August 10, 1970
My parents were on vacation in Ontario, Canada on my 25th birthday, but during that week we received a letter from Mom waxing eloquent about my birth. She had once told me that her labor and delivery had been “a trip to hell’s door,” so after hearing that, I didn’t ask any more questions.
In her letter, however, it was all sweetness and light. She was writing from Canadian Keswick, a Christian conference grounds popular with Moody Church folk and others, where physical and spiritual refreshment were guaranteed.
The speakers there were well-known preachers who didn’t just talk from behind pulpits but mingled with guests at mealtimes and during recreational activities. As much as Mom was relishing the week, she was missing her home, her church, and mostly her family.
Her letter to me was addressed, Dear Baby Ann, the sentimental nickname she reserved for me. And hopefully you can read it. She wrote,
Twenty-five years ago tonight, I was at sewing club eating…..
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I was gratified to know that my arrival into the family hadn’t been only a trip to hell’s door but that there had been some “joy and light” in it, too.
“The generation of the upright will be blessed.” (Psalm 112:2)