The Death of Paul Crider (as told by Bertha Mae Sollenberger Crider Heisey)

Paul and Bertha Crider - Married on April 22, 1944

I've been sharing parts of my mother's story on Facebook, leading up to Mother's Day. This story is just too precious to only post part of it. I've taken an excerpt from a little book my sister wrote (with my Mother) not long before her death. I'm so glad we have this story in writing. Thank you, Aspen (my sister) for capturing Mother's story!

In April of 1947, Paul and Bertha were in a car accident after Paul fell asleep at the wheel. My mother's front teeth were knocked out and her jaw was broken in 5 places. 

We pick up the story here...

"After that car accident in April, life seemed rather heavy and I had just said to Paul while getting ready for bed on a Sunday night early in July—we were talking back and forth about the car accident, and I said: "Well, honey, I feel that I can go through anything as long as I have you to go through it with me. If you were taken from me, I'd hibernate the rest of my life." Paul turned to me and said in surprise, "Honey, I'm disappointed. I wish your faith in God would be strong enough that you could accept whatever happens as God's will for your life. Look at my parents. No two people loved each other more than they, yet when my father died, Mother accepted it as God's will and went steadfastly on her way."

The next day, Monday, July 7, I was hanging up my laundry on the clothesline outside, and thinking just how happy I was..I did love my life. I had a lovely son, and I was happy being the wife of Paul Crider. And then my mother and a neighbor lady came knocking on my front door, both looking very grave. They told me that there had been an accident on the job where Paul was working—building a silo in New Oxford. He had fallen from a height of about 40 feet and he was seriously injured. They told me he was in a coma, in the Hanover Hospital, and if I wanted to see Paul alive, I should come quickly with them to the hospital. Well, I went, I did get to see him alive, but he never regained consciousness. He died four days later on July 11, 1947.

After Paul died, and I remembered the conversation that had taken place so close to his death; it felt like somehow God was in it—He had prepared my heart, gone before anad arranged that Paul would give me this message in the calm and quite of home. "Have faith in God, that no matter what happens, you will know it is God's will for your life." It was almost as though it was a parting note from Paul.

The other thing that helped me during that time was regarding the numbers. I realized all the series of the number 7s had signifiance to me. Seven is God's number, said to be the perfect number...Paul had his fatal fall on the 7th day of the 7th month of 1947. I so needed to make sense of all of this for myself and seeing the 7s seemed to help. I didn't fall apart in the same way I think I would have if I hadn't had Paul's parting message and the numbers' message to hold onto. My heart is deeply moved when I realize the graciousness and love of God that He had gone before and provided for something He knew I would greatly need.

To read more excerpts about her story, visit my Facebook Page here.

Seamstress or Songstress?

How do you figure out who you were created to be? It's a hard question to answer when you're young and even when you're old.

Recently I found an autobiography I wrote back in high school. Now that I'm 51 years old, I see life so differently than the teenage girl who wrote that. This excerpt from it evoked a sudden, deep belly laugh.

"I am not good at door to door witnessing, but if I could have my own home and bake things for the hungry and sew things for the needy people, and concentrate on one group of people for the sake of Jesus; my children, I would be happy. I would have my children with me and could concentrate on raising them to love God."

My mother and her bread!

Mother & I in the kitchen.

I can see the influence of my mother all over that paragraph. She loved making a home for us children. That's the picture she painted for me out of her own giftedness. She was a grand cook, seamstress, gardener and mother.

But when I'd slice my mother's freshly baked bread, I'd cut the slices into deformed shapes and mess up the rest of the loaf. (You have to cut a second slice to straighten the first.) I couldn't even do it right the second time. I still smile and think of her when I cut a crooked slice and can feel her smiling at my inability to slice bread.

A rabbit I made.
I don't know how I did it!

I tried to sew but I wasn't nearly as good as she was and I'd quickly get frustrated. 

That idealistic description of my high-school-self was a direct reflection of who my mother was and what she was good at. Not who I am.

Recently I spent some time with a friend who just turned 70. I've started asking my older friends what reflections they'd have for younger folks. This particular friend paused for a moment and then spoke thoughtfully: "you start to become comfortable with who you are and you don't have to try to be anything or anyone else."

I spent much of my life trying to be all that my mother was and that's not all bad, but it took me a long time to figure out who I really am, apart from her. I finally discovered something; I DO sew and cook.

I sew lyrics and melodies together providing garments of joy and laughter for people when they listen to the tunes. I marinate thoughts and truths in my slow-cooker brain and serve up hope in creative ways for people to sit and partake of food for their soul. So I guess you could say that I have the same gifts as my mother - they just express themselves in different ways.

It can take a long time to figure out who you really are and what you're really good at, but the journey is worth it and it's part of the pleasure of growing older. If you still find yourself trying to be what others are (or think you should be), hang in there. Life and time have a way of helping you figure out who you really are.

• Pray often - asking God to lead you on this journey - spend time listening for His leading
• Look for clues from your childhood - what did you love to do when you were young
• What did other people tell you that you were good at? (maybe they still tell you)
• Experiment - try new things

As you age, you'll see clues from childhood that point you in the right direction. Through years of living and hours of prayer, you begin to find a groove and rhythm to who you are as a person, and then you can sit back, enjoy the creation God made you to be and not care about anything else.

And when you reach that point, you feel very free.

Go Ahead - Eat That Pie!

"Some people dig a fork into the pie 

but are too lazy to raise it to their mouth."  

Proverbs 19:24 (The Message)

I consider myself a pretty good pie maker. But it's taken me years to figure out what makes a good pie. There were times I wanted to throw the rolling pin across the room and give up. My husband loves pie and I was determined to figure it all out. I can't imagine going to all the work of making a pie and then being too lazy to finally sit down and eat it like the Proverb suggests.

In my early twenties, I learned my first important lesson about making pies when I spent my first Thanksgiving away from home. I was living in Oklahoma at the time and offered to make Thanksgiving dinner for my friends since I couldn't go home for the holiday. I had no idea what I was getting into.

I couldn't believe there would be that much difference between home-made pumpkin pie and the filling in a can. So in my laziness (and stupidity) I bought pumpkin pie in a can. It tasted terrible.

My Mother was THE best pie maker in the world and there is a reason she didn't use store-bought filling.  I think that was the day I decided that I would never make a pie with store-bought filling again. Why hadn't I paid more attention to what my Mother did?

Once I've made a pie, my husband finds all kinds of creative ways to hurry up the process of cooling it. Snow banks, freezer, van, whatever he can find that is cold enough! (If you cut into a pie before it cools completely, the filling is a runny mess.) A runny mess is ok if you want a delicious topping for your scoop of ice cream and don't mind the flakey pie crust as part of your ice cream, but my husband is a purist and wants his pie without anything else on it. I, on the other hand, try to find that perfect temperature when it's cool enough that it won't run, but it's still warm enough that it comforts your digestive tract all the way to your stomach.

So when I read this Proverb recently, I started pondered the meaning of it and Tom and I have had some interesting discussion as we reflect on our upbringing and our love of pie-consumption. How could anyone not eat the pie they made?

Take for instance my concord grape pie - my personal favorite. Years ago we planted our own concord grape vine so that I could harvest the grapes and make fresh grape pie. There's nothing else like it! It takes a lot of work to grow them yourself. If I'm going to go to the work of planting, growing, pruning and maintaining the grape vine, why on earth would I dig my fork into the final masterpiece and then NOT put it into my mouth?

Tom and I were not raised to be lazy. But we both realize that there are days we could choose to be lazy. In fact, just last weekend, I told him I just wanted to lay in bed and eat a big bag of peanut M&M's. I laughed when he responded, "Come on now, you're a motivational speaker, now motivate yourself."

All that is to say, I have times when I am too tired to keep going. I juggle a lot of things, just like you. Sometimes, if one of those things drops or goes awry, I can feel like giving up on everything.

So whether you struggle with laziness all the time or just once in a while, we concluded that laziness can overtake anyone for various reasons. I've chosen two that seem to be my biggest culprits.

1.) Discouragement.

For myself, I find that laziness can set in when I am discouraged. Once I've worked through the root of my discouragement, I am on my way to becoming productive again.

2.) Resistance.

Resistance can come at you from the outside or it can come from within your own soul. Either way, it's amazing how you can be so close to the final step of your dream and then encounter one last big battle of resistance.

• The night before your wedding, you suddenly panic and fear you're making a mistake. 

• You tear up your resignation letter and decide to keep your old job because it's more comfortable than looking for something more suited to your skills and personality.

Up until the final moments before I walked on to the stage for my first Portraits of White concert, I encountered resistance. In fact, I was in my hotel room with diarrhea about an hour before I had to head over to the venue. I was terrified. I wanted to hide from everyone. I questioned my own sanity in planning such an event. I had overcome many obstacles to get that far, but the biggest resistance now came from my own deep dark pit of self-doubt. Fortunately, I pressed through and the moment I stepped on stage, I experienced amazing confidence.

Like they say,

"Don't doubt in the dark what you heard in the light."

So if you find yourself digging into the pie, but unable to follow through to the last bite, take heart. Ask yourself what is really bothering you? 

If I would have not followed through on my Portraits of White concert, it would have most likely been because I was afraid I would fail. So for me, it's often rooted in fear.

“Are you paralyzed with fear? That’s a good sign. Fear is good. Like self-doubt, fear is an indicator. Fear tells us what we have to do. Remember one rule of thumb: the more scared we are of a work or calling, the more sure we can be that we have to do it.” - Steven Pressfield, "The War of Art"

Or perhaps you are simply encountering resistance.

“To yield to Resistance deforms our spirit. It stunts us and makes us less than we are and were born to be.” - Steven Pressfield, "The War of Art"

Once you've identified the root of your trouble, stick your fork in the pie and then go ahead - eat it!

It's the 4th of July

go ahead and eat your pie!

Do you really want that prayer answered?

Frances at her mother's piano.

I did a concert recently where I incorporated an arrangement on the piano that I probably haven't played since high school.  It's the old song "My Tribute" by Andrae Crouch.  It was Dino Kartsinokis' arrangement and has always been one of my favorites.  It pretty much uses every key on the keyboard - maybe that's why I like it. I got the feeling people really enjoyed it.  I think it was partly due to the fact that I dedicated it to my mother who passed away in September of 2014.  In fact, it was a poignant moment for me when I got a standing ovation and I could feel the tears wanting to rush out of my heart into my eyes.  It was a special moment.

You see, my mother had always prayed for a piano player.  Apparently, she longed to have live music in the house and she was especially fond of piano music.  I learned to play on the piano she purchased for herself as a young woman.  I still have that piano and now that she's gone, I don't want to part with it.

I was the final child of five and I think by the time I came along, life was so busy that it must not have crossed her mind to have me take piano lessons like the other children did.  In fact, between 1966-1976, she lost 2 sons and both of her parents.  In that same decade, she got spinal meningitis and that set her health on a course of many tough years.  She had to have a shunt put in her head and every time that didn't work, she couldn't function.

One day while staying at an Aunt's house because my mother was ill, my Aunt overheard me playing the piano (by ear) and called my mother.  "Bertha, you must have Frances take piano lessons - I think she has a gift".  Fortunately, my mother took her advice and started me on piano lessons.  I was in sixth grade.  I loved it.  I practiced by the hour...always working toward perfection.

This week as I was reflecting, I realized something.  My mother prayed for years and finally got an answer to her prayer.  But that meant some sacrifice on her part.  She had to pay for my lessons, take me there every week, sit out in the car and wait while I had my lesson and allow me time to practice. I remember many times later in life she would tell me that she felt it was her place to cook for the family and therefore, she would do most of the cooking and let me go practice.

To this day I'd rather practice than cook, clean, read or do anything else (....well...except maybe ride my motorcycle).

She gave up a lot for many years (and more) to see this through.  When I begged to do a recital and invite my friends - she made sure we had a nice reception with special foods and beautiful flowers to grace the table.  That was her contribution.

Not only do I believe she prayed my gift into existence, but I believe she gave her prayers "feet" when she was willing to do everything it took to make sure she had a piano player.

It makes me wonder about some of the things I pray for.  How might it change my life if I received the answers I'm hoping for?  Am I willing to sacrifice things to see those answers happen?

This was the last time I played for her.

She Would Have Been 92

Today, February 6, 2015, my mother would have turned 92.

Bertha Mae Sollenberger Crider Heisey
February 6, 1923 - September 24, 2014

The day after her memorial service, I was driving home from the Baltimore airport after dropping off my brother and his wife.  I felt this overwhelming sense of loneliness and finality.  My mind began to walk through the events of the past week.  While my mind was walking, my heart began to sing a new song.....

5 yellow roses for mother

ninety-one birthdays

five adored babies

'Bert' (her nickname in high school)

two breathed their last so early

trials and sorrow

unsure tomorrows

still she lived life sincerely

sisters and brother

huddle together

blue mountain range in the distance

dirt, grass and shovel 

soft velvet covers

weary eyes water and glisten

three children saying goodbye

two children saying hello

heaven and earth joined together

by 5 yellow roses for mother

hero to neighbors

wife and homemaker

woman of faith, tears and passion

what do you give her?

simple, yet honored

what can a child imagine?

Each child places a rose on the wooden box
she was laid to rest in.  A granddaughter placed
one in memory of her deceased son, Nathan Carl and
her daughter-in-law placed one in memory of her
first-born, Douglas Paul.

three children saying goodbye

two children saying hello

heaven and earth joined together

by 5 yellow roses for mother

death and life pause for one moment

rain in the heart and the skies

simple wood box, earth is opened

but now she is free she can fly

three children saying goodbye

two children saying hello

heaven and earth join together

by 5 yellow roses for mother

It still needs some work, but I thought today might be an appropriate day to share what I have so far.

The idea for this song came from a blog post the day before we buried her.  So far, it has been the second top post of my blog read by readers.

Five Yellow Roses blog post.

I will be working in Nashville today as a way to celebrate her life and give me something to focus on as I continue to grieve.  The conductor and I will be working on reviewing the Dec. 6, 2014 Portraits of White concert.  Reviewing the past, looking at the present and planning for the future.  

I find that coming to Nashville on special days is becoming a tradition and one that I hope to keep for years to come.  Today, I remember my mother's life with a new song.

God's Hyperlinks

Spending time at The Gideons International Office Nashville, TN

How does a little girl from Newville, PA get invited to lead worship in Nashville, TN?  A city where they say every waiter/waitress is a great guitar player?  That's what ran through my mind after boarding the plane in Harrisburg, PA to fly to Nashville, TN this past weekend.

The short answer?  Only God!

The long answer.......

I took my seat on the airplane next to the window and I wasn't seated very long when a memory flashed through my mind.  It's as if the action of sitting down on the plane lit up the memory and made it active in my mind again. I forgot about my present trip to Nashville and recalled a conversation with my mother in my parents' house many years ago.

At that time, I was working part time for a company based in Canada called Eagle's Flight.  I would fly to various destinations and serve as part of a support team to a facilitator who took cooperate companies through experiential training in team-building exercises.  Though the experience stretched me, I loved doing it.  I remember sensing in my heart that one day I would be stretched in another capacity, but it would have more to do with my music than the Eagle's Flight company I was currently working for at that time.  It was just a vanishing thought, but it was very vivid.

Back in my parents' living room, I was having a discussion with my mother.  She had the regular fears I guess any mother would have when their child is flying all over the U.S. 

"What if something happens to you" she asked out of the blue one day.

From somewhere deep inside of me, a protective attitude arose and I found myself saying something to her that surprised even me. "Mother, some day I will be flying even more and I don't want to dwell on fear, so if you don't mind, we're not going to discuss this."

I know she was shocked and frankly, so was I. But there's something you need to understand. I never dealt with fear of flying until one day a well meaning friend knew I was flying the following day and said to me, "aren't you afraid something will happen to you?"  It never occurred to me to be afraid until that moment when her statement planted a seed of fear.

The next day when I flew, we encountered a thunderstorm on our flight and such fear grabbed hold of my heart that I went into panic mode.  When we landed to catch our connecting flight, I vowed I would never get on an airplane again.  I called my parents from the airport to tell them I needed to find another mode of transportation to get me the rest of the way but they weren't home. That was before the days of cell phones, so I felt stranded. I was hoping they would offer to buy me a bus ticket or something to take the place of my final leg of the flights.  That's how strong fear can become!

Reluctantly and very full of fear, I boarded the final flight to my destination and sat down in my seat absolutely convinced that this would be my last moment on earth and that we would crash to the ground taking all my fears with me.

Of course, that didn't happen, but for the next few years I had a terrible battle with fear every time I flew.  It took years to overcome that fear and when I finally did conquer it, I had no interest in activating it again through a discussion with my mother.  You can now understand why I was so defensive when my mother opened a can of worms that she didn't know existed.  It was only meant to protect my freedom from another battle with fear.

So here's where the hyperlink comes in. It's God's hyperlinks. We go about our daily activities doing our best to listen for His whispers, act on what we think we hear Him saying and all of a sudden, He activates something in our life and transports us to divine connections.

I had a distinct feeling in my spirit that someday I would need to fly for what would become my own music ministry - and though there was nothing in the natural realm from which to prove my statement to my mother, I knew that it was coming down the road.  Sometimes God gives us an advance notice of what is to come.  I think that's what happened to me that day I had the conversation with my mother. Jesus did it with his band of believers.  He would say to them things like: “I’m telling you all this ahead of time so that when it happens you will believe that I am who I say I am.."  I wish he'd tell us more things ahead of time and maybe He is if we would listen.

So now it's January 2015 and I am seated on US Airways, traveling to Nashville, TN, not for some other company, but for my own music ministry, just as I sensed would happen years ago. Now, sitting on the plane, I realized that after many years of praying, being faithful and sharpening my tools, God made the link active and here I was heading to Nashville to lead worship for The Gideons International at the 2015 Auxiliary President's Conference.

So how do you click on God's hyperlinks?

1.)  Pray - talk to God and also listen for His voice - when he speaks make a note of it for future reference
2.)  Obey - whatever steps He tells you to take, walk in them and trust Him for the outcome

There are probably whispers and glimpses you have in your spirit of things God wants to do in your life and places He wants to take you.  Let Him do the activating!  Your job is to pray in a receptive mode and obey when you think He is telling you to act.

It's amazing the sites you will take in when He activates the hyperlinks.

Sunday Afternoon Grief

Mother's memorial service display of flowers with our baby pictures.

The first Sunday without my mother was the day we celebrated her life with a memorial service.  I was surrounded by family and friends.  I was in a daze.  I felt fine.

The second Sunday without her I was so tired and numb from the array of emotions leading up to her death that I didn't feel much.  In fact, it was a rather normal day.

The third Sunday I was driving home from church and suddenly a wave of grief came over me as I realized that normally Tom and I would go and visit her in the evening.

We would not be visiting her anymore on Sundays.  Not any day of the week. She is really gone.

It was a very rough day.  I tried to nap but my puffy eyes wouldn't let me.  I didn't want to ride the motorcycle because my last memory of the motorcycle was trying to get home from our long trip on bikes in time to see her before she lost consciousness.

I cried most of the day. My sister called from Canada but between my own tears and a bad satellite connection, we were unable to talk long. How can it be so awkward, even with family?

There were some Sundays in the past that I would have rather stayed home to sleep or ride my motorcycle than go and visit.  Now I am free to do any of those and they aren't as appealing.  I miss her, I admit as I sit here wearing her blue gingham pajamas.

I can feel a growing apprehension of facing Sundays without her. I don't want to start a new pattern of dread in my life so I tried to approach this Sunday differently.  Knowing my husband had a meeting after church and I would go home to an empty house (which is very hard) I decided to see if a friend could have lunch with me.

I was nervous as I pulled into the restaurant parking lot.  Maybe this wasn't a good idea.  Grief can hit at the worst times and I prefer to be alone when it happens.  I wondered if I did the wrong thing by suggesting we meet.  But I am so glad I did. As she shared her own story of loss, we found similarities in our journeys. Both surprised that we shed very few tears at the funeral. The tears come before and after, but during....not so much.

I find this to be a tricky path.  My heart is full of emotions. I have a certain sense of composure that I want to maintain around the public. What's strange is that I want this composure even around my closest friends and family.  I don't want anyone to touch the faucet that controls the tears.  It makes everyone feel awkward if I cry so I don't want to talk because talking makes me cry.  It's not that I don't want to talk about her. Or about my feelings.  I just don't want to cry in front of you.

There are still so many more rivers to be released and once they start, they are hard to stop.  A few drops of rain are manageable.  A flood?  That's messy!

No one knows exactly how to handle their grief.  It's different for everyone.  There are days I want to be with people - it helps take my mind off of the loss.  There are other days when I want to be alone. I don't have anything to say.  I don't want to have to talk.  I just want to be quiet.

This stage is hard for friends.  It's awkward.  I get that.

Someone asked me today if I am attending a support group for grief.  I guess it hasn't crossed my mind too much.  I find support as I write out my thoughts.  There are so many of you that have walked a similar path and you've told me how much you relate to what I write. There is a sense of healing that comes every time I read your story, hear your path. Hear what you wear that belonged to your mother.

Just today, someone told me that they used to take Sunday afternoon drives with their mother.

Another used to go have dinner with their mother on Sundays.

Others tell of how hard it is to go home to an empty house when their spouse passes.  Especially Sunday after church.

Thanks to the friends who wait patiently for us until we figure out what it is we need. Sometimes we just don't know what we need or we are too afraid of uncontrollable emotions if we open our mouth to say what we need.

It's Sunday afternoon again.
I had lunch with a friend.
Tried to sleep.
Went for a long walk.
Remembered the friend who told me today that her mother died a year ago.  Her husband passed away 8 months ago. She found a part time job to help her face the grief and the lonely house.  It's helping.  But of course, she said it with tears in her eyes.

I understood. It's that 'Sunday afternoon grief' that comes any day of the week.

Five Yellow Roses

These are the 5 roses we gave to our mother before we put her body in the ground.

This morning at 6:55 a.m., my mother, Bertha Mae Sollenberger Heisey went home to be with Jesus.

Tomorrow we will lay her body in the ground.

Tonight I sit on my bed, under my warm blanket with my kitty at my feet and a candle burning on my dresser.  I haven't wanted to write anything, anywhere for the past six days.  Until now.

I feel a huge sense of closure about to take place that I never saw coming until we came home from the funeral home this afternoon and realized a significant event is taking place tomorrow.  It's suddenly not just about burying my mother but it's also about saying goodbye to the woman tied to decades of memories about two brothers who have been gone for over 40 years but are very much present in our memories and family stories.  Nathan was only 2 when he drowned and Doug was 26 when he was killed in a tractor accident.

I was hit with a wall of tears tonight after returning from the funeral home this afternoon where we ordered five yellow roses for the private burial tomorrow.  She loved yellow flowers.

You see, tomorrow at her graveside at 1:00 p.m., we will arrive and receive the five yellow roses. One for each child she bore. No large spread of flowers on a fancy casket, just a very plain wooden one made of pine and five long-stemmed roses.  At first we ordered three. One for my brother, my sister and myself to place on this special box that holds my mother who once held us.  Almost simultaneously we all realized that we needed five.  Doug and Nathan are as much a part of us as they ever were, especially at this time.  As soon as we lost our mother, they gained one back.

I have detached myself from everything since arriving home from a motorcycle trip that we cut short when she had an emergency surgery a week ago so that I could sit by her side until she departed and I am so glad I did.  This morning when I got the text from my sister that she had passed, the tears ran freely but the peace I had deep inside far surpassed the tears.  We have prayed for this day for so long that I felt a refreshing sense of peace and relief that she finally got her wish.

Day after day I have arrived in the morning (my siblings taking the night watch) and just sat with her most of the day.  It was as if I was able to just 'be'.  The next few days are going to be very busy and I knew they would be.  Until she was actually gone, I wanted to spend these last few days just soaking in what it feels like to be present with her even when she seemed to lose consciousness.

I was not with her when she actually passed, but I was at peace with that, knowing it might happen that way.  My sister got that special privilege and I was so glad.

I didn't know how significant the decision to get 5 yellow roses would impact me until we got home from the funeral home and I burst into tears.  I was too young to remember any of the funerals and burials of my two brothers but their loss has had a huge impact on my soul over the years as I would listen to the stories of their deaths over and over and over....and over.  It's as if I wasn't able to experience something that has had such an impact on my mother's life and mine, but from a distance.

I suddenly realized as I spoke it all out loud to my siblings that somehow I feel like this is a very significant passing.  My mother, the one who told the stories is now gone.  With her go the details and potent feelings.  Though I have plenty of my own feelings about it all, they were always attached to her.  It feels like such a closing of a chapter.  A book. One that I now realize I have needed.

Tomorrow I will get to see five yellow roses offered to my mother who gave birth and life to five of us and had to let go of two of us much earlier than any mother ever should.  It's one of the reasons she has wanted to die.  She has walked through much pain here on earth and was ready to be released from it all.  I don't blame her.  She is now free.  Doug's wife and one of his daughters will be present to place the rose in his memory.  I don't know yet how we will release Nathan's rose but I'm so glad we decided on five, not three.

There are two boys that I know must be really glad to see you Mother and three children left who will really miss you.  Thus, the five yellow roses.

The power of washing feet.

Mother and I in our old farm kitchen...1970's??

Mother and I July of 2014

In many ways my mother and I are about as different as night and day. I'm thankful for these later years together because it has given me a chance to discover many similarities I didn't know we had.

The pictures make a good visual of how our lives have changed over the years.  Here are just a few of our differences:

She had five children.  I have none.
She loved being a mother.  I'll never know what that feels like biologically.
She loved to cook.  I don't like to cook, but I do because she showed me by example.
I have chosen a career in music.  She doesn't relate to that kind of life at all.
I ride a motorcycle.  She doesn't like that so much but tries to smile about it.
She still wears a prayer covering.  I don't...but I still pray.

And the list goes on.  But you get the idea.

To be completely honest, through the years this has created some tension.  And that's putting it mildly. Learning how to be a good daughter when there are so many differences created its challenges.

There's an old tradition we used to practice in the church background I come from.  It's called 'foot-washing'.  I remember when we would sit very reverently in the church pews, men in one room and women in another.  It was a very sacred event and one that I treasure.

With white towel-like aprons, tubs of bleach and hot water...well, semi-hot water, you would kneel in front of the person next to you, take one foot in your hand and gently scoop the water up over it. Then the other foot.  Next you would hold one foot in your hand on your lap and dry it with your towel. When you were finished both parties would stand and embrace as a sign of unity.

It wasn't so much about getting feet clean as it was letting them know that you cared about them. You humbled yourself in front of them to honor them.  It was hard to do this with someone you were angry with but that was kind of the point.  The room was filled with the smell of bleach and the sound of beautiful harmonies as we sang familiar songs together without any instruments.

I have often compared these last few years with my mother to those early years of childhood when I learned to wash the feet of other sisters.  It's not that I sit and wash my mother's feet, though I have certainly helped her shower, etc.  I trim her nails, tuck her in bed, comb her hair, hold her hand.

But it's more about the position she has been forced into by losing her sense of independence and my willingness to set aside our differences and serve her. It's not easy for these precious elders to let go of all that they know and become so dependent on others.  I cry often for them.  For her.

But what seems to happen in the process, at least in my case, is a gentle breaking down of walls between us.  Just these physical acts alone seem to bring about a deeper love and respect toward each other.

So many times on facebook when I post something I've done with my mother, people comment as to what a wonderful daughter I am.  I sigh and shake my head. I don't feel like one.  I just want you to know that it has not been perfect for us.  I hope this helps other daughters who have struggled in the past with their mothers.  Hang in there.  You might not need to 'wash her feet' per se, but welcome any kind of act you can do toward her to embrace humility and extend honor.  You'll be surprised what can happen in your own heart.

We don't practice foot-washing anymore in most communities of faith and I feel sad that we don't. But I get to practice humility and gentle acts of love every week for my mother and I wouldn't have it any other way.

The Grape Pie

One day after announcing on facebook that I was making a grape pie, I was shocked by how many people had never heard of grape pie and wondered what it was. I smirkishly told them that it was made of grapes.  (hee hee).

My mother was a fabulous pie maker.  My favorite pie of her's was lemon meringue - with more lemon than meringue.

But when she decided to make a grape pie not too many years ago, I was intrigued to try this 'grape' pie she raved about.  Made with concord grapes, it turned out she was right and it has become my favorite fruit pie.

However, I was not prepared for the high price of concord grapes that appeared in our little hometown grocery store around September only.  I realized that this pie was not only amazing, but very costly.

Being the frugal, homegrown farm girl that I am, I decided to plant my own concord grapes so that someday I could have my own grapes for lots of pies.  I had no idea how many years it would take before I had enough grapes to feed a mouse, let alone make a pie.   My husband has tended the vine carefully for years and some years we complained that it wasn't producing and concluded that it was a waste to plant the crazy thing.

Today I harvested not only enough grapes to make 1 pie, but 2 pies and some homemade grape juice.

When I was first married, I was determined to become a good pie maker because my groom really likes fruit pies.  No problem, right?  How hard could it be to make a pie?  My mother did it all the time.

Let's just say that Tom soon learned to stay out of the kitchen when I was making a pie.  Such a gift of love I was working on - complete with thoughts of 'doing him in' with the rolling pin if he didn't leave me alone.  It's not the filling that's hard, it's the flaky pie crust that melts in your mouth that's difficult and that's what I was after.

I would get so angry at the pie dough, the board, the rolling pin and anything else in the room when the dough would stick to the pin, or the board, or worse yet, not be big enough to fit the pie plate.  Did I mention that Tom would pop into the kitchen right in the midst of this tsunami-like flood of emotions and ask a simple "why are you doing it THAT way?".   That's when he learned to stay out of the kitchen.

These days I have a much easier time making the pie because I found a great crust recipe so it's not really an issue anymore.  Of course, the fresh 'hand-picked grape' pie that's in the oven right now gave me a fit as I was rolling out the dough. (I think it knew I was cooking up a blog about it).  You'll see in the pic below that I had to improvise with the top of the crust because there wasn't quite enough dough......proof that the pie knew what I was up to and decided to rebel.  I'll eat it anyway!

I took pictures so you can see that this is not an easy process. But boy oh boy, is it ever worth all this work when I sit down and bite into the sweet-tart taste of the grapes and the pie crust that melts in my mouth. Hallelujah!!!

It will be extra special because they are my own grapes that we've worked hard to nurture all these years.

It will be extra special because I made the pie from the cookbook that my mother gave me at Christmas time in 1984.  On the inside of the book, she wrote:

                                                       Christmas 1984
To Frances
     From Mother

It will be extra special because I will never make or eat a grape pie again without thinking of my mother who nurtured me so tenderly for many years without seemingly much fruit.  I remember the story of the day she "turned me over to the Lord" because she no longer knew what to do with my habit of back-talking her.

Recently, I learned that the nursing center where she lives feels that she is steadily declining and told me we need to make some end of life decisions.  I realize that time is short and I don't know how long I'll have to be with her. To remind her of the pies she used to make and so many other special things she did for us.  I have observed this decline every time I'm with her so it wasn't news to me and I am preparing my heart.

This grape pie was a lot of work, not just today but over the years.  It's been years in process, but it will be worth the effort.

Anything in life THIS good is not without a lot of effort.

What a nice reward to have Tom walk in the kitchen just now and see my fresh pie and say
"wow - look at THAT pie - now that's a pie worth taking a picture of".  
He has redeemed himself.

Not Just A Cup Of Tea

This morning there is steam rising from my cup and tears flowing down my face.  I can't seem to stop the bouts of tears these days once they've started.

For months I've tried to be strong while moving my mother to a new room, hobble on crutches and plan a Christmas show. I have had to forfeit exercise and motorcycling - both things I love and that help keep me sane.

Saturday the dam broke.  I found my mother with wet hair, sitting in her wheelchair wearing mismatched clothes and her shoes on the wrong feet.  I was horrified.  I took the necessary steps to notify whomever was in charge and let them know this was unacceptable.

You think a mama bear is nasty when her cubs are in danger......have you met a baby bear who's mama is in danger????  Just as scary, let me tell you, but this baby bear feels helpless to defend her mama.  Of course, those in charge were very apologetic but my heart took a severe blow that I am still recovering from.  It feels like Big Foot is stepping on my chest and I can't breathe.  I felt this way when my father died.  It's the familiar feeling of grief.

Tears poke a hole and let some air in so you can start to breathe again.  The tears just keep falling.

But this morning, on the other side of Saturday, things are looking more positive as I look into changing her care, whether it be bringing her home to live with me or moving her closer to a facility where I can get there in 5 minutes, bring her home for dinner and take her with me on jaunts...just to have some kind of normalcy again.

I am about ready to have a cup of hot tea.  The mint garden leaves are brewing now and their smell takes me back to the farm where we grew our own tea.  Mother would serve it in a yellow teapot that has a cracked lid, which none of us want to part with.

It's more than just tea.  A dear friend grew it in her garden and a few weeks ago I went to get some from her to grow in my own garden.  I took my mother along so she could get out and see a garden again.  That was one of her favorite things to do and she was good at it.  We all stood and talked about life and soil. My mother soaked it all in as she sat there with us.

When I drink this tea this morning, it will remind me of that morning with my friends, my mother and my home growing up.  The hot tea is like a warm blanket in my soul as I grasp the cup with my hands. My heart seems to need a lot of comfort these days as I walk through this aging process with my mother.

It's not just a cup of tea anymore.

My lips will sip and my heart will drink.

A New Edge - What If I Bring My Mother Home?

What if I would bring my mother home to live with us?  THAT would be a new edge.

I originally started out blogging this year with ice skating in mind.  That was my edge.  And it was life-changing for me, inside and out. But I encountered a setback with my ankle and so I turned to blogging about life on crutches.  An edge I would prefer not to experience.

I’m off crutches now but I’m still healing and tired of writing about crutches. You’re probably tired of reading about it too.  I can’t skate yet, so I won’t be writing about that either. Hopefully, I can return soon.  I'm now allowed to exercise from the knees up.  That should be interesting.

So thus begins my new line of thought. This will be a very crazy journey. But since there is a growing amount of readers, like you, who are participating in my journey, I have come to love sharing my thoughts in the blog. I love the feeling of this community.  You offer support and insight that is personally very valuable.

So back to my question:  What if I would bring my elderly mother home to live with us?  What if I could help usher her into her next phase of life, eternal life, with love and special care.

I have so many questions and thoughts churning in my heart and mind, as you can imagine.  I am sure this is a troubling question for many of us who have aging parents.  What is the right thing to do?  I suppose that I might make a decision that everyone won’t agree with either, but I’m taking that chance.

Someone recently came across an older blog post and sent me this message through an email. It was pretty timely because I haven’t heard from them for years and they have no idea what I have been contemplating. I don’t know what the outcome will be, but I feel like I need to pursue this and see where God takes it.  So here’s what I’m doing…….

• Talking with my husband, researching the possibility and gathering information. It always affects our family when we live on the edge. 
• Contacting friends and family to see if anyone might be able to help me care for her.  
• Meeting with the Office of Aging to find out what resources there are for this type of adventure.  I found out there is a whole program for this type of transition.
• Meeting with Hospice.  

Thanks for joining me in this new phase. I’m actually excited about learning about this process and giving it much prayer and consideration.  Maybe it will help others who are facing this very situation in their own family.  I’m not sure how it will all end up and it will be hard either way, but I am enjoying thinking outside the box.

I close with the message I received in response to “Crutch, Crutch, Goose”.

“Dear Frances,

I was searching some things on the Net today and happened upon your site, and the blog, "Crutch, crutch, goose".  It touched me deeply.  My mother had a severe stroke at age 72, in 1998, which left her completely left side paralyzed and wheelchair bound.  It changed her life and our life forever.  This was very traumatic for our family since she was "our rock" and so independent.  We cared for her, at her home or in our home, until she went to be with her Lord in 2011.  I then continued to care for my 95 year old father until he went home in March of 2013.  I resigned my job of 16 years and slowed down our ministry to do what I felt I needed to do.  I absolutely have no regrets. 

During this process and the many years of caregiving, I wrote the following.  It has comforted me on many occasions, and I'm hoping it can be an encouragement and comfort to you also.  I hope you do not mind me sharing this, but I felt compelled to do so. 

 ****************************************************************************

Just as they once shielded us, we now begin to shield them. Their eyes become a little dimmer, their walk a little more unsteady, and their talk a bit softer. Slowly they begin to slip through our fingers. No matter what we do or how much we offer, each smile, each step, and each word takes more effort than before. 

Who are these people who take so much of our time and unknowingly tear our hearts in two? They are called mom and dad; mother and father; grandma and grandpap; nanna and pappap. They are the forgotten ones of our new technological generation. The ones who have somehow become acquainted with the daily aches and pains of every day living. The ones who have learned that a simple task is no longer simple, but a long, drawn out process for which they always need assistance. The mundane is now elaborate, and every morning brings challenges beyond their control.

But then again, for us as their next generation, each day somehow offers new possibilities in caring and serving. We learn patience and understanding, often seeing ourselves in their struggles. We learn that love is more than receiving from these individuals who have given every breath so we could take our first.

It is not our duty, but our privilege to care for them. It is our chance to act on servanthood, and offer unconditional love to them for one last time. It is our chance to return the favor. Remembering this, let’s offer one more day, one more hour, one more conversation or word, one more act of kindness. We just never know when that "one more" may be their final step to eternity.” - Darlene Scott, Heirborne Promise 

Someone Else's Shoes

When I was a little girl, I loved trying on my mother's clothes and shoes.  Of course, they never fit, but that didn't matter. It was all pretend.

It takes years to grow into someone else's shoes and sometimes it takes something drastic to make them fit. I wish it wasn't that way.

My father passed away on May 31, 2001 and in the midst of my grief, I stopped writing songs.  It wasn't on purpose and I'm not even sure I noticed at first.  But I just didn't have anything to say.  I was still writing by 'inspiration only' in those days.  Grief had stolen my inspiration and the songs went with it.  Fortunately, since then I've learned how to write by inspiration and perspiration thanks to writing songs for terminally ill children.  I couldn't wait for inspiration then, I had to write a song no matter what.

A year after my father died, I took my mother to visit his grave and when I stepped out of the car to walk over to the sacred spot,  I heard a distinct melody and lyric in my head:

"Now I understand, things I couldn't see before"

I went on to finish the song and it remains one of my favorites to this day.  It jump-started my songwriting and I entered another season of writing.  The song pretty much tells the story.

When I was a little girl

we would go and visit my grandpa's grave

almost every holiday we would stop and see

I would watch my mother kneel

say a word maybe shed a tear

I would wait so impatiently

I guess I couldn't see

But now I understand things I couldn't see before

feelings I could never know 'til they came to visit me

now I understand there are things I'll never know

'til I've walked a mile or two in someone else's shoes

Here I am I'm older now

I go and visit my daddy's grave

almost every time I'm near I stop and say hello

I share my heart and shed a tear

I'm feeling things I never felt before

I guess I see what my mother saw

and what it meant to her

Now I understand things I couldn't see before

feelings I could never know 'til they came to visit me

now I understand there are things I'll never know

'til I've walked a mile or two in someone else's shoes

It's amazing how I'm right back in that same spot of awareness again, but in a different set of circumstances.  

I was recently in an airport utilizing the handicap services they provide because I've been on crutches for weeks due to an ankle injury.  The skycaps had to keep reminding me to sit down in the wheelchair from the side, not try to hurl myself over the metal feet sticking out from the wheelchair.   After having to be reminded each time, I had a flashback to my mother and I on many excursions where I continually have to remind her to sit down in the car first and then swing her feet around after her.  It's easier than putting her feet in first.  We learned that in physical therapy when she fractured her hip.  But she always needs reminded and I have tried to be patient with her every time.  

Now the tables were turned, or perhaps it's better to say the wheelchair has turned, and I needed reminded of the same principle, each time.  She has the excuse of being 91 years old and lapsing in memory.  I have no idea what my excuse is.  

But the last time I needed reminded, I smiled.  I was so glad I have been patient with her. 

My graveside experience with writing "Someone Else's Shoes" came to my mind and once again I knew that it's always easier to extend mercy to others when you yourself have somehow stepped into their shoes, if even for just a moment.  

Buy "Someone Else's Shoes" here if you like.

"The Elephant Diet" Day # 139 Lyrics Written and Lyrics Waiting To Be Written

Today was filled with lyrics.  Some were written down and some are yet to be written.

I started by writing out the lyrics I want to be included in the CD insert.  That's the next big step in this final process.  As the graphic designer begins work on the cover design, I must decide who to thank for this project and make sure I say all that I want to say. That includes typing all the lyrics to the songs and including any authors for the songs that are not mine.  

I spent the rest of my day forming memories that can be turned into lyrics for another project someday. Perhaps.  

That's where lyrics come from.  At least for me.  For the most part, my lyrics are a representation of moments in time or feelings that I've experienced and think others might relate to or be encouraged by.  

After getting a good start on the lyrics for the CD this morning, I left to spend the largest piece of my day with my Mother.  After a business appointment regarding her care, unloading my car of her clothes that I had taken home to iron for her, going with her to the Doctor and having lunch out on the patio with the sunshine keeping us warm, I asked her if she would like to take a drive through the country.  

She seemed extra sad today and I thought the drive might cheer her up.

She was concerned that we have a viable reason for the drive.  Yes, of course.  That's how she's always been.  Make sure everything has a purpose and don't throw anything away - even gas to take a drive together.  Make it count for something!

She announced that she would like to see the farm where she was born.  That must have felt like a viable reason.  I was concerned we could find it because some days she doesn't know if it's morning, noon or night and there have been times she doesn't even know when she was married.  I decided even if we couldn't find the place, it was worth the trip just to get her out of her room.  After all, we could always stop for ice cream somewhere along the way.

Sure enough, despite her fading memory, she knew when we got near the road close to the farm.  I have never been there, so I had to depend on her memory completely.  That can be as risky as my GPS system or my own brain system for that matter.

When we found the place, her spirits lifted and she began to recall things from over 80 years ago.  She pointed to the silo and reminisced the fact that her father had built it.  

Silo built by my Grandpa Sollenberger

I decided to get brave and do her a big favor.  We approached a newer house on the property to find out if this was the right place, though I was sure that it was from a photograph my brother had taken years ago of my mother by the old house.  

Suffice it to say that knocking on the door to the house led to an interesting chase.  A young man (probably in his 20's) answered the door and said he didn't know the history of the old farm, but that his mother worked at a local bridal shop and we could stop in there to ask her.

I decided to go for it.  We found the bridal shop and when we entered the large store with all kinds of colors and puffy dresses, my mother was totally distracted.  Imagine for a moment the bridal and tuxedo shop filled with fancy dresses and my precious conservative mother standing in the midst like Alice in wonderland.

"Now I know where people get all their clothes" she announced.  "I live at Menno Haven and I often wonder where all their clothes come from.  Now I know".  

Well, I'm not too sure that the elderly at her retirement community are wearing prom dresses, but it made me giggle inside nonetheless.

When I reminded my mother why we were in the bridal shop, she thought we were tracking down the people who built the retirement home where she now lives.  Oh well.

Our minds are a strange thing and as I watch her age, I realize how fragile and undependable our brains can become.  But she knew which road she grew up on.  That's what is so amazing.

We never did locate the woman who could tell my mother what we already knew.  But we did locate a Wendy's and sat in our car under an oak tree enjoying large root beer floats while the acorns fell on the roof of my car making it sound like someone was shooting at us from the sky down onto our roof.  

When I asked her if she remembered how she used to make root beer floats for her friends who would stop in to visit, she had no recollection of it whatsoever.  I was surprised once again.  I reminded her that she used to put vanilla ice cream in glasses and keep them in the freezer.  Then she would add cold root beer to the frozen glasses when company came and it made for a wonderful refreshing treat to serve at the last minute.  She became known for her root beer floats.  Now I had to remind her.

So there's another day in my elephant diet.  Writing down lyrics from the past that were inspired by life experiences.  Living life with my mother today to create more memories which will more than likely lead to more lyrics someday that represent some precious moments with the one who brought me into this world.

"The Elephant Diet" Day # 52 Reflections

I'm beginning to realize that the beginning of the week is not as productive as the end of the week for me.  Part of it is because of my 'day job' and that's when I work more of my hours.  Plus, I had a meeting last night, tonight and tomorrow night.  It makes it tough to fit in much else on these kinds of days.

I tried to focus this afternoon when I got home, but in all honesty, I am exhausted today.  The work I wanted to do on my project takes brain cells and I forgot to pick up some extra ones last time I was at Walmart.  : (  

There are a number of things going on in my life that are making it hard to stay focused.  

• I found out a friend has cancer
• My mother-in-law died on Sunday afternoon with only a few days notice
• A dear colleague where I work is leaving us and taking another position somewhere else
• My mother turns 90 tomorrow (that's a great thing)

When things happen that tear at my soul, it affects me in the same place from which I do creative work and therefore, it's hard to create (at least for me) when I experience 'soul pain'.  (Just being honest).

So I opted for an easier bite out of the elephant today (no brain cells needed for this).  I'm trying to increase awareness of what I'm doing and facebook is a great way to do it, along with this blog. As people offer to help me in any way (and many are doing just that) it becomes more apparent to me that people are with me in this and the greatest thing people can do right now is spread awareness by sharing this with others...and that is happening!  Thank you!

Unfortunately, it's taken me a while to figure out the difference between a 'personal profile' and a 'page' on facebook.  Now that I think I'm finally starting to get my brain around it, I'm trying to keep the two separate.  So at the bottom of this blog entry, you'll see a link where you can go right to my Frances Drost Solo Artist Page and "like" me.  

There.  

I did it.  

Ouch, that's hard!

The whole idea of this has taken me a long time to get used to and I still squirm at it.  But the truth is, I don't mind 'liking' people that I really like, so why not give others the opportunity to do the same for me?  So here's my bite for the day.......put my neck out and ask you to 'like' me.

"Like" me if you like me by clicking here!  (then look for a 'like' button and press it).

   

Thank you!

"The Elephant Diet" Day # 11

Concert at Menno Haven, PA

My mother listens to my program

A few very cool things happened tonight in relation to my CD project.

I gave a short concert at the retirement home where my mother lives.

Someone from the community who is on my mailing list must have seen the date scheduled on my calendar and came to the concert.  She first heard me years ago in MD at another concert.

She came up after the program and asked if I've ever considered doing a Christmas CD.  For the first time in years, I was able to respond by saying, "yes, I have committed to doing one!".  Usually I say, I hope to someday, or I don't know if I'll ever get to do one or not.  But tonight, I could say YES and I felt like shouting it out!!!

The other neat thing that happened was that after my concert, I checked my e-mail and discovered that an orchestra conductor I contacted recently about doing orchestral arrangements and conducting for a Christmas show (to celebrate the completion of the CD) finally got back to me and is available to meet and listen to what I'm writing and see what he thinks about writing arrangements for the songs.

I am quite excited!  Onward we move!!!

Now...I'll go eat some of the fresh chocolate chip cookies I just took out of the oven.....joined by my husband.

Afternoon Chocolate

Recently I heard what I presumed to be a grandmother tell her granddaughter something that instantly took me back to my childhood. "Don't eat that before supper or you will spoil your appetite!"

"May I have a lollipop?" the eager child had asked the grocery clerk.

Though she was given permission to have the lollipop, she was given strict orders by her grandmother to NOT eat it before supper!

I smiled to myself. I had heard similar words most of my growing up years. We were not allowed to eat any kind of snack before a meal and were often reminded that it would spoil our supper if we did.

My Mother was a fabulous cook and I was too young to appreciate it at the time. Now, in her 89th year, she has had to give up cooking for herself and it has been very hard on her. As I watch her age, I realize that though aging brings wisdom, it also brings loss of independence and a new level of wisdom is needed.

It has been quite a year for her and I knew that things were shifting significantly when she began to delight in having afternoon tea and CHOCOLATE! Her expression of pleasure when I offered her a chocolate bar told me that we were no longer living under childhood laws but mutual love between two grown-ups maneuvering our way through life together.

The roles have been reversed. As a child, I needed her to guide me into proper eating habits and she now needs me to help her adjust to the challenges of aging. I can think of no better way to do that than with afternoon chocolate.