Young Love (#77)

Posted on January 21, 2017 by Margaret

As my parents struggled to unpack and squeeze too much stuff into their new home, Nate and I eagerly got back to planning our wedding. By this time we had lists of our lists and were getting lost in the details.

Not wanting to burden Mom further, I wrote my mentor in California, Aunt Joyce, and asked for help organizing our thoughts. Since my 7 bridesmaids lived all over the country and couldn’t shop for gowns together, she helped with the decision to let each girl make her own dress (or have it made). I would provide the material, but they would be in charge of fitting their gowns to their figures.

Aunt Joyce made color suggestions for our late fall wedding, and we settled on deep burgundy with light pink accents, in velveteen. My good friend Lynn volunteered to help me find the best deal on 80 yards of fabric and was willing to sew three of the seven gowns. Aunt Joyce offered to make two, and we were on our way.

Most of all, though, I really appreciated Aunt Joyce’s encouragement and her promise to pray for us. She wrote, “I’m so excited for you both and am anxious to meet Nate. I hope you find a home or apartment, and a job. Count on my prayers!”

Those two items, an apartment and a teaching job (for me), were hanging heavy over our heads, though we couldn’t work on either project till we got back to Champaign. Since our stint as camp counselors would begin August 18, we had two weeks to get everything else done. Registry decisions had to be made, along with invitations, music, catering, a cake, rehearsal dinner venue, a honeymoon destination, and much more. I also had to move out of my Chicago apartment in time to let my three roommates find a new fourth.

Nate and I decided the best place to start was at our favorite Chinese restaurant… with pencil and paper to make a fresh list.

As we cracked open our fortune cookies at the end of that meal, my slip of paper was encouraging: “Past efforts will soon brings blossoms.” (Yes… brings.) When I got home, I glued it into my scrapbook.

The next morning we discovered that a second attempt had been made to steal my Corvette, and so we added one more item to our list: finding a less popular, more reasonably-priced car.

“If any of you lacks wisdom, you should ask God.” (James 1:5)

Young Love (#76)

Posted on January 20, 2017 by Margaret

August 1, 1969

Inch by inch Mom was releasing her hold on “708,” as she referred to her old home. Gradually she was stepping away from the happiness she and her family knew while living at that address, but she needed one more visit for two reasons:

Many remaining items from their garage sale a week earlier were still stashed in the garages and basements of neighbors’ homes and needed to be dealt with.
My brother, Tom, had prearranged a political meeting at 708 for a man who was running for Congress.

Tom (left) had worked hard on this candidate’s campaign and had scheduled the event many weeks before the house sold. No one had expected it to sell as fast as it did.

Although the rally was landing on the same day as the new owners would be moving in, they agreed to let Tom (and Mom) host the event in the back yard, a gracious gift. The newspaper had publicized the event as an opportunity for university students to join the candidate’s team, and Tom would be leading the charge.

Meanwhile, Mom busied herself collecting her garage sale possessions, hosting the sale “Part 2” in the next-door-neighbor’s driveway. And of course, as the day unfolded, she ended up inside her old house, helping the new family with whatever she could. She had done a good job readying the home for its new occupants, and her diary comment was, “708 SPOTLESS.”

“Going home” is satisfying for most of us, and after moving from a beloved house, going home to a different one can be unsettling. All of us can testify to running errands in the weeks after a move and automatically ending up on the route to our old address rather than the new house. There comes a day, though, when the transition must be made, even if we have to concentrate hard to get it done.

Tom’s rally was a success with about 50 attendees, and the candidate was appreciative. Mom’s garage sale succeeded, too, and as she hauled the remaining items away, she left 708 for good. Once she made up her mind that she had really moved out, it took only 3 days before a very special note popped up in her diary. They had been out to dinner, after which she wrote: “…and then to our new home, which we LOVE!”

In the end, Mom and Dad lived in their smaller home for more than 30 years, and Mom never loved any home more than that one.

“The boundary lines have fallen for me in pleasant places.” (Psalm 16:6)

Young Love (#75)

Posted on January 19, 2017 by Margaret

July 31, 1969

Mom was having trouble saying goodbye to the home where she’d raised her children and had so much fun doing it. The morning after the move, she drove back to 708, let herself in, and waited for the new owners to arrive. While she waited, she went to work painting some basement shelves she hadn’t been able to finish in the final flurry to move out the day before.

I can’t imagine what the new owners must have thought when they pulled in to the driveway after their closing and saw Mom’s car there. But she had ingratiated herself with this family in previous weeks, forging quick friendships. She probably threw the door wide open for them with the same warm welcome she’d given a thousand other guests, explaining that she was there to finish painting… after which she would “get out of the way for their moving van.”

The new owners told her their truck wouldn’t be arriving until the next day and that they had just stopped by to be sure the house was empty. In a short while they departed, inviting Mom to stay as long as she wanted – and she wanted.

Once the painting was done, she did what she really came to do. She walked upstairs, entering each room, lying down on the floor, arms outstretched. She wanted to talk to God.

In the master bedroom, she thanked him for everything she could think of that had gone on in that room – for a husband who had always been faithful, for successful recoveries from illnesses and surgeries, for time with children who climbed in with her during thunderstorms, for a daughter who donned her bridal gown in that room just before getting married, and much more.

She moved from room to room, each time spreading herself out on the floor and mixing memories with gratitude to God… no doubt with plentiful tears.

After she finished upstairs, she went to the main floor, and her prayers must have been lengthy as she thought about hundreds of get-togethers she’d held in that home.

Surely she thanked God for the chance to be a Christian witness to neighbors and friends in those rooms, especially grateful for the children and teens who accepted her frequent invitations to “C’mon over.”

She even went to the basement where so many church socials and gatherings had taken place, and my guess is that when she stretched out on her laundry room floor, she wept hard.

Many of her conversations with the Lord had taken place as she ironed, her favorite household chore. She stood at an old wooden ironing board often, ironing sheets, towels, tablecloths, handkerchiefs, even Dad’s underwear.

As a kid it seemed to me she looked for excuses to heat up her iron and stand there – but maybe it was because that was her holy space. I remember many a strained conversation (since I was her wayward daughter) that occurred as she ironed. The tension between us was always mitigated when we could focus on a pillow case going from wrinkled to smooth, rather than looking at each other.

When Mom finished her worship time in each room that day, she took a few pictures of her empty home and walked out the door. Amazingly, though, she already had plans to return – just one more time.