You Can Tell a Lot about a Woman by What She Carries in Her Purse by Linda Maynard

On Kingdom Bloggers, we are picking a favorite blog from our personal blogs.

Having only recently starting my blog, I am sharing one which was in draft form.

 I have been thinking of my parents a lot lately. I wish they were still here, to enjoy their great grandchildren. I wish they were here, as I understand they were fallible, as I am fallible. I would accept that more... I wish they were here, as I would put up with my dad’s cigar smoking… I wish they were here, as my mom tried to feed us, even when we said we weren’t hungry… I would go freely with her to bingo games… I wish they were here, so that, as they lived on earth, I could tell them that God is merciful and not angry.

I just wish they were here.

This is an excerpt of the eulogy; I gave at my mother’s funeral

My Mother, Sophie.

The contents of her purse changed over the years. It contained not only what she had, but what she didn’t have.

She had no money. Many of you know, she epitomized a selfless heart. When she could, she gave away all her money and possessions.

That was her way.

At any given time, she would have straws and napkins. Sometimes, she had ketchup packets and coffee creamers. Even once in a while, a dinner roll appeared, that was carefully wrapped in a napkin. It was leftover from a restaurant meal. Considering that she was a child of the depression, those acts revealed a life of lack, that few of us grasp.

Oh yes, then there were the cards and letters that you sent her. She held onto the Love that was expressed through them. Even though many were stained with coffee and old for wear, your love in sending them, was all that mattered.

There were photos of smiling loved ones and a photo of her precious son Kenneth, who died of an overdose.

Her church bulletins accumulated each week. Though she was unable to attend her church services, her son Richard, made sure that she got them. They were a reminder of her life and faith and the church she found so much comfort in.

Sister Zena, the Recreation Director of the Nursing Home my mom was in, enjoyed my mother so much. She told me, “Your mother attends not only the Catholic Service, but the Protestant and Jewish services as well.”

Then there was an old tube of lipstick that she carefully applied to the lips that once kissed our boo-boos and tears away.

Her driver’s license was missing. That fact served as a sad reminder of her loss of mobility and freedom, after her stroke. She tried so hard to accept she couldn’t drive anymore, but I knew it broke her heart.

Her eyeglasses and many combs sat there till needed. The Handicapped sticker for her car was another occupant. It was another reminder of her loss.

Bunches of recipes were indicative of her love for cooking. Sometimes her experiments, not only looked strange, but tasted like something you couldn’t describe. She died pre “the Cooking Channel”. She would have loved the shows.

She had a cigarette lighter, for what I don’t know, as she had stopped smoking years ago.

She placed her Guideposts and Reader’s Digest Magazines in the side pockets, ready to share articles It was not unusual to see notations on the cover. Page 34, Kathryn…Page 23, Linda…Page 2, Philip…Page 49, Raymond…Page 14, Richard When she read, there were certain articles that she felt would interest each one.

Her purses were always big with many compartments. She purchased them from Church Rummage Sales or Salvation Army. She picked them with care, as she knew she had Treasures to keep in them.

I wish I had her purse with me right now. I would look at each thing, one by one, and remember the essence of who she was.

 

I swear, I see her with the cloud of witnesses, just waiting for me.

I know that may very well happen. As I was with her during her last week, she suddenly startled and looked with a faraway look and said, “Mama…mamma!” I said “mom what do you see?” She said “It is my mama and she is dressed in white.”

What was noteworthy was that my grandmother ( Babci) always wore very dark clothes.

The God of all compassion and mercy reunited my mom with her mother. Years of pain, just melted away!

Being Proud without being Prideful

Years ago, I was playing a game with my family called the Ungame. It is a game to improve communication with others. They groaned and reluctantly agreed to play one of “mom’s games”

 One of the questions was “Who is the person, in the family, that talks the most?” They all agreed it was me. A while later, another question was asked, “Who is the person, in your family, that is the best listener?” Again, it was unanimous…it was me again! I thought that was pretty funny actually.

As God is my witness, my mother told me that I hardly talked for years. I just relied on my older brother and sister to communicate for me. I was also very sensitive and very much in the background in my family.

Early in my walk with the Lord, I sensed Him saying to me, that I was a lot like Gideon. When I read about him, this is what I found. Gideon was hiding…check! He considered himself the least in his family…check! Then, when the Lord called him a Mighty Warrior… what…who me??? I was at once amused and intrigued.

With that in mind, I would have to say two of the proudest moments of my life were when I gave the eulogies at my parent’s funerals. My dad’s came first and several years later, I spoke at my mom’s service. I was not only grateful that I had the courage to get up there before a large crowd, but I was also able to capture the very best of their lives.

Within each of their eulogies I was able to rightfully give honor to the Lord.

Many people, after each service, told me that what I said blessed them. They said that “I nailed it” with describing them.Along with what they knew about my parents, I was also able to share private moments that I had with each of them about faith and how much the Lord loved them etc. Because of those talks, I am reassured that they both are in heaven.
They, including my brothers and sister were amazed that this quiet Linda was up there talking.

Of course, I totally owe thanks, for that transformation, to my relationship with the Lord. He has endowed me with so much strength and confidence that I never had.

Another very proud moment (and you thought I could stick with just one) is when I was around 14.

Growing up, I would pick Christmas Eve as the happiest day of the year.

Actually, we celebrated Wigilia, which is Polish, for Christmas Eve or Vigil. There are specific traditions, like certain dishes on the menu... an empty chair with a table setting, is in place in anticipation for Jesus’ coming, as a guest… shared the Oplatek, which is a wafer, symbolic of the bread of Christ. Each person would approach another and break the wafer and speak a blessing on the other person. This all had such meaning for me. Also, having all my relatives together was a joyous occasion for me.

One Christmas Eve, my Babci (my grandmother) and my aunt arrived. They however came without my grandfather. He was sick, probably already suffering from the effects of his cancer. In those days, hardly anyone said the “C” word for cancer out loud.

The thought of my Dziadje (Grandfather) being alone, was just too sad for me to consider. I told my parents that I wanted to go over and to be with him. I think they were a little surprised ,as they knew just how much this day meant to me. My father, however, agreed to drive me over to his house.

One thing, about my relationship with my grandfather, needs to be noted. I don’t think I ever had any extended and personal conversation with him…ever. He certainly was not a talkative person. Then there was the language barrier too. He mostly spoke Polish with a smattering of English. Last but not least I was kind of afraid of him.

The greatest memory that I have of him is, when we would visit, he would give each of the grandchildren a banana and a small glass of Pepsi.

I didn’t think about the language issue, when I volunteered, but that was OK. I think he was pretty surprised that I came. He and I spent the evening with a bit of conversation along with a banana, a glass of Pepsi for me. He had glass of hard liquor.

I hope the visit lightened his heart. I remember how my heart was warmed. It probably was the first time I realized, that it IS more blessed to give than to receive.

I would be remiss if I didn't say that my wedding day and the birth of my children are way up there on the top of my list a days of pride.

God has been so good to me.
by Linda Maynard

Honor…Esteem…Respect

He has shown you, O mortal, what is good.

 And what does the LORD require of you?

 To act justly and to love mercy and to walk humbly

with your God.

Micah 6:8

The Scripture above has always been one, which I feel exemplifies my parent’s lives.

On their 50 th Anniversary, my oldest brother gave a toast, saying, “Our father is a fighter and our mother is lover”. I thought, “Wow, that I so true.”

He was a Public Servant, a Firefighter. He was the Assistant Chief

My dad was involved in labor unions, his whole life. I always believed he “fought for the little guy”. That was his intention. It was not to manipulate or strong arm people into “doing the right thing”... He was motivated, by knowing that workers could be exploited and their efforts undermined. He was a catalyst to bring fairness and truth into the testing process in the city he worked in.

He was a man, that was often admired but sometimes disdained.

We found out that there were many people who appreciated his courage and his stand in fighting for their fair rights. After he died, man after man, have told us, that although my dad’s manner could sometimes be intimidating, nevertheless, they respected him for his stand and his courage to face the “powers that be.” on behalf of others.

My mother was a good soul and giving was so part of her nature. I was often in awe as to how she put other’s needs first.

She gave in so many ways. In saying that, it could be money, but it was rarely that. She gave of herself.

She visited the sick and the elderly. She gave groceries and goods to people who were in need. She wrote encouraging notes to others, to let them know that they were remembered and important. She would lend a hand to strangers, whether it was to give them a ride (I know that seems scary to me now) or help them acquire goods that they needed for living. She was a member of her church’s ministry to visit the homebound. She not only went to their homes, but she went around town, to pick up those women, who were elderly and handicapped, so that they could visit as well. She often lent an ear to many. She was a good listener. She seemed to have a sense of another person being down and depressed. She did not give up on people. She would believe in the very best for them. I believe, in her own style, she too, “fought for the little guy”

Sadly, when my dad passed away, he did not receive the honor, in his city, to have flags flown at half mast. The hierarchy stubbornly denied him what he deserved. However, there was redemption for his memory.

As his funeral procession passed the last Firehouse that he served in, the crew of that shift’s firefighters, stood in front of the house. They were at attention, saluting him. They did this courageous act, despite the presence of the very Officer that denied my father his due. Our family will never forget that. And the “little guys” did not forget my dad.

My mother was remembered by many at her wake. We had a journal in which people could write about the ways that she impacted their life. There had been obvious things that we had seen all along. But,it was a thrill to know how she affected people, in personal and sometimes secret ways.

I visited the State Fire Academy after my father died. The man, who was the head of it, concurred on what I have told you about my dad. He said “I remember your dad, with that cigar sticking out of his mouth, speaking his mind for justice.  He would not mince words. He was not a touchy feely kind of guy, but we all had a respect for him.” Does that make you think of the Prophets of old?

They lived their lives, not for accolades, but to live out the Gospel.

 My mom had a funny thing she would say when someone complimented her. She would say “If I had a quarter for every nice thing you say to me, I would give you a quarter for each one!”

So to my dad… I say “Dad…when I join you, I’ll bring your trademark cigars!”

To my mom… I say “Mom, you’d better have some quarters ready!”

Linda Maynard