When this time of year rolls around, I am always a bit nostalgic and find myself recalling the past.

If you are wondering why this time of year, it is because first I celebrate a birthday jointly with my daughter who was born on my birthday. Then in less than a week it would be my mother’s birthday. It was always easy to keep track of her age as she was born in 1900. And then, of course, comes Mother’s Day.

With all these events in my head, it is very easy to take a trip down memory lane and remember so many things from the past.

I know that we need to live in the here and now and not dwell on what was nor worry about what will come, but in all of our hearts there are the memories we treasure and often value more than ‘things’ in our lives.

I’ve often shared glimpses of my life, but for today, I’d like to share thoughts about my mother with you.

First of all, there should never be a doubt that she was a child of God. She didn’t speak about her faith often, and she didn’t write about it like I do, but if anyone wanted a ‘living example’ of how God would have us live, I’d nominate my mother.

I truly never heard her and my father argue. Maybe he was boss and she just agreed. I don’t know. But what I do know is that my home was a home filled with gentleness, faith and most of all love. And, I’d add consideration for others.

I always said I didn’t want to ‘marry a farmer’ because my mother worked so very hard and I wanted an easier lifestyle. Strange how things change, and how that that vow went by the wayside when I met Bill.

For those who are young, it will be hard to imagine a home without running water, modern conveniences, even a furnace.

I recall on the very cold nights, we carried our water buckets into the living room by the stove as it was the only room where the water wouldn’t freeze overnight.

As I put laundry into the washer and then shifted to the drier, I remember my mother getting water from the cistern in a bucket, carrying it to a kettle under which burned a log fire. When water was hot, she dipped it out and carried it to the wash machine in the washhouse. In the winter, Dad would make a small fire under the wash machine so the motor was warm enough to start.

In the winter months she hung the clothes in our dining room. For a child, it was fun ducking behind the sheets and hiding in the hanging clothes.

Dad raised about twenty-five acres of potatoes and that meant lots of hand labor.

Sometimes five or six young fellows were working and, of course, mom fed them lunch in the morning, dinner at noon, lunch in the afternoon, and often, supper at night. She cooked and baked almost continually.

She took care of a big yard, a garden, and canned fruits and vegetables. If someone dropped by at mealtime, she could get a couple jars of canned veggies and fruit, slice a couple pieces of ham, and we had a meal shared with guests.

She also sewed most of her clothes, lots of mine, and was great at making something ‘new’ out of something ‘used’. She quilted and tried to show me how but somehow my stitches never met her requirements and I guess she gave up because I still am not a quilter.

While I could relate more and more about how hard she worked, what she really ‘was’ is more important to me that what she ‘did’.

She was a peacemaker in two large families. She came from a family of ten and dad came from a family of eight.

Naturally sometimes little problems would arise, but I still recall mother talking and somehow changing anger, maybe greed, and sometimes just plain pettiness into understanding and a peaceful resolution.

She gave of herself. She worked hard. She had a strong faith and was a loyal member of our church. But most of all, she really ‘loved’…life, her family, her friends, and those in need who came to her.

We all strive to build our lives on a firm foundation. We place our trust in a loving God, but first of all, as a child, we find our way through the love, concern, even discipline, we find within our families.

If I, now quite an old grandma myself were to search for a role model, I certainly wouldn’t look to the media, the celebrities of the day, nor our political leaders.

I would simply look back at my mother, and of course, dad, and find that the first bricks provided for my foundation in life came from them. They taught me responsibility, caring and compassion for others. They took me to church and planted my feet on a pathway to God.

I feel truly blessed by my parents and am thankful for the paths in which they guided me. Tomorrow is Mother’s Day and while my children and grandchildren will remember me, part of me will be remembering my mother and thanking God for her. She gave of herself to others and put my feet on a faith-filled pathway that has guided me throughout my life.