mother's day
(posted 5/10/2009)
It has been almost five years since God called Mom home. If I know her, she's probably making a pot of coffee for the apostles and tidying up the place a bit. She may even have gently exhorted John the Baptist to get a haircut. One thing I do know. If the saints who have gone before us still find concern with the affairs of men and nations, then Mom is right there petitioning the Lord to spare America.
What do you envision when you think about "mom?" My memory, my experience, was of a person of boundless inner strength. She was born to stoic parents who left the comfortable, predictable farm of North Carolina in the 1920's during the great Florida land rush of those days. Even as recently as the 1920's most of the state resembled what Ponce de Leon saw more than what we know today. Life in north Florida then was tough, but it would get a whole lot tougher.
Within a few short years, she and her family would know the devastation of the Great Depression. Her childhood years were punctuated with the absence of material comfort, and sometimes, even hunger. From time to time she reflected upon those years by saying that, "Yes, we were poor, and I knew we were poor, too." But then she quickly followed those words by observing that everyone she knew was poor. Even her friends whose parents once had all the trappings of wealth wore dresses with frayed hems and brought meager lunches to school. Her father, one of the most dignified and hard working men I shall ever have had the privilege of knowing, could easily have ameliorated the food situation. The FDR Administration sent trucks laden with surplus milk, cheese and other foods throughout the cities and towns in relief efforts during the worst of the Depression years. Papa refused to participate. If it wasn't purchased by his earnings, grown in his garden, raised in his chicken pen, or even fished from the Halifax River, he and his family wouldn't serve it. Mom would help him after school with the gas station he managed. At night, they would take the tiny boat to the river to fish for mullet for that evening's dinner. Such was life in the 1930's in Holly Hill, Florida. Through it all, though, I gleaned an overall feeling that Mom had a wonderful childhood nonetheless. She was rich in what counted -- Godly parents, a loving family, the temperance of hard work, and life during a time when the nation still knew what mattered in this world.
These stories from Mom (and similar ones from Dad) were hard for my siblings and me to understand. As youngsters, we never knew hunger, ragged clothes, or even the lack of a new bicycle after 1000 or so miles. What I did understand through the years was the depth of character, wisdom, and compassion the difficult times helped forge in Mom. Her parents, and her times, also created in her an unshakeable sense of what it really means to be an American.
Mom in later years loved to write. Mornings found her on her 'writing sofa' with a cup of coffee, a yellow legal pad, and boundless creativity. Self-effacing to a fault, she never felt that her writings were worth anyone's time to read. What she refused to believe was that her poetry and essays deeply touched all who did read them. Mom's poem Gethsemane is the most beautifully sweet expression of Christian devotion I will ever read. I cannot even think of her poem, much less read it, without blurry eyes.
Her poems were only half of her writing talent. Her essays on the condition of America are remarkable for their enduring cogency. Fearless in her choice of topics, Mom would pen remarkable observations on subjects ranging from the economy to national defense. She was a hawk's hawk. She lived the years when America had powerful external enemies that threatened the very existence of our nation. As far as she was concerned, America could never be too strong, or too free. Her heroes were men like General Robert E. Lee, Generals George S. Patton and Douglas MacArthur, and later, President Ronald Reagan. An avid history buff, her fondness for these great Americans was earned through voracious reading and the lenses of historical fact.
So, when I think of Mom, I think of the rich legacy of self-reliance and love of country she left for my brothers, sister, and me. That portion of the legacy, though, only scratched the surface. All who knew Vivian Rae Edwards Heilig knew a lady whose compassion and charity were without end. It was only when ill health in latter years kept her from leaving the house did she slow in her doing for others. Her gifts were to everyone, but particularly to those who others had forgotten. From cleaning homes of elderly shut-ins, to holding the hands of nursing home patients and talking with them about their day, or taking much needed groceries to teen shelters, her many acts of Christian love for others are far too numerous to enumerate here. And, they were all done with as much secrecy as possible -- never did she expect anything in return. The thought of receiving accolades for any act of kindness she gave was anathema to her being. Her's was an example of selflessness I could never emulate. So, Mom, if you don't mind, could you put one more pot of coffee on the stove up there? We miss you so much, but we'll be there soon and we'll have a lot to talk about!
