While praying for my son during an interview for his first job, I received word that this post about prayer was accepted by my publisher. Soon after, I heard my son got the job! Love these little reminders of the importance of praying for our children. Make it a habit and see how God blesses your children.
What a challenge and a blessing, walking with Cameron from preschool graduation (above) to Class of 2015 graduate.
For those of us who have children with learning disabilities, educational milestones like a high school or college graduation are especially significant. It is a very proud moment indeed, one that celebrates the journey as much as the goal.
My youngest son was diagnosed with ADHD at the onset of high school, and was greatly challenged by a rigorous curriculum at a new school in our district. He persevered and recently received his diploma as part of the first graduating class at his high school.
What I’ve been struck with in hindsight is how eager I was to compare my son’s journey to his older brother. These two intelligent boys forged their own educational paths through different schools. The older one started school at a very early age and rarely needed any…
Last week a class of 115 students proudly walked across the stage of our church auditorium to receive their diplomas from a new high school in Washington State. My son was one of these students in the first graduating class of Nikola Tesla STEM High School. Naturally it was a proud moment for family and friends in attendance as well as the faculty and staff.
Being first, the administration had the opportunity to create a graduation ceremony that was unique and fitting to this academic community of STEM scholars. The evening had many memorable highlights and surprises.
What it Means to be First
One of the surprises was an essay penned by each of the graduating seniors to the prompt: “What it Means to be First.” Their essays were alphabetically listed in the program in the order that they would later walk across the stage to accept their diplomas. It warmed my heart to read my son’s essay while waiting for the ceremony to start.
“Being first can mean going before others into the unknown but can also mean to claim a reward for your efforts. Being first to graduate from STEM fits both of these definitions. While I specifically am not the first, I am among them; the entire graduating class is the first. We will be the first to claim our reward from the school for the years of work we put into our education and the first to leave this school and begin our lives as adults. Our teachers will be the first to watch us go and the first to be proud for the students they invested years of their lives into. Our parents will be first to say goodbye as they help us prepare for what lies beyond high school. And we shall be the first to be grateful for all of these investments of time and energy as we remember the time we spent here for the rest of our lives.”
My son later shared that he easily wrote that essay as an in-class English assignment. That was significant because many times during the school year he struggled to get a start on his writing assignments. He would stare at the blank page for long periods of time. This short essay was a gift to read and re-read knowing that it marked a breakthrough in his writing, and possibly his ADHD barriers to creatively express himself.
STEM Yearbook
Graduation Speeches that Inspired
Graduations are full of speeches intended to inspire students as they start on their next level of education or venture out into the world. These speeches were no exception.
We heard from the Superintendent of the school district. As a writer, I thoroughly enjoyed her speech as she compared their journey to chapters in a book and identified the students as authors of their stories.
Student speeches followed. A pair of students spoke on the phases and milestones that this first class journeyed through to get to this point: school construction, developing clubs and extracurricular activities, defining internship opportunities, naming of the school, and more. That was followed by two more student addresses.
The second speaker creatively wove famous quotes from 50 other historical speeches and famous movies. He quoted Abraham Lincoln’s Gettysburg Address and Martin Luther King, Jr.’s I have a Dream speech. He cheered on the graduates exclaiming: “Live long and prosper” and “May the force be with you.” The audience broke into bursts of laughter throughout. It was highly entertaining.
Below is a short video clip of a few graduation highlights created by the Lake Washington School District.
As much as I enjoyed those speeches, it was the faculty address by my son’s English teacher that meant the most to me. Throughout her speech she wove the theme of the “Odyssey” by Homer, an ancient Greek poem about Odysseus’ journey home after the fall of Troy. (The senior class chose to read this because they entered STEM starting with their sophomore year and missed reading it as freshman.)
It wasn’t the story that she told, but the examples she shared of memorable student moments that again hit an accord with me. That was because his teacher anonymously shared something my son did in class.
A Compassionate Heart
Several weeks prior, to celebrate this teacher’s birthday, she held a Poetry Café. Students were asked to bring in a favorite poem or one that they wrote and to share it with the class. That night at the dinner table, our son told us about that day and what he did—heeding to his heart.
At the graduation ceremony, his teacher got choked up when she spoke these words to the audience:
“A quiet student stood in 3rd period, a student not many had heard from. This was in a Poetry Café. When the student stood, he stated I don’t have a poem I just want to tell you how much you mean to me.”
I felt the tears start to well up inside me too—proud Mama tears.
This teacher made a difference in my son’s life. English was not his favorite subject, but English was his favorite class while at STEM. She was his favorite teacher all three years and made English interesting to him. When she signed his yearbook days before, she said he always made her smile and referenced the Poetry Café. She wrote that my son worked so hard and she was extremely proud of him.
On the eve of graduation I sent her an email telling her too how much she meant to my son. She encouraged him throughout his high school struggles with his ADHD and instilled confidence in him. She believed in him.
Then a few days ago I made one final stop at the school to see this teacher and give her a personalized copy of my book, Journeys to Mother Love. We talked about the Poetry Café again. She went on to share that one female student in the class told the teacher several times how touched she was by what my son said and that it made her cry (like it did the teacher).
My son has that way about him—kind, compassionate, and caring. Someday a young woman will look past his shy demeanor, connect with him on more than a surface level, and sparks will fly, but not yet.
His teacher and I parted ways with a hug and tears welling up in our eyes. Oh, to be a teacher and collect those special memories—knowing that they made a difference in a student’s life.
A School with a Heart
Back to the graduation…following the faculty address by my son’s English teacher, the student’s ceremoniously walked across the stage to receive their diplomas. With a small group of graduates, they were able to add another memorable highlight to the ceremony. There wasn’t one person who shook the hand of each student or even a rotation of teachers handing out diplomas. Somehow they arranged it so that students received their diplomas from a teacher of their choice. He proudly smiled for the photographer and received his diploma from his English teacher.
Before the customary switching of the tassel from one side of the mortar board hat to the other, another surprise awaited the parents of these fine graduates. They had each written their parents a thank you note (another English assignment). They were challenged to quickly find their parents in the crowd, give them the note, and return to their seats. (You can’t do that in a large high school!) More tears were shed in reading our son’s hand written note thanking us for our understanding of all he went through to complete high school and that he was grateful for how he was raised.
For the last three years of my son’s life, he forged a path of firsts with the other students at this school. In a world that is continually more and more focused on ‘likes,’ attention on achievements, and social media presence, it’s nice to see that my son has his head in the right place…and that is in his heart.
I’m proud that is the legacy he left Nikola Tesla STEM High School.
Congratulations STEM Class of 2015 Graduates! And thank you teachers and faculty for making STEM a school with a heart.
The last time I saw my mother alive was five years ago over Mother’s Day weekend. As I wrote in “Walking My Mother Home,” my story in Journeys to Mother Love, these trips back home were instrumental to my healing.
“Walking My Mother Home” was my first manuscript submitted to a publisher. I was nervous about sharing it with the world. Only a select few ever read the submitted manuscript. And it wasn’t until Cathy Lawton, the publisher at Cladach Publishing, notified me that they accepted my story that I even read it again myself.
Toasting the acceptance of my manuscript with a friend, January 2012.
In 2012, while the book was still being edited, I decided to give the manuscript and an accompanying letter as a gift to my sons for Mother’s Day. I had a heartfelt conversation with them after my mother’s passing the year before, and tried to explain the significance of what happened to me. Now with the imminent publishing of the story for the whole world to see, it was time to give them some more personal insight into my healing and my journey to mother love.
A Gift to my Sons
Dear Boys,
As Mother’s Day approached this week, I’ve been reminded many times that the last time I saw my mother alive was on Mother’s Day 2010. A lot has happened in our lives in the two years since then…
Since you are males, you will probably never understand the bond between a mother and daughter. But you will marry one day and will have to understand and be caring with your own wife and the relationship that she has with her mother. I hope and pray that I can have a loving relationship with my daughters-in-law too.
As you know, I didn’t have a close relationship with my mother, not so much by choice, but by natural consequence because of her mental illness. As my mother neared the end of her life though, God made it very clear to me that I needed closure and restoration with our relationship. The attached manuscript is that story.
What I hope and pray you will see in this story is the same thing I want others to see—how following God’s will for our lives, through the good and the bad, leads to amazing blessings. I want you to embrace opportunities when God wants to use you. It won’t be easy. But that is where the biggest blessings come into play—when we are stretched beyond our comfort zone and have to rely on Him. He shows up when we lean on Him. We just have to trust Him.
So as I start on my writing journey, I wanted you to know that is exactly what I am doing. I am trusting that God is behind this and that He will use it.
I love you both dearly. I hope and pray that when you look back at your lives that you will remember that legacy that I want to leave for you. I want you to trust God and follow Him all the days of your life.
‘For I know the plans I have for you,’ declares the LORD, ‘plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.’ Jeremiah 29:11 (NIV)
With all my love,
Mom
With my sons on the Seattle waterfront, Mother’s Day 2012.
Paying the Gift Forward
If you already own a copy of Journeys to Mother Love, I’m sure you will agree that mothers of all ages can relate to these stories. If don’t own the book, you can purchase an autographed copy here.
May your Mother’s Day be filled with blessings and hope from the Creator of motherly love, our Heavenly Father.
Mother’s Day 2020 marks the 10th anniversary of the last time I saw my mother alive. As I approach this anniversary and invite God into my healing and memories of this day, I am struck by the circumstances surrounding that trip back home to Illinois.
Mom & me, first visit back home, November 2009.
Prompted to Visit one Last Time
As I wrote in “Walking my Mother Home,” my story in Journeys to Mother Love, the decision to visit my 79-year-old mother was a difficult one for me. I kept her at arms-length for most of my adult life due to her mental illness. The Lord had prompted me in later years to restore that relationship.
I hadn’t seen her on Mother’s Day for decades. Her stroke ten months prior left her paralyzed and unable to speak. She had been on hospice for the last six of those months. The waiting seemed endless to me as my mind would drift to my mother’s suffering 2,000 miles away.
Out of the blue in April 2010 I got a call from a nurse at my mother’s nursing home. Mom had bruising on her right leg. It was either a sign of a worsening internal medical condition or uncharacteristically rough treatment by the nursing home staff. An investigation was underway to determine the cause. Either way, the answer was not going to be welcome news.
That call was the catalyst that sent me on my journey home to see my mother for the last time.
Not Quite What I Expected
When I arrived at the nursing home to see my Mom on Mother’s Day weekend, I wasn’t prepared to deal with the amount of decline in her medical condition. The easiest way to describe what I experienced on that visit is to share an email I sent to a pastor at my church after my return.
“Thanks for asking about my mom. The best I can say about her is that she is stable. They are trying to keep her comfortable and free of pain. Her leg is immobilized and will never heal. They only get her out of bed once a day now—instead of twice—if at all. She mostly refuses to be fed and is hooked up to a feeding tube. She’s had that since November, but when I was there then I was able to at least feed her.
It was extremely difficult. I didn’t realize how much she had deteriorated. She said my name once. One of the highlights of my trip was being able to take her only living sibling (a sister) to see her. While my 50th birthday in November was an amazing day with her, Mother’s Day was quite the opposite. I’m unsure why God nudged me to go, but I know I gave her some happiness for a brief time.”
My aunt praying for my mother.
Joy and Sorrow
I remember one of the fun things I was able to share with her on this trip was my change of hair color. My own health condition had improved (chemical sensitivity) and I could color my hair again with a natural hair product. The last time she saw me my hair was salt and pepper (shades of gray). This time my hair was a vibrant red, not much dissimilar to her own hair color that I remembered from my youth. I know it pleased her (and my aunt) to see it.
I left her with two physical gifts for Mother’s Day. One was a bracelet, and the other was a 10-bead bracelet type rosary known as a decade, to replace the lost rosary I gave her on a previous visit. They weren’t much, but I wanted to leave her with a small memento of my love and our time together.
A teary goodbye, May 2010.
Saying goodbye on this trip was much harder than before. My siblings and I had such a beautiful visit and parting farewell with her on our last visit. I didn’t understand why God would allow her to suffer like this. Leaving then in December 2009, I thought her time was imminent. Now on this Mother’s Day in 2010, I just wanted it all to end—not for me, but for her.
“Please Lord, let her pass peacefully in her sleep and don’t prolong this any longer,” I prayed as I walked through the hallways of the nursing home on my way to the car. The next time I would walk these corridors would be to meet staff to plan her memorial service after she passed away nine months later.
Beauty from Ashes
My prayer wasn’t really answered as I had hoped. God did orchestrate a beautiful passing for her though. My brother Glen and his wife were by her side. I was able to pray over her through the phone. She felt my love as she left this earth, and she had it with her those long months as she waited for the Lord to take her home.
When I returned back to Illinois to bury my mother in February 2011, the staff at the nursing home gave me her personal affects. After residing there for seven years, my mother barely owned anything, and there was nothing of intrinsic value. One trinket that did make it home with me was the bracelet I bought her for Mother’s Day. It now resides on my dresser inside the prayer box that holds some of her remains.
The bracelet is tarnished and broken, similar to how I felt throughout much of my life. But on that day in February 2011, I felt peace and joy. Her passing helped me to see that she didn’t leave me a legacy of mental illness as I feared, but one of hope and healing. That is what I treasure on Mother’s Day and every day since her passing. God restored beauty from ashes (Isaiah 61:3) and turned my mourning into gladness (Jeremiah 31:13).
In honor of my new friend Verna Hill Simms’ 94th birthday today, I’m sharing a post she recently wrote on the “Journeys to Mother Love” blog.
Verna writes letters to her deceased mother as well, and is where I first heard of this practice. May her letter to her mother brighten your day and rekindle the connection you have with your mother, physically on earth or in spirit above.
Happy Birthday, Verna! Sending hugs and prayers to you and your family. ~ Ardis
I am writing your birthday letter early this year. I have so much to tell you, and it can’t wait until June. The sad news is Dee had a stroke. I couldn’t talk her into taking better care of her health. She is improving every day. I know how fond you were of her—your first grandchild. I appreciate how much you helped me when she was born 73 years ago.
Now, the good news. Remember I told you I was writing a historical novel? It is finished and accepted by Rockinghorse Publishing, and printed! I bet you would love it. Do you think that is an odd name for a publishing company? I do, but it is easy to remember. Water Under the Bridge is a work of fiction, but a lot of it mirrors our life when we lived in Claypool, Arizona. I tell about the time…
In Part 1 of this post series, I wrote about my 3rd annual letter to my mother after her passing, and shared an excerpt. Does writing a letter to a deceased loved one seem like an odd thing to do? I wondered that myself.
Chapter 3 is Verna’s story.
I got the idea from Verna Hill Simms, author (Water Under the Bridge) and contributor to Journeys to Mother Love (along with me). In her story, “Take Care of Your Mother,” she described how she writes a letter to her deceased mother every year on her mother’s birthday. At the time our book was published, she had written over 30 letters.
Wisdom from an Older Woman
I reached out to Verna, who will be 94 next month, to ask about her annual practice. We had never communicated in the past, so I was delighted to receive such a timely and thoughtful response to my email. Here is Verna’s response:
“I write to Mother because she loved getting mail and I do too. I feel it is another way I can keep her memory alive for my daughters and grandchildren. Hopefully after I am gone the letters will be read and perhaps kept. I have a few letters my mother wrote to her sister around the time I was born and one my paternal grandmother wrote when I was 2 or 3 and I prize them.”
“Keep her memories alive!” Yes, that is it in a nutshell. Writing to our deceased loved ones is a way of keeping their memories alive. It is not just for our benefit, but as in Verna’s case, maybe our letters can be handed down and treasured by future generations as well.
The Lost Art of Letter Writing
My mother lived her last seven years in nursing homes. I took up writing letters to her. She couldn’t easily read them and so the nursing staff would read them to her. Because of her health, she couldn’t write back to me. (I received a few of my cards and letters to her with her personal belongings after she passed away.)
I have a stack of letters from my mother dating back to my days in college. I have read them from time to time. I didn’t appreciate them much in my youth, but now I have a new lens—one of a mother whose children are leaving the nest and is learning to let go. Her letters comfort me, as I see her love for me in new ways. They keep her memories alive.
My letter writing has also turned to Rosa, Pedro’s mother, in Spain, commencing with the terminal diagnosis of her mother four years ago. Rosa and I still communicate through the aid of an online translator in our letters across the globe. These letters keep our relationship alive though 5,300 miles apart.
Unfortunately, letter writing is becoming a lost art. It is sadly being replaced by short bursts of text messages beeping on our phones! (But that is a whole other blog post.)
Benefits of Writing a Deceased Loved One
Because I started this practice of writing my deceased mother for continued healing of my mother/daughter wound, there are parts of my letters that are too personal to publically share or pass on to my family. However, my annual letters are definitely a way to keep my mother’s memories alive. It is a way to honor her life and her legacy by taking time out of my busy schedule to spend deliberate and thoughtful time with her.
When I asked my therapist about this practice she gave me lots of clarity and insight on why this is definitely a healthy practice, and worth continuing. Since my mother had a nervous breakdown when I was 6-years-old, I never really got to know her as a person, nor as an adult. By writing my mother now,
I am letting my mother get to know me.
I am having an adult conversation with her.
I am building my empathy as I see her through the eyes of an adult.
I am identifying who I am and learning more about myself.
I am having a relationship with her spirit, not the mentally ill woman she was. (It even feels sacred!)
Love to you Mom, and Happy Birthday!
Hearing these things gave me more confidence in pursuing this annual tribute to my mother. We weren’t close while she was alive. Her nervous breakdown when she was 35 years old changed the trajectory of our lives, separating us emotionally for the rest of her life.
Don’t Forget
I don’t want to forget her. I don’t want to forget the legacy that she left me. So I choose to keep that alive by writing her every year. More than that, I am writing about it here on my blog, to inspire others to likewise turn healing into hope.
My mother would’ve been 84 last week. Happy birthday Mom! It’s been great getting to know you!________________________________________________________________________________
More about Verna:Verna Hill Simms, started her writing career at the age of 80 after answering a small ad in her local newspaper to form a writers group. She joined the Jefferson County (Missouri) Writer’s Society, saying it has been one of the best decisions she ever made.
Verna’s book, Water Under the Bridge, is a historical novel, published by Rocking Horse Publishing in March 2014. Her book is mostly fiction, but a lot of the story mirrors the life she led in the 1920s along with her friends. Water Under the Bridge is available in both paperback and Kindle on Amazon. For more about Verna’s journey into publishing, click here.
Every year I mark the anniversary of my mother’s passing by writing her a letter. For the past two years I’ve published excerpts of those letters online to model healing and vulnerability, and hopefully to inspire others to do the same. Those posts still rank among the most popular posts I’ve written.
Preparing to Write
This year’s letter, written on the eve of the 4th anniversary of her passing, was just as hard to write as the few before. I warned my family days in advance that I would need some time to myself to do this annual practice. I had hoped to get away and work on the tribute scrapbook I started after her passing, but those plans fell through as well.
My family went out for the evening leaving me alone with my laptop and Zoe, our miniature Schnauzer and my faithful companion. In the past I had written her about the changes I was going through internally, and the decision I made to take medication for my ADHD. The latter decision was only possible because I had finally dealt with my fears of medication due in part to what I witnessed in her lifelong struggle with mental illness and psychiatric drugs.
What to Write About
This year, I pondered why I was writing her again. Was it a healthy thing to do—write a letter to a deceased person? I knew that letter writing was a good tool for healing. I used it before in my spiritual and recovery related classes. But what was the purpose in writing an annual letter? I sat with that indecision briefly, prayed about what was on my heart, and proceeded to pen my longest letter yet to my mother. (It seems I had a lot to say!)
Our happy family, before mom’s nervous breakdown, circa 1964.
Growing up without the emotional stability and attachment from my mother has left me longing in many areas of my life. I’ve gotten some of those maternal needs met through my Sisters in Christ and my long journey to love with my stepmother as well. Questions still linger though that are specific to my family of origin and what I didn’t get from her.
For instance, my mother spent many years seeing a psychiatrist. She never shared what happened in those sessions. I do know it was something that she looked forward to every week. I’ve re-entered the therapeutic process myself to deal with the effects of my ADHD and to support my son’s similar struggles. I too have come to look forward to those weekly visits and have more empathy for what my mother must’ve been going through. I imagine it was her lifeline, as my counseling sometimes feels like it is for me.
Reading my Letter
I chose to read my letter to my counselor and ask her my nagging question: “Is this healthy?”
She loved my question and enjoys watching how I am integrating the challenges I am facing as I come to terms with my ADHD. Her response to my question was a resounding “yes!” She went on to explain how my letters are catalysts for continued healing from my mother wound (by offering my forgiveness) and is bringing great revelation into who I am as a person (and connecting it to my mother). Those were welcome words to someone who at times feels like I am walking around in a state of disequilibrium.
The main point I finished my letter with was how my mother’s faith changed mine as well:
“The faith steps that I took to minister to you in your final months, and to bury you, gave me such a depth of trust in the Lord. It brought me back to Him in ways that I wouldn’t have possibly considered in the past.
It led me to Spain (and France), not just to meet Rosa and see the sights, but to pray for His people there. He prepared me for that and met me there…
Prayers sent heavenward in the French Alps, Sept. 2014.
…If I have any legacy or fruit of righteousness that will grow in those countries, you will have it too. Your faith planted the seeds for me. I hope you are privy to that now and have a glimpse into what lies ahead for the Church.
…Thank you Mom for your faith, for investing in me when I was young, and fighting the good fight until the end. Your story is important. I pray that in time, I can share it to a larger audience, and that it inspires others to embrace forgiveness and healing so that they too may live with the eternal Hope that comes from Above.
Love,
Ardis”
In Part 2 of this post series, I’ll address other benefits of this annual practice and introduce you to another author who has been doing this for over 30 years.
Our family recently started a new prayer practice before meals that has me very excited and a bit reminiscent of my youth. I was raised in a Catholic home and every night as the family gathered around the dinner table, we always said grace before the meal.
Childhood Prayer Practice
It was the same prayer every time. Memorizing that early on in my childhood was like memorizing the Hail Mary or Our Father Prayers. In fact, that was probably the only prayers I ever really learned. It was routine, and I never put any thought or reflection into the words.
Our meal prayer was this:
“Bless us, O Lord and these Thy gifts which we are about to receive from Thy bounty through Christ our Lord. Amen.”
Reading and understanding that prayer now, I can see how it draws us back to God and reminds us that the food we eat is a gift from Him (Thy bounty). As a kid, I was thrown off by the Old English ‘thy’ and probably the concept that our food came from God, when I knew my mother had just prepared it. How confusing to a mere child.
Spanish Prayer Practice
When I traveled to Spain and lived with Pedro’s family a few summers ago, I was curious to see how this Catholic family prayed. In fact, I went so far as to try to learn the Our Father in Spanish. I could follow the words at Mass, but my effort to memorize it was futile.
English prayer cube
My first few meals in Spain, Rosa, Pedro’s mother, prayed in Spanish. I have no idea what she prayed. Then one day they asked me to bless the meal. Naturally I prayed in English—something inspired by the Holy Spirit and more in tune with how I normally pray before meals.
On another day, I was surprised by a family prayer practice they showed me. They put a wooden cube, about 4 inches in diameter on the table. Each side of the cube had a short Spanish prayer engraved into the wood. This was a prayer practice handed down from Rosa’s mother. It was a novel way to let chance or the Holy Spirit dictate which prayer was prayed before the meal. (I had never seen something like this before, but in writing this post, I found numerous sites that sell them online.)
Our Family Prayer Practice
Throughout the years our family meal times have been led mostly by my husband or me. We encouraged the kids to pray, but they were often reluctant.
I have fond memories of my youngest son, Cameron’s, pre-meal prayer. It was the same every time. Regrettably I didn’t write it down, and forgot most of it over the years.
My sons praying at dinner, January 2000.
It was so precious, and blew us all away the first time he said it. This is what I do remember:
“Please give everyone in this whole entire world wisdom and please send your angels down to protect us every day and night. Amen.”
Taught, caught, or Holy Spirit inspired? I have no idea, but it always left us smiling.
Our 2015 Prayer Practice
Fast forward to the beginning of 2015 (and back to the first paragraph of this post). I’ve had a book of prayers in my possession as a keepsake from my deceased Aunt Ardis (also my godmother) for several years. It is titled, 365 Table Graces for the Christian Home by Charles L. Wallis (1967, Harper & Row Publishers). It is almost 50 years old and in excellent condition.
My Aunt Ardis was a devout Catholic who served faithfully in her church community. The book was bequeathed to me when I went on a trip back to her home in Wisconsin. I brought home many of my Aunt’s treasured spiritual mementos, like this book, along with some china and silver, and a trove of letters and photos from my childhood.
Week 13 prayers & keepsake bookmark
We tried reading the mealtime prayers when I first got the book, but couldn’t ever get in the groove of hearing the Holy Spirit speak through the Old English. But now, after deepening my relationship with the Lord the last few years, it practically sings to me. Even better, my family is enjoying them.
They aren’t just a blessing over the meal. They are like having scripture read before a meal—not directly with references, but in general, with God’s promises and His love being poured out over our family mealtime together. So years later, part of my Aunt Ardis’ legacy of faith is being modeled back into my family. Precious, indeed!
Table Graces by Charles L. Wallis
Here’s a few of the prayers from 365 Table Graces for the Christian Home:
“May our family devotions and prayers daily inspire us to do thy will, O God, even as thy Son Jesus found in his small home in Nazareth the inspiration and guidance to undertake thy holy work.”
“May our home be founded, heavenly Father, upon him who is the Rock of true faith and not upon the shifting sands of doubt, and may we accept this food with prayerful thanksgiving and not with spiritual apathy.”
“Great Physician, bless all who suffer and are afflicted, use us in thy healing ministry, and grant us patience and hope in our times of difficulty.”
Do you sense the invitation of the Lord’s Power and Presence to join Him in your daily walk through these prayers?
Table Graces for Everyone
I was pleasantly surprised to find this book does exist on Amazon. One copy is actually in new condition! I found a large selection of similar books on Amazon for anyone interested in taking their table prayers to a new level. Click here for a list.
While this book would be hard for children to understand, there are others that are more geared to young families. Wouldn’t it be a great way to introduce children to prayer and inadvertently share the Gospel with them at the same time?
Every Christian needs table graces in their home.
What is your mealtime prayer practice or memorable prayer time growing up?
I’m not sure why, but this is the first holiday season that I have looked forward to in several years. I think that started five years ago when my brother, his wife, and me made a cross country trek to visit my mother just before Christmas. As referenced in my story, “Walking My Mother Home,” in Journeys to Mother Love, it was our final farewell to her. She survived another Christmas season and passed away in February the next year. Those two Christmases were the hardest for me, still being in the waiting process.
On Santa’s lap, 2001
Holiday Transitions
It was also during that time our teenage sons were becoming more independent. The feel of the holidays was changing. There was no more Christmas wonder, no more believing in Santa Claus, and no more family holiday portraits. It became harder for me to instill some tradition and holiday spirit into the season.
This year we are preparing for our next layer of parenting and holiday traditions. Our oldest son Evan graduated from college earlier this year and moved out of state. We haven’t seen each other since we moved him into his new apartment six months ago. We already faced Thanksgiving without him. It was a quiet day with my husband, my youngest son, Cameron, and me. It was like a super-charged family meal with a small turkey and all the trimmings.
We made the most of it. The highlight for me was when Cameron asked us each to share what we were thankful for. He shared that he was thankful for understanding parents (in reference to the challenges he faced adapting to high school with ADD) and that his parents were still together (in reference to his keen awareness of how many of his friends come from broken families).
His response warmed this sentimental mother’s heart. Even at 17 he gets it!
An Old Tradition
In preparation for Evan’s holiday visit, I am decking the house all out for Christmas, like in years past. It is a big chore so I enlisted the help of my friend, Stacie, who has spent several holiday meals at our home. While digging through the boxes of decorations, I was reminded of a family tradition of sorts that was handed down from my husband’s father, Ray.
Ray with his new pick-up truck in 1969.
I barely knew Ray. He never officially became my father-in-law, passing away over 30 years ago, a few months before we were married. For the next several years though, we were fondly reminded of his sense of humor at Christmas. Ray had a habit of making a note on the outside of some of the Christmas boxes, posting the year, and maybe what the weather was like outside or some comical tidbit of information. My husband and I started doing the same, usually making a treatise about the weather or maybe a good-natured ribbing of the other’s holiday attitude.
Continuing the Tradition
Those boxes with their notes from Ray are long gone, but my notes have continued and took a new more ‘writerly’ direction in recent years. I came across some of those notes while decorating. Stacie and I had a big laugh over some of my notes and reminisced about how we met.
In a phone conversation a few days prior, we pondered what year we met…and there it was in black and white in my entry for January 12, 2007. We met in one of the classes that I was leading at church, and I had noted that I was preparing the curriculum. (It was my first class of this nature, so it was a big deal to me.) We got quite a chuckle out of that.
New and old friends from a spiritual growth class at church in 2007.
I went on to read my notes getting a glimpse into our holiday preparations. Stacie showed up in my notes indirectly again two years later. I wrote that I was preparing for the women’s retreat at church. She was at that retreat and mentioned the significance of it to her. I remembered it very clearly. Stacie was in a period of transition and heartache at the time. In a moment of divine intervention, a group of women gathered around her, and laid hands on her in prayer. We witnessed the Holy Spirit minister to many women at that retreat.
Ministering to Others
Stacie and I worked hard tending to all the decorating details around the house this year. We laughed and we got a bit teary eyed a few times. We turned a chore into a celebration of God’s goodness to us over the years. It all started with a simple holiday tradition of writing a short note to include with my Christmas decorations. It ministered to us both that day, not only preparing my home, but also our hearts for Christmas.
Thank you Ray! Maybe the grandsons whom you never met, will carry on that humorous habit. If not, you left us a legacy through the notes that are tucked away in our Christmas boxes. Some day when I pass those boxes of decorations on to my kids, maybe it will minister to them too.
Preparing our hearts for Christmas
Decorating the front doorway
Preparing my home for Christma
What are you doing to prepare your heart and home for Christmas?
Same father, different mother, but the same physical DNA runs through me and my half-brother. Thankfully, it’s our spiritual DNA (the Holy Spirit) that gives us the Power of Healing.
My brother and I with our half-brother (center) in 2014
In the post, A Journey to Brother Love, Part 1, I shared how as an adult I was shocked to learn I had a half-brother. I only met him once, 18 years ago. The opportunity arose to meet him again recently. I didn’t want any regrets, so I traveled to see him.
From the moment we were reunited, my brother was friendly and open, even greeting me with a hug. It felt very welcoming. He is a charming and engaging man. Yet for me, the time spent together was surreal.
What do you say? How do you communicate with a brother who was raised by maternal grandparents since he was two years old because his mother died and he was abandoned by his father (my father)?
Does he even want relationship with me (us)? After all, we were…
I'm an author, writer, speaker, mentor & mom. I've struggled to find my voice all my life as I lived in the shadows of a mother with mental illness. Thankfully that was not the legacy that she handed down to me. It took a lot of recovery and deep healing work to rise above it.
I am thankful to God for Making Me Bold in the process. Now I use my writing and speaking voice to help others on their journey to turn healing into hope.
What a challenge and a blessing, walking with Cameron from preschool graduation (above) to Class of 2015 graduate. 
I have a stack of letters from my mother dating back to my days in college. I have read them from time to time. I didn’t appreciate them much in my youth, but now I have a new lens—one of a mother whose children are leaving the nest and is learning to let go. Her letters comfort me, as I see her love for me in new ways. They keep her memories alive.
More about Verna: Verna Hill Simms, started her writing career at the age of 80 after answering a small ad in her local newspaper to form a writers group. She joined the Jefferson County (Missouri) Writer’s Society, saying it has been one of the best decisions she ever made.
Preparing to Write
Childhood Prayer Practice
Table Graces for Everyone
Making Me Bold 