; you are nice for real. Last week, I felt lonely and sad, so I headed for your house. I knew you would be glad to welcome me in for a hug, a talk, a cup of comforting hot tea, and a cry if need be. Usually, we just have a nice visit, like a visit with one of my own sisters. 

We talk about our children, our schoolwork, our housework, our hobbies, and our social activities. We get all the latest news and views from each other. If I visit you in a dreary mood or in a cheerful mood, I find your ear ready to listen, your heart ready to understand, and your hand willing to do anything you can to help.

It does my heart good to see your children playing happily. Sarah let me take her picture on the swing she and her sisters had made. Joe gave me one of his sweet, no strings attached little boy hugs, which I needed. I love your children.

Every woman needs a friend like you to walk beside and to talk to. Alas, not all women have one. There are too few true friends on the earth to go around.

Love you, 

Elece

Other things may change us, but we start and end with the family. Anthony Brandy

Dear Mama,

Mother's Day is coming up and I was thinking about you even more than usual. When spring arrives and the flowers bloom, I recall Dad bringing you a huge bouquet of salmon pink gladiolas he had stopped and chosen from a local gardener. You put them in your tall gray pottery vase and set it in the sunlight in front of the picture window. It was spectacular!

When we lived in Michigan, you planted snapdragons and pansies in the flowerbeds along either side of the driveway. You have always been a flower lover. I know you would be thrilled to see the roses, irises, lilies and azaleas that I have blooming around my house now.

I have an old straw hat hanging on the wall that reminds me of you. I know you love straw hats, gardens, and the country life. You were an Oklahoma girl, growing up after the dust bowl years, the third eldest of a group of eight siblings. You loved farm life, riding horses, swimming in the creek, and walking in the fields. You loved your Uncle Stoney and Aunt Blanche from Tecumseh.

Be sure of the fact that I will be thinking of you next Sunday as we celebrate Mother's Day.

Love you,

Elece