HS #23 2017.6.6.
Mom and Dad
Growing up, the months of May and June were dedicated to my
parents. Mothers and Fathers Day, their
birthdays, and their wedding anniversary all lay within these two months.
Both of my parents died during the summer of 2011. My siblings and I chose for their gravestone:
Served God together in RCA Churches for over 50 years.
As with all gravestones, theirs show their lifespans: 1927 -
2011. The author Henri Nouwen once asked,
“What’s the meaning of that little dash between our year of birth and year of
death?” What do we have to show for that
little dash?
Several years ago I was taking my favorite hike along
Laketown Beach. I came upon a little
stream of water heading out to the lake. I stepped in the middle of it,
hindering the water so that it built up a little mound of sand. Then I
continued with my walk.
An hour later on my return trip, I noticed that that mound
of sand had slowed the water enough so that another mound formed about a foot away,
and that had created yet another - - and several more after that. As I
continued watching, the original mound disappeared, but all the while its
effect was carrying on. Cool.
As a friend once remarked, “Everyone experiences two deaths
– the day they draw their last breath, and the last time anyone says their
name.” How long then do we really live? How long and how far will our “mounds”
stir the water?
My fifth grade teacher saged, “Virtue is learned at mother’s
knee - vice is learned at some other
joint.” Indeed, no matter how old one gets, you want the mom of childhood
around when you have the flu. Thus after
my mother’s death I notice that sometimes I miss having a mother, while other
times I miss the unique person who was my mother – and the person who was my
father. So with warm thoughts of the
past, here are a couple lessons I learned from mom and dad – providing ways in
which their lives continue on.
I grew up in rural Minnesota in the small town of Clara City
– half way between Willmar and Montevideo on Highways 7 and 23. Blizzards were common in the winter, and
somewhat regularly, during a bad storm, mom would send me down to the fire
station to see if any stranded travelers needed a place to spend the
night. Met lots of interesting people
that way.
During one storm, the radio was full of the news of a man
who had left Willmar but had not arrived in Montevideo. The blizzard worsened as the night wore on,
and there was noticeable alarm in the voice of the announcer. Deaths due to exposure
during blizzards were not uncommon.
As we went to bed that night, mom instructed, “Let’s leave
the front porch light on. Maybe he’ll make it this far, see that our light is
on, and knock at the door for help.” The
next morning when I got up, mom cautioned, “Keep quiet, we’ve got a guest
asleep upstairs.” Who else but mom
would have seen that all happening.
Dad left lasting memories too. Back in the 1960’s, living in a parsonage in
Lincoln Nebraska, I vaguely remember a man coming to the house asking to borrow
$50. Dad heard his story, and loaned him the money with the understanding that
he’d return to pay it back the next week.
When the day came, mom prepared a nice dinner to receive him, but he
never showed up.
In hindsight, the most remarkable aspect of that story is
that dad still continued doing such things his entire life. Years later we had
another overnight guest - a man without a job.
Before he left, dad suggested shining his shoes, so that he’d make a
better impression while interviewing for employment.
I’m sure a “foot washing” never occurred to dad as he sat
down on his stool and gave the man’s well-worn shoes a clean and polish. Dad was not doing anything symbolic or to be
a witness. It certainly didn’t occur to him that he was making an impression on
his teenage son that would last a lifetime. He was just helping a man get a
job.
But remember these things, I have. And so the ripples of mom’s
and dad’s lives live on.
