“No man is poor who has a Godly mother” - Abraham Lincoln

A Message from Rose

March 15, 2024

I am sure you have heard the warning; “Beware the Ides of March”. The Ides of March; a day in the ancient Roman calendar that falls on March 15 and is associated with misfortune. It became famous as the date when Julius Caesar was assassinated in 44 BC and was further immortalized in Julius Caesar by William Shakespeare. I often think that the Ides of March was not only a turning point in Roman history, but it was also a date that became a turning point in my life.

My mother died 43 years ago today – March 15. She lived for nine months after her diagnosis of non-Hodgkin’s lymphoma. At that time, it wasn’t an easily cured form of cancer. Today, thankfully, I have several friends that have survived that same cancer. Her doctor missed a lot. She insisted something was wrong and he insisted it was in her mind. I remember that same doctor apologizing to her on her death bed. She told him that she did not hold him accountable – in fact – she told him she was fond of him.

Role model

“The Hand That Rocks the Cradle Is the Hand That Rules the World” is a poem by William Ross Wallace that praises motherhood and recognizes it as the foremost force to effect change in the world.

It wasn’t just my mother’s ability to forgive – and to do so quickly, that influenced me. It was her faith. A faith that never wavered throughout her nine-month ordeal. She maintained her faith when she was given her death sentence. She maintained her faith through the loss of hair; I remember walking into the room as my dad was combing her hair and chunks of that beautiful hair was falling out as he did so. She didn’t know I was behind her as this was happening. I had to leave in tears as I could no longer watch.

She had faith when she determined three months before she died, she was going to make her family their favorite meals and Christmas cookies – suspecting it would be the last time they would taste those. Because – come on – no one does it like mom does. She had faith even when she could no longer take a sip of water – but rather take a wet washcloth to her mouth because the radiation had so severely burned her throat. She had faith on her death bed as we all surrounded her.

What was it exactly that she had faith in? Her Savior. She loved Jesus.

With her whole heart. She trusted every day that He could heal her if He chose to do so. But she also trusted as Paul did that; “For me, to live is Christ and to die is gain”. When Paul wrote those words to the Philippians, he had already suffered greatly. He was imprisoned, he was beaten, hated, and shipwrecked. Just as her body was imprisoned and beaten by cancer.

She lived her life to give glory to the God she loved. She taught us to love Him. But she knew too, as Paul did, that her death would bring her life, in Him, to fruition. She knew she had a Savior waiting for her. We all feel that magnet that draws us to eternity. We aren’t in a hurry to get there – but we know that when we do we gain Heaven as believers and a reunion with a Savior that died for us.

In our case – mom’s “die is gain” played a huge part in my life. It was because of her trials and ultimate death that I became even more committed to that same Savior – with the same fervor and love. I was determined, too, to live a purposeful life in the service of Christ.

I recently found a piece of paper with the following words written by her hand; “Silence gives Consent” one of Plato’s most famous quotes. She lived that. She strongly believed that she had a moral obligation to speak out against injustice and wrongs. She wrote letters to Jane Fonda excoriating her for her anti-American words in the 1970’s. She voiced her opinions in letters to the editor of newspapers and to presidents. I guess when I think about it – I was greatly influenced by her to use my voice in the very same way. For that I am grateful. She was unafraid to make her opinion known. What she was fighting for I realized was for me – for a future generation. In many ways, I had picked up her banner to continue her effort.

Remembering:

I may not remember the sound of her laugh, but I remember that she laughed often. I may not remember the sound of her voice, but I remember her voice instructing me on the way I should go. I don’t remember how she sounded when she sang, but I remember that she sang often. I do remember how she loved. She loved with every fiber of her being. All her children felt uniquely loved. As we were growing up, she put everything aside and put us first. My hope is that I remember to laugh, sing, and encourage as often as she did.

Funny thing about a mother:

There has been data obtained from hospice workers and information taken from literature regarding combat death that suggests that it is not unusual for dying persons to call out to their parents, most especially to their mothers.

I was once in a bad accident and as I was flying around in the vehicle (it was a bus – so no seatbelts) my thoughts were about my mother. Days leading up to my father’s death he spoke often of his mother.

What a uniquely beautiful gift it is - to be loved by a mother. God sure knew what He was doing.