Remembering My Mother

Mom would have been 93 today. She died last September 5, as a mocking bird sat outside her window singing its heart out. Today I want to pay tribute to her memory.

Thelma Irene McLaughlin was born December 24, in the front bedroom of a home in Evansville, Indiana - the third child of William Clay and Nila Jane Austin McLaughlin, from mostly Irish/English/Dutch stock. Her father was a carpenter, building and selling houses; he seemed to have more drive and ambition than the rest of his family.

With two older brothers, she was a bit of a tomboy growing up. Also a bit headstrong and interested in boys, as a teenager! At 19, toward the end of the Great Depression, she married Bert McBroom after graduating from high school. Soon she was pregnant with me. A little over 2 ½ years later my brother Ronnie joined the family.

She was always a good, conscientious and caring mother, raising us to be a credit to society, to the best of her ability! She made judicious use of the “Persuader,” a yardstick that hung conveniently on the wall, taught me to read at four, and to copy “thank you” notes for birthday and Christmas presents when I was five. As I grew older, she also taught me the housewifely arts – cleaning, cooking and sewing. And because she had not taken advantage of her opportunity to learn to play the piano as a girl, she saw to it that I had that opportunity.

Shortly before my first baby was born, she wrote a long letter telling me about her experience carrying me – a letter I greatly treasure. It was one of the few times she let her emotions show; I think she wished she could be with me, clear across the country from her, at that special time.

Mom had a rather intense, ambition-driven, introverted personality which made her prefer solitary pursuits, while Daddy was an easy-going extrovert who loved being around people – a recipe, as are most marriages, for difficulties and problems. Yet in spite of all, there was love and commitment and endurance. There are many warm, happy memories mixed with times of tension and stress.

Our relationship was often difficult; not because I wanted it to be, but I guess in some ways I was too much like her and in other ways too much like Daddy and she had a hard time getting along with me. I’m so thankful that for the last 14 years of her life we managed to stay in a good relationship! I think I was always trying to earn her approval, but she didn’t believe in giving praise.

When I was 12 Mom decided to pursue her dream of becoming a nurse. This was in the days when few married woman attempted anything like that, but her tenacity and drive got her through a year of pre-nursing classes and three years of training. In some ways, I think she also tried to live out a continuation of her dad’s lifestyle, buying, building or fixing up houses and selling them, hopefully for a profit.

Mom was a diligent student of the Bible. She enjoyed making up her own Bible studies and in her last years especially studied Daniel and Revelation. She often had discussions – or arguments – on religious topics with her brother Tom in their later years.

Mom was an organizer of things and needed order – her particular brand of order – in her surroundings. I remember, with a smile, her sorting of the rocks and pebbles she had sifted out of the ground as she prepared her garden, into small, large and medium sizes, and carefully “paving” a pathway at her house in Grizzly Flats, where she lived after Daddy died.

Mom attended the deaths of many of her relatives: Aunt AnnaVliet and Uncle Del, Uncle Tom and Aunt Rita, her own mother, and Daddy. I am so thankful that Ron and especially his wife Jo took such tender, loving care of her in her last illness. She outlived everyone in the family of her generation, except one much younger cousin. Her death was probably caused by rapidly progressing ALS (Lou Gehrig’s disease), although she didn’t go to her doctor to be diagnosed. She had a distrust of doctors and argued with them about her treatment and diagnoses! I loved her dearly and I miss her sorely.

Wrapped in Bubble Paper

Over the past few years Thanksgiving hasn’t been entirely associated with happy memories! In 2004, when we spent Thanksgiving with David (son) and Karla in Dallas, Oregon, I stepped down from the porch onto a stepping stone, somehow lost my balance and fell, breaking both legs near the ankle. Three bones were broken in my left leg, and since the surgeon in Salem had several surgeries scheduled, I was taken by ambulance to Portland Adventist Medical Center and had two metal plates and 12 screws inserted to hold my shattered left ankle together. A few days later we went home and I spent three weeks in a rehab center, and a year in physical therapy, and eventually could get around pretty well.

Two days before Thanksgiving this year, I stopped at the corner grocery on my way to pick up Carolyn and Brandon at school. Running back to my car because it was raining, I tripped and fell and sustained three fractures in my upper arm near the shoulder. The ER doc said it would probably heal okay without surgery and my arm was put in a sling. It was extremely painful for the first couple of weeks, I suppose because it was not completely immobilized. After four weeks, it seems to be healing and is less painful. The orthopedist said he would probably start me on physical therapy soon.

I guess I do have a number of things for which I can be thankful. I recovered fairly well from my broken legs. I can be thankful that it was my left arm (since I’m right-handed) and also that it wasn’t a broken hip. And maybe, just maybe, the Lord is trying to tell me to slow down a bit?

However, one of my friends suggested I need to be protected with bubble wrap on Thanksgiving from now on – might be a good idea!

Discrimination/Abuse Breed Discrimination/Abuse

Even though I'm not a California resident, I was very interested in the outcome of Proposition 8, that restricted marriage to a man and a woman, thus denying marriage rights to gays and lesbians. It was passed by a rather narrow margin: 52 to 48. Passage of this discriminatory amendment to the state constitution was fueled by some unlikely proponents: those who have themselves been discriminated against.

First, the Mormon Church, which, in the past, was persecuted and discriminated against because of its own "deviant" polygamous marriages, spent millions of dollars in drumming up support for Prop 8.

Second, the Seventh-day Adventist Church, which has long promoted religious liberty and the separation of church and state, became involved through its own religious liberty department in urging church members to vote for the proposition. Adventists, who fear that someday their right to worship on Saturday may be denied them, have, in the past, supported the ban on prayer in public schools and even the right of Native Americans to smoke peyote as part of their religious ceremonies. To turn completely around and promote this invasion of the belief of other Christians that gays and lesbians should have the right to marry, seems incomprehensible to me. They try to argue that gay marriage would somehow threaten their religious liberty, though no minister would be required to perform gay marriages. And they suggest that this does not involve religious liberty because of their suggested differentiation between the first four of the Ten Commandments, which define our duty to God, and the last six which define our duty to each other.

Finally, the largest group voting for Prop 8 was African Americans, a group that has known terrible oppression and discrimination for most of their history in the United States. Of course, it is because of their unbending Christianity that they voted so. Still, one might think that their past experience would give them a greater sympathy for homosexuals who are so marginalized today.

Perhaps the strangest thing of all is that so many Christians, followers of the Jesus with whom the outcast and marginalized found acceptance, are those who have been the source of so much hatred and vindictiveness against gays and lesbians.

Do the abused and persecuted often become abusers and persecuters? Looking back in history, I think of the Puritans who came to America to escape persecution and became persecuters of those in their midst who disagreed with them. Does being a victim create a blind spot, so that one does not notice when one is making others victims? I am thankful for the example of Martin Luther King, and for his wife Coretta, who has forcefully stated her solidarity with gays and lesbians in their struggle for civil rights. I have noticed with gratitude the efforts of many gays and lesbians to respond with "soul force" love to those who discriminate and spread hatred about them. I just pray that when they do finally gain their rightful place in society, they will not become, like so many other abused peoples, abusers of others.

Parents - Again!

At 72 and 75, Bob and I were happily settled into our relaxed, but active, retirement routine. Bob spent many hours working with SAGE, the seniors’ ministry he had started while trust director of the Washington Conference, and enjoyed taking care of our big yard.

I kept busy with writing projects and was very involved in my ministry for families of gays and lesbians. Realizing the years left might be limited, I had decided that cooking elaborate meals were less important than making quilts for our large brood of grandchildren. I had opted for the comfortable, lived-in style of housekeeping so I could find time to read at least some of the hundreds of books on my to-read list.

We weren’t rich, by any means, but we owned our home and Bob had managed our finances carefully so we could indulge in some traveling and occasional tickets to the symphony. We had accommodated changing sleep patterns with individual sleeping quarters. Though we both retired between 10:00 and 11:00 pm, I could read until I relaxed and finally fell asleep in spite of pesky aches and pains and then sleep late in the morning. Bob, who fell asleep when his head hit the pillow but sometimes woke up in the early morning hours, could turn on the light and read till he got sleepy again.

All in all, we were finding this phase of life quite pleasant and rewarding. And then . . .

On a late-August visit to California we stopped to see one of our sons, a landscape designer. We knew the economic downturn had impacted his business, but when we discovered the extent of his financial woes we offered to bring his two youngest children – 8-year-old Brandon and 10-year-old Carolyn – home with us for a few months until he could get back on his feet. He agreed.
And so, our life changed. Arriving back home just before Labor Day weekend, our first order of business was enrolling the children in our local church school. Tuition, we discovered, had gone up a bit since our three sons were that age! We were thankful for the trust fund Bob’s mother had left for Adventist education, which helped with school expenses. We also learned that the school, which enjoys an excellent reputation, has a dress code. Very little they brought with them qualified! Labor Day sales and Good Will netted a preppy new wardrobe of navy and khaki pants and skirts and prescribed matching shirts. We also found warm jackets for Washington’s colder winter.

I gave up my bedroom and moved back in with Bob; we don’t sleep as well, but we enjoy more pillow-talk! The “lived-in” look is even more evident now in our lovely home, which has acquired such new accessories as balls, bats, skates, bicycles, a basketball hoop, fishing pole and a trumpet case. Brandon and Carolyn have, however, developed the habit of making their beds each morning and keeping their rooms reasonably straight.

We weren’t sure what meal-time would be like, as the kids were used to eating pretty much whenever and whatever they liked, including lots of snack foods and sodas. Happily we found that when limited to three meals a day and a good variety of healthy foods, they ate well, with little protest. Our efforts to limit dessert to once a week are occasionally sabotaged by birthdays and Chocolate Night, the Pathfinder fund-raiser, but the sugar-fits have been dramatically reduced! Bob views this new arrangement as a real advantage, because I now fix him breakfast and supper along with the children; he used to be on his own for those meals.

The week-day hours of freedom seem to fly swiftly by. as Bob and I try to accomplish as much of our former pursuits as possible while Carolyn and BJ are in school. I carry a book with me everywhere I go, but still don’t seem to get much reading done. But we’re enjoying re-reading some of our sons’ favorite childhood books as bedtime stories. Quilting is pretty much a thing of the past, too, but it can wait.

Have there been some minor inconveniences and sacrifices? Yes, but they fade into insignificance when we gaze at their innocent sleeping faces; when they squeeze our hands at the end of prayer; when Brandon’s third and fourth grade class enthusiastically sings “Seek Ye First the Kingdom of God” for special music in church, even though he’s on the front row and his shirttail is hanging out; when Carolyn’s candle-lit face smiles at us during her Pathfinder Induction ceremony; when their nightly calls to their parents include repeating the memory verses they’ve learned and Carolyn playing her favorite hymn on the trumpet, which we hope touches the heart of their once-Adventist daddy.

Is it just coincidence that Pathfinder night coincides with prayer meeting, which I hadn’t attended for some time because I hate going out at night? Or that what I thought was my inexhaustible supply of patience has been stretched thin as I try to motivate our fifth-grader to take more interest in schoolwork? Maybe God is not only giving us a chance to make a difference in these precious young lives, but is using them to make some needed changes in ours.