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StoryWorth: Mother's Work
Sep. 27th, 2019 11:25 amWhat do you admire most about your mother?
My mother strove all her life to be of service to others. She was raised on a tobacco farm in rural North Carolina during the Great Depression, but thanks to her father’s value for the education he never got she went to college and became a teacher. As the wife of a smalltown minister, she was his professional partner, working alongside him to care for their congregations. She taught Sunday School, ran the women’s groups, served church suppers, hosted events, and listened to everyone’s problems with a patient smile.
She was an amazing housekeeper, eking nutritious meals out of a meagre budget and keeping us all clothed in handmade clothes and hand-me-downs. She saved everything that might be of use and knew how to clean anything and how to fix and reuse everything.
Beyond the scope of home and church, she volunteered as a member of the Women’s Club, serving as local, district, and state president. In 1978 she became the first woman on our School Board and served for eight years. After Dad retired and they moved to Clifton Park, my parents spent a decade working as an interim ministry team, finally recognizing the joint nature of their ministry and even putting her in the pulpit occasionally. When my father’s health had them sticking closer to home she joined the Friends of the Library where she ran their enormous, semi-annual book sales and was instrumental in their campaign to build a new library.
She suffered fools with remarkable grace, often adopting as her special friends the people that no one else could stand. She had high standards of behavior and could give a set down with admirable firmness, but was never rude, or cruel—to strangers, at least. She was a very political animal, remembering names and key facts to make others feel recognized, remembered and known. She wanted to be respected and admired and cared deeply about the impression she made and the reputation she built.
Mom really wore herself out downsizing and moving to Arlington. But even in her last community she became an integral part of yet another church, working on their rummage sales and showing up regularly to the weekly women’s coffee group. She adored Alice and loved to have her come to spend the day with her, or stay overnight, especially after my father passed away. One of the hardest things for her about aging was accepting others’ service and not feeling bad about herself for needing their help.
In January of 1990 she wrote me a letter and opened by saying that it seemed so strange to write the new year, like something out of science fiction. It seems like there ought to be a whole new way to be, she wrote, but I don’t know any way to be except pouring myself into service to others, which is its own kind of selfishness. May we all be so selfish.
My mother strove all her life to be of service to others. She was raised on a tobacco farm in rural North Carolina during the Great Depression, but thanks to her father’s value for the education he never got she went to college and became a teacher. As the wife of a smalltown minister, she was his professional partner, working alongside him to care for their congregations. She taught Sunday School, ran the women’s groups, served church suppers, hosted events, and listened to everyone’s problems with a patient smile.
She was an amazing housekeeper, eking nutritious meals out of a meagre budget and keeping us all clothed in handmade clothes and hand-me-downs. She saved everything that might be of use and knew how to clean anything and how to fix and reuse everything.
Beyond the scope of home and church, she volunteered as a member of the Women’s Club, serving as local, district, and state president. In 1978 she became the first woman on our School Board and served for eight years. After Dad retired and they moved to Clifton Park, my parents spent a decade working as an interim ministry team, finally recognizing the joint nature of their ministry and even putting her in the pulpit occasionally. When my father’s health had them sticking closer to home she joined the Friends of the Library where she ran their enormous, semi-annual book sales and was instrumental in their campaign to build a new library.
She suffered fools with remarkable grace, often adopting as her special friends the people that no one else could stand. She had high standards of behavior and could give a set down with admirable firmness, but was never rude, or cruel—to strangers, at least. She was a very political animal, remembering names and key facts to make others feel recognized, remembered and known. She wanted to be respected and admired and cared deeply about the impression she made and the reputation she built.
Mom really wore herself out downsizing and moving to Arlington. But even in her last community she became an integral part of yet another church, working on their rummage sales and showing up regularly to the weekly women’s coffee group. She adored Alice and loved to have her come to spend the day with her, or stay overnight, especially after my father passed away. One of the hardest things for her about aging was accepting others’ service and not feeling bad about herself for needing their help.
In January of 1990 she wrote me a letter and opened by saying that it seemed so strange to write the new year, like something out of science fiction. It seems like there ought to be a whole new way to be, she wrote, but I don’t know any way to be except pouring myself into service to others, which is its own kind of selfishness. May we all be so selfish.
