Those blue inked circles on the page of the devotional book caught my eye this morning. Instantly, I knew who made those marks. Had I given her this book? I couldn't quite recall. So I started flipping through the pages and I found more lines and circles. Yep, that's my Mom, I forgot that I had lent this very book that had been signed and given to me. In those moments of seeing her deliberate ink around the words of joy, peace, strength, trust; and lines under "at long last I know," I suddenly missed her terribly. It seemed as if she was sitting there with me, her arm around my shoulder, and I was privy to her thoughts as I searched for further notes.
Interesting that the book my Mom had marked was penned by my very special second Mom. No doubt it is a blessing to have just one Mom who loves you so, but to have another one when the first one's gone is truly a gift from God. I remember the first time I met Ruth. I had heard she was an author, and being a hidden writer, I was eager to shake her hand. We met in the center aisle of the church pews. Her radiant smile instantly drew me in. She seemed so warm and caring, she loved how I had the "cutest wrinkles round my nose" whenever I would grin. Her eyes sparkled as we told each other from time to time "we need to get together. . . "
It wouldn't happen for almost ten years. I called her on the phone that day when I was in a crisis. I was being threatened with myself, my inadequacies, my shortcomings with my novel role as Nurse Practitioner. What was I thinking when I went back to school at such a mid-life age, when I was trying to learn such challenging work, when I was so incompetent to even miss an obvious diagnosis? I was never going to get it, I was failing from the start. . . and that is when our friendship journey met. She invited me over for coffee and sweets on a beautiful Saturday morning. She listened all day to my heart, she read all my writings, I didn't leave until late afternoon. We decided we should meet at least each month, and so it began, the second Saturday morning of every month was our time. Our time to be friends, to share whatever was on our mind, to laugh, to cry, to read, to pray . . .
Those months changed into years, we found ourselves arm in arm with life, and with all it had to bring and take from us. She lost her husband, she moved into a retirement home; I lost my Mom, then lost my Dad, and my son moved off to college. Through those days our friendship grew to that of Mom and daughter. She became Mom Ruth to me. With her stylish hair and her glasses on, she bears resemblance to my Mom of birth. Hugging her is always just like hugging Mom to me. Listening to her prayers is like I'm hearing my own Mom's voice, as she petitions for my deepest needs. She tells me that she loves me, I tell her I love her more, and she always counters by telling me she loves me most . . .
Yes, my second Mom is such a blessing. I am glad she has filled the gap; the gap that's left when all you have are blue-inked pages and memories too short.
Interesting that the book my Mom had marked was penned by my very special second Mom. No doubt it is a blessing to have just one Mom who loves you so, but to have another one when the first one's gone is truly a gift from God. I remember the first time I met Ruth. I had heard she was an author, and being a hidden writer, I was eager to shake her hand. We met in the center aisle of the church pews. Her radiant smile instantly drew me in. She seemed so warm and caring, she loved how I had the "cutest wrinkles round my nose" whenever I would grin. Her eyes sparkled as we told each other from time to time "we need to get together. . . "
It wouldn't happen for almost ten years. I called her on the phone that day when I was in a crisis. I was being threatened with myself, my inadequacies, my shortcomings with my novel role as Nurse Practitioner. What was I thinking when I went back to school at such a mid-life age, when I was trying to learn such challenging work, when I was so incompetent to even miss an obvious diagnosis? I was never going to get it, I was failing from the start. . . and that is when our friendship journey met. She invited me over for coffee and sweets on a beautiful Saturday morning. She listened all day to my heart, she read all my writings, I didn't leave until late afternoon. We decided we should meet at least each month, and so it began, the second Saturday morning of every month was our time. Our time to be friends, to share whatever was on our mind, to laugh, to cry, to read, to pray . . .
Those months changed into years, we found ourselves arm in arm with life, and with all it had to bring and take from us. She lost her husband, she moved into a retirement home; I lost my Mom, then lost my Dad, and my son moved off to college. Through those days our friendship grew to that of Mom and daughter. She became Mom Ruth to me. With her stylish hair and her glasses on, she bears resemblance to my Mom of birth. Hugging her is always just like hugging Mom to me. Listening to her prayers is like I'm hearing my own Mom's voice, as she petitions for my deepest needs. She tells me that she loves me, I tell her I love her more, and she always counters by telling me she loves me most . . .
Yes, my second Mom is such a blessing. I am glad she has filled the gap; the gap that's left when all you have are blue-inked pages and memories too short.
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