The Passing of the Family Patriarch

Just past midnight I received a text from my daughter Keicha telling me her paternal grandfather had passed away. I'm so grateful I had the opportunity to spend some time with him this fall.  He was a dear and special man in my life. 

On February 14, 1966, I went to work at the Internal Revenue Service in Ogden, Utah.  On that same day, another young man also started working at this same place.  We met two days later, and it was clear that we were quite taken by each other.  We would marry six months later.  

My dear in-laws were our only attendants when my former husband and I married.  I loved these two people as if they were my very own parents.  They always treated me as if I were their daughter.  I could never have picked finer in-laws.  Now, both of them are gone.  

Dad, as I called my father-in-law, worked at IRS during the night shift.  After I was married, and when I was pregnant with my first child, Dad and I would often eat our dinner together at work.  He always checked in on me during break to see how I was doing.  Once, someone asked me who the man was I kept talking to at work.  "I even see you eating lunch with him," the person noted.  I said, "Oh, that is my father-in-law."  The person responded on how young he looked and remarked that they could not believe he was really just my father-in-law.  

He was a young and good looking man in those days.  He was only twenty years or so older than I, but he was very fit and active, so I guess I can understand how people questioned who he really was.  Dad was a river runner, a fisherman, a gardener, and had been quite a skier back in his day. 

Unfortunately, the marriage between my first husband and myself did not last, but my respect for and love for his parents never diminished.  Over the years, they both always treated me with great love and respect also, and I always looked forward to seeing them when I was in Utah, or on the few occasions when they came to Colorado to visit.  This past fall,  I am so grateful I had the see my dear father-in-law one last time.  Below is an account of the occasion:

I think we all have places that have become central to us when we look back on our lives.  Certainly the home of my former in-laws is one of those places for me.  It was in this home where I first got to know my former husband and his family.  Fifty years ago last month, I left this house to walk across the street to the church on the corner to marry my former husband and father of my children.  

Nearly every Sunday afternoon or evening during the years my family was young when I lived in Utah, we would visit Grandma and Grandpa at their home.  Often we were treated with homemade raspberry ice cream made by Grandpa.  The raspberries came from his garden.   His garden kept his grown family and probably half of the neighborhood in fresh produce throughout the summer for as long as I can remember.  How I loved those fresh tomatoes from his garden.  Often, my lunch consisted of just garden fresh tomatoes from Grandpa.

The backyard was the gathering place for so many summer evening picnics to celebrate a birthday, a baby shower, or Father's Day. I asked Grandpa how his garden was doing, and he said he only had a few tomato plants that had not done well this year, oh, and of course there were the raspberries.  And, there had been some good peaches earlier, he said.

Hoping to find some raspberries, Bridger and I headed to the backyard.  We were in luck.  There were a few delicious ripe raspberries waiting to be picked and eaten.  

Keicha came out to see what we were doing.  As she stood on the stairs of the deck memories of the day she walked down those stairs on her wedding day to be married in this very yard also came flooding back.  

My former father-in-law, now in his early 90's,  is a bit stooped over, and he said he can't hear or see "too good," but his voice was strong as he asked for all of the the children and grandchildren, my husband, and for my mother.  He told about a book he was reading.  He reminisced  a bit about the days he was a pilot for Bridger.  His once youthful, handsome face now seemed as if it had been refined by the years he has lived.  He has always been such a kind and good man to me.  Always.  I kissed him on the cheek when we left and told him I loved him.  He remains "Dad" to me.  It was hard to visit him and know that "Mother" is no longer there with him.  I'm so grateful to have had this short visit with him.

*******

It is hard to imagine life without Grandpa Chris in it.  I will forever be grateful that he was a part of my life.  I am also grateful that he was such a great grandfather to my children and grandchildren.  All of them adored him.  I was blessed when I married into his family, and he continued to be a blessing to the generations that were added to his family.  We all will miss him terribly.  He was one of the greatest generation, and he was one of the finest examples of devotion to home, family, church, and country that his generation produced.  My heart is so very sad to see him pass to the next life, but I am grateful to know he no longer suffering and in pain.  My heartfelt condolences go out to his children and grandchildren.  God bless you all.

Christmas Present: A Time of Modern Celebration ~ A Need for The Ageless Message

The onslaught of messages on just what would make the perfect

Christmas present come long before November.

Christmas catalogs, mailers, newspaper inserts heralding sales on the perfect Christmas gift, pile up in the mailbox and on the table.

Texts are sent to grandchildren inquiring just which gift would be perfect for them.

Shopping commences at malls, in local shops, and online.

This is Christmas present.

It all seems so complicated -

the way we do Christmas present.

A modern and technologically savvy grandma with “old school” habits,

 I write post it notes and stick them to my phone as I scurry about

trying to find the perfect Christmas present.

I check the lists and where to find the gifts.

“What size will fit each now nearly grown grandchild,” I ask myself,

“and will I find something in budget in that size.”

The gifts are all simple really, but Grandma wants all the grandchildren to have a

Christmas gift from her to open.

Shopping, shopping, shopping, I scurry about before I head home.

I check the budget.

I check the checking account.

I run out of checks, still have a bit of money, but can’t find more checks.

“Good thing I’m buying gifts and not sending checks,” I think.

I note the last check is numbered 1225

Wrapping is done in paper from remnants that remain from years gone by because I forgot to put new paper on the list of things I need.

 I find a nearly empty roll of tape. 

I have no ribbon and the bows that remain are smashed and ruined.

Christmas Present is wrapped in leftovers from Christmas Past.

Boxes are found, filled, and shipped.

Hoping to create the perfect Christmas Present,

I arduously haul up boxes of decorations with which to decorate the house.

I both delight in and cry over the memories that escape those boxes holding memories from so many Christmas Pasts.

“Will the children, none living near me, even make it home for Christmas?” I wonder, “And if they don’t, just why am I going to all this work?”

My heart is touched by memories as I hang each ornament, but honestly,  

I am mostly doing all of this decorating for

Christmas Present

perfunctorily,

as if I’m doing

a routine duty,

superficially.

There is no true Christmas spirit being conjured up within my heart or mind.

Christmas Present is filled with messages:

This year be present for Christmas.

 Be the present to someone else this Christmas.

Your presence is the present.

It no longer is Christmas Past, I tell myself as I the Ghost of Grandmother French reminds me of all the candy, cookies, pies, and fruit cakes she made to prepare for a Merry Christmas where all the family gathered in her home.

It is not 1950.

It is 2016.

 Christmas Present is complex.

************

On the fourth Sunday of Advent,

One week before Christmas,

I search for something festive that fits to wear to church.

Festive clothing hanging in the closet screams of Christmas Past when I could fit into those clothes.

Finally, I conjure up some sort of outfit that will be suitable for the tradition that I carry in my head.  The tradition dictates that I must clothe myself in festive, dressy attire to attend church.

Most folks never wear dressy clothes to church these days,

but I am stuck in Christmas Past.

After all, if I dress the part, won’t I feel like I have the Christmas spirit?

I walk into church feeling like I am in costume,

masquerading as one whose heart is ready for the final week of Advent.

The music leader tells us that yellow strips of paper on in the bulletin.  We are to take them and write on them all that is keeping us from worshiping Jesus this year.  What is filling our hearts and minds instead of the One we came to worship? What is robbing us of our joy?  I turn and look at my husband.  He mouths the words I don’t want to hear.  He knows what it is that I am focused on. 

How do I write those words on that strip of paper?  They would reveal just who I am and what thoughts rob me of my joy and keep me from Jesus.  Will anyone read these?  I worry that someone might.  I print the words.  I don’t want the pastors to recognize my handwriting.  Will I be known as the woman masquerading around dressed in Christmas cheer when she really feels no good cheer at all?  Will my lack of faith in believing that God is able to answer the prayers that I keep as constant requests on my heart be exposed? 

I write down those robbers of joy and peace and hope anyway.  I write down what is keeping me from worshiping the one I came to worship.  I write down what keeps me from Jesus on His birthday. 

We are reminded that all that keeps us from God, from worshiping His Son, His Gift to us, is just straw. Straw.  I write down my confession on that yellow strip of paper and carry it to the front of the church and drop it in a simple, rough-hewn wooden manger.  Other strips of paper filled with other confessions are also strewn in that manger.  The replica of the place where Baby Jesus would be placed has become a straw filled receptacle containing not the Christ child, the baby Jesus, but instead it holds the confessions of a people who need a Savior, One to save them from all the things of this world that bring no joy, no peace, no hope.  This manger at the front of church is a crib filled with pain and sorrow and envy and pride and materialism and striving that will burn like straw.  It is filled with worthless things.

It is such a bed as this that would hold the One who came to save us from our sins, the One who came to save us from the idols we worship instead of Him.

The manger contains straw.

It is the Season of Advent.

I have not yet received the joy of His coming this season because I am trying to recreate the rituals, the traditions, of the season.  I am stuck in the trappings of Christmas.  I am seeing and reading the messages of the world about the season.

I have not focused on The Word made flesh who came to dwell among us.

Immanuel – which means God with us – has come,

yet I live as if He has not yet arrived.

Christmas Present is not about me being present at all, it is about

Christ being present in me.

There is no supernatural filling by some Spirit of Christmas Present that fills me with the Christmas Spirit.

I know this.

I need to remember this.

Christmas, like every other time of the year, is about walking in the truth that I am filled with

 His Presence,

and His Spirit.

There is no joy in my heart because my eyes have not been on Jesus;

my eyes were on the trappings of the season.

There was not peace in my soul because I was worried about the

problems of this world,

of my world,

of the world of those I love,

rather than in trusting in the One whom came to bring us

healing, and hope, and peace.

Christmas Present:

Political unrest,

“Wars and rumors of wars,”

ALLEPO,

The children of Allepo,

Wars and rumors of wars

Fill the news.

On the fourth Sunday of Advent, the pastor reads from Jeremiah 23,

Woe to the shepherds who destroy and scatter the sheep of my pasture! declares the LORD.

Jeremiah tells the people that the LORD has declared that He will attend to the evil deeds of the shepherds that have not cared for the flock.  Evil leaders will answer to God.  A good shepherd will come to care for the flock and to bring them back to the fold.

Earlier that day, on the fourth Sunday of Advent, burdened down with fears for the future, and for my loved ones, I had turned to Hebrews 1 before I prayed for those worries and concerns that were robbing me from fully trusting in the One able to take those worries and concerns and carry them for me.

As I heard the words of Jeremiah, I was reminded of the first verses in Hebrews.

Long ago, at many times and in many ways, God spoke to our fathers by the prophets,

but in these last days he has spoken to us by his Son, through whom also he created the world.

The promise of those prophets for a good shepherd was fulfilled.

Jesus, my good shepherd, has come.

He knows me.

He sees me.

He knows what is in my heart, and what is written on that yellow slip of paper.

He doesn’t ask me to clean myself up so I can come into his presence.

Instead, He cleanses me so I am purged of all the sin that separates me from Him.

He doesn’t tell me to follow in His footsteps so I can prove myself worthy.

No, He shows me I will never prove myself worthy of Him, and so by His grace He robes me in His righteousness so I am worthy before the throne of God.

The Gift,

The child born with the government upon his shoulder,

The child named

Wonderful Counselor,

Mighty God,

Everlasting Father,

Prince of Peace,

 came to save His people from their sins and the sins of this world.

I am no longer wearing those ill-fitting, inappropriate, filthy rags that I thought would cover up what I didn’t want the world to see.  I have taken my eyes off the Creator of the Universe and focused on looking at the world.  I have put my energy into my own efforts to brings a measure of joy to others. I have sought to put on the trappings of the season and make sure all rituals and traditions are followed.  I had not had time to focus on the One we celebrate. 

As I move forward into Christmas Present and towards Christmas Future, my prayer is that I will remember the words of this hymn, O Holy Night.

Truly He taught us to love one another.

His law is love and His gospel is peace.

Chains shall He break for the slave is our brother

And in His name all oppression is ceased.

The pastor tells us as believers in Christ we are robed in the Righteousness of Christ, which is referenced in Jeremiah.

And this is the name by which he will be called: ‘The LORD is our righteousness.’

He robed us in that righteousness not just to someday stand before His throne worthy but to also do His work in this world with compassion, justice, and mercy.

In 2016, I know of no other way to have hope for the future than for me to continue to trust in the One who came to put an end to the hopelessness, injustice, and lack of joy and peace we find in this world. 

I am here to fulfill is my purpose He has given me

to know Him and make Him known.

Everything else is just straw.

Christmas Present

Christ present in me.

Christmas Present

I am filled with His presence.

* Thank you to my pastor Mark Bates for his sermon which spoke to me so powerfully this Sunday and inspired this post.  

Holiday Gatherings ~ A Time for Creating and Passing on Family Traditions

Earlier today when I had a task that seemed a mile long, I spent ten minutes that I felt I did not have to spare untangling a necklace chain from which the first letter of each of my children’s name dangle.  I could have tossed the necklace back in jewelry box and decided not to wear it as I ran errands, but I just had to untangle that mess.

“Being good at untangling chains” is not on my resume, but despite the time it takes, I’m usually up for the challenge of untangling such messes.  One pesky knot around the letter “R”  refused to untangle each time I would think I had it freed to join the rest of the letters. This is a metaphor for life,  I thought as I determinedly sought to free the chain from knots.  

So many times in the past, there have been assorted types of knots in the chain that links my family to each other.  These knots prevent us in one way or another from  joining each other in the creating events that strengthen in a positive way the ties that bind us as a family. Relationship problems, time, work obligations, schooling, money, and distance create the knots that keep us apart, yet despite these pesky problems, perhaps no other time of year stirs up longing for family like the holidays do. 

Family ~ Creators and Custodians of Memory of Rituals

I recently read an article which stated that family creates and becomes the custodian of rituals that define the family narrative.*  These narratives are especially developed and passed on during the holidays.  

The rituals of holiday were created for me as a child.  Now, those from the generation before me are gone, but those times when we gathered around the holiday table created connections that remain.  The traditions, the rituals, the connections become an important part of the legacy of family which I hope my children and grandchildren will embrace and continue long after I am gone. 

Cousins gathered in giddy anticipation of family celebrations create powerful memories that last a lifetime.  Cousins share a family history that spans the generations from childhood to old age.  Cousins remain connected long after the aunts and uncles are gone.  

It is worth every minute of untangling knots in the family chain that links us all together to create moments worth remembering when one thinks of the those nearest and dearest to the heart.  

This year, I know it was not without great sacrifice of time, money, and distance that my family and I came together to celebrate Thanksgiving.  That makes the celebration all the more precious.

Family ~  Memory of Rituals 

Filed away in memory bank are many wonderful memories of Thanksgivings from long ago.  Thanksgivings when I was a child were always spent at the home of my grandparents.

Sorting through those memories, certain images stand out in my mind:

The dining room table, large, solid, and the dominating feature 

of the room where my grandparents spent most of their time,

 was set for dinner long before the guests arrived.

The silver had been polished days before.

The china had been removed from the china buffet to be placed

 on white linen table cloths.

Each place setting was perfectly placed according to rule of etiquette.

We learned the rules of etiquette at home and at my grandmother’s table.

“Where is the salad plate?” my father would ask if his place setting was not properly set for even the simplest of meals.

Good manners were very much a part of my family narrative.

I have vivid memories of Grandma and the aunts bustling around the kitchen, 

best dresses covered with aprons, 

shooing all the kids out of the kitchen 

as they fill china dishes with Thanksgiving fare.

“Get out of the kitchen,” 

we were told as the cousins and I ran excitedly around the circle that connected

 the dining room, the kitchen, the bedroom where my grandparents slept, and the hallway to the bathroom and stair that led upstairs.

“Stop chasing each other.   Someone will get hurt.”

Indeed,

I did get hurt.

I was barely three, or maybe younger, 

when playing a game of chase around that circle I fell, 

 hit the foot of that gigantic and very solid oak dining room table.

 I knocked out one of my front teeth.

Was that on Thanksgiving, or Christmas?

Either way, the story became a part of my personal narrative of why I had a missing front tooth from the earliest days of childhood.

I love that my homes where grandchildren have come also have that circle that connects the kitchen with the rest of the house.

It reminds me of the circle that we cousins loved to run around at my grandmother’s home even as she reprimanded us for doing so.

Grandma was a wonderful cook.

Her Thanksgiving dinners were the best.

So, was Christmas dinner.

She made amazing pies, 

but her homemade candy was what we really looked forward to eating.

The trappings of Thanksgiving long ago created a rich tapestry of visual images that formed a template in my mind of how Thanksgiving should always look.

The table laden with food, the china, the silver, did not fully represent the perfect template for Thanksgiving.

All of those trappings would be absolutely meaningless if family were not there.

Family coming together to celebrate created the perfect blueprint for a what I remember best about Thanksgiving.

 Thanksgiving memories are priceless because the memories focus on family.

Time stands still in those black and white achieved photos from long ago.

Time with

grandparents,

parents,

aunts and uncles,

and cousins

made Thanksgiving my favorite holiday of all.

My father, mother, and Aunt Katherine on Thanksgiving sometime in the 50's.
Look at all those homemade pies!

Cousins in the 1960's
I am second from the left in the back row.
Next to me is my cousin Steven. He was killed in Viet Nam when he was only nineteen.

Continuing family rituals create a sense of

“Life Is How It Should Be.”

This year’s Thanksgiving plans were not made early.  In fact, as usual, we were still up in the air about plans for Thanksgiving early in November.  Daughter Amy announced she was going to Utah with her children to spend time with her brother Ryan and his family.  I know that Thanksgiving is the very busiest time of the year for Ryan and Sheridan.  Owners of a small business, Hip and Humble (click on the link) in Salt Lake City, Bountiful, and Murray, Utah, Sheridan is especially busy and involved in Small Business Saturday activities both with her own boutiques and with other small businesses in Salt Lake City, Utah. I called and invited myself to Thanksgiving anyway. 

I had not spent Thanksgiving in Utah with my family since 1981.  We've been together at my mom's or my house, but we have not been together in Utah for Thanksgiving for a very long time.

Jim did not want to make the trip with me.  His family narrative of holiday gatherings is different from mine.  He did not grow up with extended family gatherings.  He would just as soon go out to eat on Thanksgiving.  He doesn’t like to travel to Utah in the winter.  He had to work.  He bought me plane ticket, rented me a car to use for a week in Utah, and sent me on my way for a week with my children and grandchildren. 

This year, it seemed more important than ever that we all gather together.  The grandchildren are getting older.  One is already twenty.  Three are eighteen.  One is seventeen.  Two are fourteen.  Soon, they will be going off to make their own way in life, and they will no doubt be scattered to parts unknown.  Before that happened, I wanted as many as possible of us to sit around a Thanksgiving table and make happy memories of family being together.  That is exactly what happened.

There is a sort of passing of the baton that takes place in families as one generation ages and the next takes over the hosting of Thanksgiving.  I'm sure I could no longer pull off fixing a Thanksgiving meal for a crowd.  Yes, despite my children thinking otherwise, there was a day when I could do this.  Despite my lack of cooking these days, I can still shop at the grocery store, so armed with the grocery list made by my son and daughter-in-law, I shopped for Thanksgiving while they were at work.  I loved shopping at the wonderful new grocery store near their home.  We had charted out which store would carry the items on my list.  Did you know that Costco sells a four count package of Martinelli's Sparkling Cider?  Score.  I bought two packages.  They were a big hit.

Keicha had specifically requested that I make a lemon meringue pie.  "It's been so long since I had your homemade lemon meringue," she wrote in a text.  "It's been so long since I made one," I replied.  The pressure was on.  I made the pie with help from Keicha.  It not only looked decent, it was also delicious.  

Passing the baton for Thanksgiving preparation and hosting to my children has proven to be a joy to watch and experience.  Son Ryan and his wife Sheridan were the perfect host and hostess.  They both love to cook and to entertain.  I've had some very good Thanksgiving meals, but I must say that this year's feast was one of the best I have ever eaten.  

Sheridan purchased two fresh turkeys which Ryan brined before they were roasted.  The sweet potatoes and dressing were made from Sheridan's father's recipe.  They were delicious.  The gravy was perfect.  The rolls wonderful.  I loved the winter slaw that came from a recipe from Bon Appetit.   Ryan said there would be no green bean casserole made with canned cream of mushroom soup, but daughter Amy insisted on that favorite dish being prepared, so mom bought the ingredients and made the casserole at Keicha's house.  Sometimes, you have to have that old comfort food from the days when mom put together casseroles that came from ingredients that come from a can.

The tables were beautifully set when we arrived at the lovely family home that belongs to Sheridan's parents.  Ryan and Sheridan are living in this home while Sheridan's parents are in Denmark for a year.  This home is the perfect home for holiday entertaining.  (Thank you B & B for letting us use your lovely home for our Thanksgiving.)

Family photos recorded the day for posterity.

Our hosts for the day were all smiles.  

The Mordiansen's (A name for this blended family that combines Ryan's and Sheridan's last names)
Parker, Regan, Max, Bridger in back, Henry in front, Sheridan, and Ryan

Parker and Regan, a great brother and sister combo, are roommates while Parker attends college and Regan is working.

My daughter Keicha and granddaughter Gillian were joined by Gillian's boyfriend, Fran for a group photo.

Daughter Amy and her children Mason and Hannah flew in from Colorado for the holiday.

Cousins

It is always a great time when cousins are together.

Sheridan's family brought a new tradition to our family: bingo!  After Thanksgiving dinner, Sheridan's family always plays bingo.  Each person brings a gift to add to the prizes that will be awarded.  When the hostess owns boutiques, the prizes are awesome and much sought by those playing the game.  At times the competition to win was quite intense because winners can take gifts from other players.  Once the gift is stolen, the original winner can't get the prize back.  Ryan was the bingo caller.  Grandma Sally kept winning.  I think the grandchildren thought I was cheating since my card was nearly covered with beans before long.  I soon had many cool prizes, but alas, I ended up with only a box of chocolate covered orange sticks.  The grandkids showed no mercy in taking away my gifts. Regan totally scored by winning a fleece lined flannel and a cool hat.  The amazing part is that she got to keep them.  What a blast we had playing bingo.

   

At the end of the day, I declared the Thanksgiving of 2016 the very best ever! 

While I wish that son Jonathan and daughter-in-law Samantha and grandson Atticus could have joined us, the day was nearly perfect.

 Thanksgiving, a day for giving and for thanksgiving happened because each family member that could gave up time, energy, and money to come together for a time of family celebration.

Thanksgiving, a day for expressing gratitude for the love we all share for each other, reminded us all what we really like about each other.   

Thanksgiving is a time for rejoicing in gratitude for those invisible bonds that tie us together across the years.  

Those bonds have brought us all both great joy and unbearable heartbreak.

Thanksgiving, is the perfect time to make new memories that will be added to our family narrative of both love and loss. 

Mama Sal surrounded by three of her kids is a very happy lady.
Amy, Mom, Keicha, Ryan

Whenever I am with my children, life truly is how it should be.

Thanksgiving 2016, is now in the books.  

It will live on fondly in my heart for a very long time.

*Tie That Binds...Bonds That Empower by Robert D. Caldwell