A Tribute

This piece, a beautiful tribute to my mother, was written by Linda Franklin - one of her "other daughters".  Mom opened her home to many young people who were working or studying at Eden Valley Institute, a Christian organization near Loveland, CO.  Linda was one of them.

Tendrils

I have shewed you all things, how that so labouring ye ought to support the weak and to remember the words of the Lord Jesus, how he said, It is more blessed to give than to receive.

Acts 20:35

            Dry and rocky, or soft and workable; according to Scripture, our heart soil either promotes or inhibits growth. I think about that when the weeds become painfully obvious or my garden too dry. One special little flower garden is entwined around my heart because, like the tenacious tendrils on her brilliant blue morning glories, Mom Bird reached out and lifted me up at a very precarious time in my physical and spiritual development. Her garden was nestled in the red clay of Colorado. By midsummer, the broken wagon wheel at the front gate was almost hidden by an extravaganza of blue glory.

            Mom Bird's life was not uncomplicated, but, like her morning glory, she seemed to gain strength by reaching out. Those of us who lived in her student home achieved a higher level of spiritual, academic, and medical wisdom through her influence.

            When I was confined to the sanitarium with a high fever, it was Mom Bird who applied or supervised my hydrotherapy treatments twice a day for the week that started me on my healing journey from the chronic lung weakness that had plagued me since birth. She was there to lend nutritional and spiritual support as I gained enough strength to resume my regular work load.       

            Mom Bird's night shift as an RN at the sanitarium sometimes challenged her regular mealtimes, it never affected her spirit of devotion to her "children".  Even when she'd been on duty all night, she always seemed to find enough time and energy to cook our rice and raisins for Sabbath morning breakfast.

And Mom Bird's tendrils were not confined to America; they reached clear across the ocean. Mountains of clothing, cleaned and mended by her own hands, were shipped to Africa during her years of leadership in Community Services.

            In her last letter to me Mom Bird enclosed a recent photo (smiling as always) and a little folder entitled, "Talk Courage! Talk Faith! Talk Hope!" and told me how much she appreciated the stories I sent her about the spiritual lessons I was learning in my greenhouse. Though she was no longer on active nursing duty, she was still preparing fresh vegetables for health guests. "I still do salads for everybody! I praise my Heavenly Friend for good health! No pain!"

            There will be no more brokenness to hide over yonder, as represented by Mom Bird's broken wagon wheel, but when I think of Heaven I can't help but picture a little blue morning glory entwined around a majestic white column at one particular mansion, ever reaching toward the Light.

 

 

Philippians 1:6   I am confident that He who has begun a good work in you will continue that work until the day of Jesus Christ.