changes

Where there is a thankful spirit, there is joy.

Oh dear, what in the world?? My blog posts have played hide-and-go-seek these many months. Can't tell you how many times I've printed in all CAPS on my to do lists: BLOG, to no avail. Gah!!

I continue to write for Heart of Ohio Magazine. The kind folks there kept me on board. Check out our beautiful magazine! Better yet, treat yourself to a subscription!

This week I'll make a stab back here on the blog. It's spring break from my school job. I appreciate you readers who have asked or said you miss my posts.

The past year has been amazing, in good ways and hard. How can anyone know exactly how a big life move will play out? Living in the same city as half our family is wonderful, as imagined. And living more central to all the kids proves the move from Ohio to North Carolina was right. We've made trips to Florida and Virginia (kids and grandkids both directions) and of course spend time with the kids/grandkids here.



Thanksgiving weekend 2016



I LOVE the weather in North Carolina. Spring comes with the calendar, none of that snow in April nonsense! We have a lovely front porch, perfect for morning coffee and afternoon reading. Hot summers, yes, but in college I lived in tents at Girl Scout camps in Tennessee and Florida ... THAT was hot. We can take day trips to the Blue Ridge Parkway and breathe in the mountains. Spectacular.

What I didn't fully anticipate was the difficulty of adjusting to a large, new city (even though we'd visited Dan and Jenny here for eight years, I didn't really learn the city), where to shop, friends, church, routines, and well, just EVERYTHING changed. At our age it's just harder than when you're young or have kids around to light your fire.

I spent a few months seeking part-time jobs and finally landed one which began after Thanksgiving. That's what seems to have anchored me a bit. I'm a reading tutor in a public elementary school and while learning all the pieces of the job was a challenge, the stretching has been so, so good. I work with some amazing women who are passionate about helping kids read, write and understand better. I love being part of a little army of encouragers to some kids who need it.

We've had some houseguests throughout the year: friends and family stopping over on trips north or south. Fun!

If there's one thing I'd do differently as a wife/mother/woman, it would have been to keep up a career of some sort. Yes, God makes my way but I believe He has something more beyond mothering and grandmothering and at this age it was extremely hard to find a niche where I can use my gifts.

Our quiver continues to fill: grandchild #8 is due in June (Mark and Jill's fourth) and #9 in September (David and Chelsea's first)! I'm excited to have the summer off for a change of pace although I doubt the pace will slow down. And really? I don't want to slow down because at my age I may not get moving again!

So that's where I am. Bill is driving for Uber and he's amazing at it! He needs to keep a journal because he comes home with hilarious and interesting stories from the road.

 

Perhaps the best lessons the past year have come through the hardships. I've learned gratefulness in the very hardest things because that's when I stretch, grow, and lean more on God and His faithfulness.

 

Be joyful always; pray continually; give thanks in all circumstances, for this is

God's will for you in Christ Jesus. 1 Thessalonians 5:16-18

 

 

Elizabeth

Last week we lost Bill's mom, Grandma, "GG", my mother-in-law Elizabeth, at 99.

I knew her for 40 years and not once did she criticize me.

She looked for the best and extended grace to everyone. 

Her grandchildren and great-grandchildren adored her.

She wasn't especially social, but

Elizabeth's sense of humor and winsome spirit endeared her to all, including the angels at

Sarah Moore Home who cared for her until the very end.

Elizabeth complained little and laughed much and while we will miss her, 

her spirit was ready to meet Jesus.

 

I hope to embrace life with a smile for many years, as she did, 

though I'm not sure about riding a motorcycle at age 92: such spunk!

 

A celebration of life is planned for Saturday, December 26, 2015, 1:00 p.m.

at Delaware Christian Church, Delaware, Ohio.

All are welcome.

 

Elizabeth Muriel Thayer Haller

September 20, 1916 ~ December 2, 2015

 

 

90 years

My mother was born 90 years ago today.

She died over 36 years ago, so she's been gone quite a few more years than I had her.

 Losing my mother taught me never to assume a person should "be over" their grief.

Never, ever assume.

And the loss also taught me the preciousness of having a mother,

a loving mother who poured into us four kids so much

that she loved and shaped us almost completely before we lost her.

Thanks, Mom. I miss you.

Happy birthday.

 

 

 

 

Elizabeth is 98!

                                               With my sons: Dan, David and Mark in 2008                       (by Katie Haller)

 

This amazing lady turns 98 today!

Elizabeth Thayer Haller, born September 20, 1916.

She is dear to our family: everyone loves "Aunt Lib," "Grandma,"

"GG," "Mom."
She counts 2 sons, 6 grandchildren, and 12 great-grandchildren!

 

Elizabeth has lived in assisted living for five years.

In the past year she's slowed down a lot and her memory is failing her.

It's very hard to see.

 

But today she'll have visitors and cupcakes on her special day.

And, I hope, feel the love that she's given for so many years.

 

Happy birthday, Elizabeth!

You are cherished.

 



blogging and a birthday

 

Where has all the blogging gone?? It's been a full, hectic, somewhat stressful summer. And then I don't write much. But I hope to change that and get back on track, beginning today, the first day of September and my mother's birthday.

 

Not to cheat or anything, well maybe I am. But I'm borrowing a past birthday post. I don't know, it seems I've entered a new phase of life the past year. Both my parents are gone. (Though I am very thankful for my stepmother, Sally.) I appreciate the impact my parents made on my life but I don't dwell on it and life goes on.

 

This photo of my mother was taken around 1950, when she became engaged to Dad. It's a sweet photo of the young bride-to-be but goodness, so long ago. Isn't life short? And sometimes I think, is it even possible to love someone who's been gone for so long? In a sense it's like I never knew her.

 

 

Hey, Mom. Today you would have turned 89 years old. It's hard to imagine you that old, because when you left us, you were younger than I am now.

I still miss you. How I would love to call you (or email!) and share something about the kids. You would be so proud of David, Dan, Mark and Katie, and Jenny and Jill, too. You would have built tender relationships with them. You were such a warm and relational person.

You always looked forward to grandchildren and now I know why, with five of my own. You somehow knew the precious love they would bring to a grandmother's heart. You'd be a great-grandmother now! Not sure you even thought ahead that far. But I am sure of one thing.

Through the short 24 years we had, you taught me to laugh at myself, not others. To listen to my children. To love my husband. To care for neighbors and love the unlovable. To try new things. That life is short and a few dirty dishes or dusty shelves mean a lot less than time spent with my children. And in the end, if our time on earth is shorter than we hoped, to have no regrets in how we lived.

Thank you for all you taught me. I love you, Mom. Happy birthday.

See you all again this week. Promise. After all, some grandchildren came to visit ...

Happy Mother's Day to you

My mother taught me about being a mother, but my kids made me one.

I'm thankful today for David, Dan, Mark, Katie and also Jenny and Jill

for stretching me to give more, love more, and be more than I ever thought possible.

 

Thank you Bill for always, ALWAYS supporting

and valuing me in my role as a mother.

 

And thank you Dan and Jenny, Mark and Jill for giving me

the precious privilege of being a grandmother.

 

I love you all.

 

Happy Mother's Day to everyone!

the day, the week: a Mother's Day perspective

The phone rang this morning 35 years ago, my dad on the other end. "Your mother's gone," he said simply. She died six days before Mother's Day, and for many years, as the anniversary of her death coincided with Mother's Day, I hated the reminders in the stores and hated that other people didn't seem to appreciate their mothers. It was very hard to find joy in my children's celebration of me. The journey of missing her all these years has been rocky, but I've found smoother ground.

It seems different now. I guess aging does that, giving us new perspectives. The fact is, in the 24 years I knew her, Mom shaped me for mothering in countless ways. She wasn't always patient, but her love of life, people, and raising us well was contagious.

 

I delight in seeing others, especially my daughters-in-law, being good mothers.

I'm humbled when younger moms sometimes ask for advice.

And I know for certain that

my mother's legacy

proves we can teach and guide and love well

in whatever time God gives us on earth.

I raised no punks, officer

When it comes to sports, our culture has tipped into insanity, if you ask me. After last night's wild card game in Cleveland, which the Tampa Bay Rays won 4-0, Bill and I had a conversation with a police officer. In hindsight, I wish it had lasted longer.

As we waited for the stadium to clear, the officer came by and asked if we were traveling with the Rays. No, just family waiting go home. Oh, who do you have with the team, he asked. Our son: he works in the Rays' communications department.

He zeroed in on me. "You're a fan of your son, not the team," the officer declared. He baited me, saying it repeatedly, as if being "a fan of my son" somehow ranked below being a sports fan. I didn't apologize and I tried not to defend. But I wish I'd said more. Here's how it would've gone ...

Darn right I'm a fan of my son and my other three children, too. Through the years, I chose not to spend money on expensive team sweatshirts or Ohio State football tickets. Instead, I sat in the rain and wind at tennis matches, baseball and soccer games. I hauled lawn chairs and coolers across muddy fields. The son who now works for the Rays sat the bench for most of his high school baseball career. I could never understand it, but managed to keep my mouth shut and go to games because baseball was his passion.

I don't even like sports very much, but I love my kids and support them in what they love. I made it my business to be at nearly every game and figured out how to feed a family of six when we were at the ball field every night. I washed their stinky uniforms, bought countless cleats and shin guards, made gallons of Gatorade (powdered saved money), listened to their heartache over a missed goal, and encouraged them to stay in the game even when I saw no point. I didn't scream at the refs or chew out the coaches, ever, because my responsibility was to model good sportsmanship and character to my kids.

I'd point out to the officer that he has four fewer punks to deal with because I did my job "being their fan." If every sports team on the planet flew to Mars, it would have less consequence than my accomplishments as a mother. My kids are obeying the law, working, paying taxes, raising families, and pursuing God. If that is less important than supporting a sports team, then God help us all.

Thank a mom today. Thank your own mom if you can. No mom is perfect. We are frazzled and frustrated and fallen, but most of us have our priorities straight, officer. I don't find my worth in being a sports fan, no apologies needed.

All this said, go Rays!

precisely unfilled

“There is nothing that can replace the absence of someone dear to us,

and one should not even attempt to do so.

One must simply hold out and endure it.

At first that sounds very hard, but at the same time it is also a great comfort.

For to the extent the emptiness truly remains unfilled, one remains connected to the other person through it.

It is wrong to say that God fills the emptiness.

God in no way fills it but much more leaves it precisely unfilled and thus helps us preserve - even in pain - the authentic relationship.

Furthermore, the more beautiful and full the remembrances,

the more difficult the separation.

But gratitude transforms the torment of memory into silent joy.

One bears what was lovely in the past not as a thorn but as a precious gift deep within, a hidden treasure of which one can always be certain.”

~ Dietrich Bonhoeffer

1960

Ten days ago, a young husband in our church lost his vibrant wife Kala. Her unexpected death left three young girls without their mother.

As I sat through Kala's service on Saturday, I was inspired by her deep and abiding faith in God. Kala was, in the words of one close friend, "mildly inappropriate" in her zeal for living and loving, for her family, and for pointing others to God.  

Yesterday I came across this Bonhoeffer quote on another blog. It struck me as deeply profound  in light of Kala's recent death, and in the death of my own mother, who slipped away 34 years ago today.  

I think Bonhoeffer is saying we should not struggle and shake our fist at God at the loss of someone we love. God certainly comforts. But to ask God to fill our empty longing is to diminish the beauty and authenticity of our relationship. God leaves us intentionally and "precisely unfilled" to preserve the memories, love, and joy. In time, this emptiness becomes a deep, unshakable and precious gift.

God is, after all, a god of relationships. It's what He wants most of all with us. And so God redeems and transforms the pain of loss into a gift. The gift of a hidden, preserved relationship.

Make no mistake: losing my mother was devastating. The pain of it reared its ugly head as I brought my babies home from the hospital, rocked them, and raised them with only stories of their grandmother. For years I couldn't stand to pass the Mother's Day cards at the store in early May.

Like everyone, I wouldn't be the person I am without my mother's influence. But I'm also a different person by having lost her so young. I am stronger in spirit, with a more compassionate heart, at least I like to think so. And best of all, I've learned to rely on God, not my mother, not anyone really. Her spirit, her kindness, her crazy ways live on because God allowed me to be "precisely unfilled" for a very long time.

For that I am grateful and now experience a silent joy.

the plainest of days

My daughter-in-love Jenny wrote a recent blog post about the ordinary happenings in life with toddlers. You can read it here. It got me thinking about the imperceptible value in our plainest of days. I think mothers are the most aware of this. Or should be.

Can you remember things from childhood that meant the most? Was it visiting Disney World or making the elite soccer team? For me, it was the smallest things that had the greatest meaning. Once my mother took my hand as we walked up our driveway. She began skipping and encouraged me to do the same, throwing her head back and laughing. And I remember her helping with my reading as she hung laundry on the clothesline.

One summer I gave each of my children a small plot by our deck for their own garden. They chose and planted their seeds. You'd think we'd gone to London! How proud they were of their over-planted plots. Katie even grew corn!

The impact of these fleeting moments can easily escape us. Baking cookies together, playing with playdoh or sidewalk chalk, watering flowers, a picnic supper in the park, digging for worms, even mopping the kitchen floor together ... these are the ingredients of a rich childhood and motherhood well-spent. Vacations are fun, but I believe it's in doing life, the gritty and monotonous day-in-day-out stuff that anchors a child.

And then one day (doesn't every grandmother say this?) those toddlers will be taller than us, get married or land a job, and walk out our front door for the last time.

Happy Mother's Day. Be content with an ordinary day.

... I have learned to be content whatever the circumstances.

Philippians 4:11

my boys having a plain day in 1989



May 7, 1979

Mom in her early 20's

(Dear reader: If you were the only reason I write this blog, I wouldn't write today's post. I think maybe I write too often about the past and my parents and who wants to read about love and loss? But aside from God, loss has been my greatest teacher. Writing helps me sort it out. So today I write about my most profound loss.)

Early on a Monday morning, May 7, 1979, the phone rang in our two-bedroom house in Florida. I was up early to take three visiting high school friends to the airport. Knowing the call was for me, I answered. "Your mother is gone," said my dad. Mom had lost her battle with cancer in a few short months. I am a healthy 57 now and she was dead at 53.

I've shed a lot of tears in these 33 years without her. She died the week of Mother's Day. No one should lose their mother around Mother's Day. She loved little children and big ones too and never held a single grandchild. She laughed and lived well and stayed home to raise us. She died just months before her nest emptied. That was very hard on my dad.

But as the years roll on, as I live through the seasons of life, the sting of these should-have-beens has lessened. In fact, I wonder if I'm a stronger mother for having lost mine. In the 24 years I knew my mother, I inherited a rich legacy. Only now do I realize that.

While I didn't have her with me as I raised four children, by her example I learned to manage toddlers and teenagers on my own.  To use child psychology. To be a good neighbor and love the unlovable. To give blood regularly! Mom was a get-it-done sort of woman, feeding us well, supporting Dad, and home-making (I just love that term). I heard her say "oh, it'll do" countless times, her way of going with the flow of life and not sweating the small stuff.

I guess you could say that May 7, 1979 was the day I began to grow up. I missed Mom terribly, especially as my children were born. But I knew exactly what she'd say to me. "Just do what you need to do. Love your husband and children. Listen to them and laugh with them. Enjoy them. You'll do fine, dear."

And I have. More than that, I try to make the most of the time I spend with my kids. I hope I've taught them the important stuff. And, God has shown me women who need a mother and I try to pass on what Mom taught me.

I miss you, Mom. But thanks for teaching me most everything I needed to know, even before I needed to know it.

... do not forsake your mother's teaching. Proverbs 1:8

All of us

This is the only photo I have of my mother looking directly into my face.  It's summer 1955 so I am about six months old. My handsome father, in his horn-rimmed glasses, is holding me, and my older brother, age three, is acting goofy for the camera. This was taken on the porch of my grandparent's house in Memphis. Their pride and joy, a new house.

I don't remember ever turning the photograph over and reading, in my mother's handwriting: "All of us 1955." As it turned out, there would be two more children added to "all of us." But for the moment, in the summer of '55, she probably was happy and grateful to have two healthy children.

Even all these years later, I feel loved to see my mother gazing at me. And I miss her love.

I take a minute out of my day to look into the faces of my children.

- the one-minute mother

big birthday coming up!

four generations

This lovely lady (the elder) has a birthday this month, on September 20. Bill's mom, my dear mother-in-love, will turn 95! Elizabeth is still living somewhat independently and spends her days reading, working jigsaw puzzles and watching the Cleveland Indians & Browns, Ohio State, and - this week - professional tennis. She's quite a lady with a young spirit!

If you know Elizabeth and would like to send her a card, email me at hallerbarb@yahoo.com and I'll send you her address. She doesn't want a fuss made over her, but who doesn't like getting mail?

hey, Mom

Hey, Mom. Today you would have been 86 years old. It's hard to imagine you that old, because when you left us, you were younger than I am now.

I still miss you. How I would love to call you (or email!) and share something about the kids. You would be so proud of David, Dan, Mark and Katie, and Jenny and Jill, too. You would have built tender relationships with them. You were such a warm and relational person.

You always looked forward to grandchildren and now I know why, with two of my own. You somehow knew the precious love they would bring to a grandmother's heart. You'd be a great-grandmother now! Not sure you even thought ahead that far. But I am sure of one thing.

Through the short 24 years we had, you taught me to laugh at myself, not others. To listen to my children. To love my husband. To care for neighbors and love the unlovable. To try new things. That life is short and a few dirty dishes or dusty shelves mean a lot less than time spent with my children. And in the end, if our time on earth is shorter than we hoped, to have no regrets in how we lived.

Thank you for all you taught me. I love you, Mom. Happy birthday.

Mother's Day

Try as I might to make it otherwise,

this weekend always delivered a mixed bag of emotions.

My mother died on May 7, 1979.

I wish like anything it hadn't been Mother's day week.

For a few years, I'd tear up when I walked past
the displays of Mother's Day cards.

I told myself to get a grip, to accept what is.

But it took many years for me to see God's gentle hand

in the loss of my mother.

Though I sought the friendship, advice
and encouragement of other women,

I also learned to be a strong and resourceful mother on my own.
I learned to appreciate my children and focus on them more than my loss.

Recognizing my shortcomings, I also learned
that I needed God more than a mother.

I am learning to be an encouragement to younger women.

Titus 2:4-5 says:
... train the younger women to love their husbands and children,
to be self-controlled and pure, to be busy at home, to be kind,
and to be subject to their husbands ...

Mom was selfless and humorous, enormously generous with her love.
I know she'd tell me to quit whining about her not being here,
and get busy loving others.
   Mothers shape their children, but also the parents they might become.
It's a two-for-one deal and it's powerful to ponder.

Whether or not you are a mother, and whether or not your mother is in your life now, think on the valuable lessons she taught 
and seek to share them with others.
 That, I think most mothers would say,
is the best way to honor them.