The Painter deftly runs His brush over the broad canvas, a brilliant splash of color marking a trail behind Him. With careful precision, He mixes colors, creating a palate that perfectly compliments. Some colors are vibrant and immediately pop. Others are muted, blending more into the background but essential nonetheless to the masterpiece being created.
With every swish of His brush, the Painter brings more life into what was once a dry piece of fabric…
I have spent a significant amount of brain power trying to think of the perfect post for this contest. I’ve come up with a dozen witty lines sure to have the judges wiping the tears from their eyes as they heave in uproarious laughter.
But tonight, as I reflect on this topic, I find that I cannot write that humorous post. Which is probably a good thing because I doubt it was all that funny anyway.
Above you see two pictures. The woman on the right is my grandmother, Mimi. The woman on the left is my husband’s grandmother, who we call (oddly enough) grandmother.
These two women are matriarchs in our family lines. Swish, swish.
Mimi died on March 3, 2004. Today, Grandmother lays in a hospital in critical condition. In the last 48 hours she has managed to fight her way off of her deathbed, but she is still a very sick woman. (since I first posted this, Grandmother has shown a miraculous recovery…Swish). And my heart hurts. The connections to the past, to the events that, though long ago, will ultimately play a part in molding who my children are as people, are fading. I find that a difficult pill to swallow.
Mimi was the original blogger. After she passed away, my mom brought home a stack of diaries that Mimi journaled in over a period of 50 years. They start in 1961, when Mimi and Poppi Jim settled in the West Indies as pioneer missionaries. They lived without electricity or running water. Mimi found a thousand different ways to cook SPAM. Poppi Jim bought a small Cessna airplane to help with the mission work…and then he taught himself how to fly it.
In two months, I will go to the island of South Caicos for the first time and see where my mom grew up. I will meet some of the people who still love and admire my grandparents to this day. I will see the church and the school that my grandfather started. The grandfather I never met because he died at the age of 45.
My husband’s grandmother has been a stalwart of strength. She is the constant that we can always depend on for skads of hugs, kisses and unending pride. She is the woman who took a computer class in her late seventies so she could better keep in touch with her grandchildren and great-grandchildren.
What is my mom logic? Today, this moment, what seems more logical than anything else is to preserve this history of family for my children. To help them see the fluid lines that are painted in the tapestry of life. And to give them a pride in their part of this grand piece of art. Their lives now leave behind a mark that gives greater detail to an intricate history. I want my kids to grasp and respect this concept.
I also want my children to understand the power of the written word. I want them to appreciate how precious the scratched out writings of their great-grandmother are and know that her words preserved moments in time that would have forever been lost otherwise.
And someday, I hope that their children will want to know who I was. And as they search through the pages I’ve written, I want them to see the foundation that was laid for them by their ancestors. (And I really hope they don’t think, “Gee, great-grandma was a weirdo…”) That is why I blog. That is why I spend time documenting the little moments in life. That is my mom logic.
This is my entry into the MomLogic contest. While I do hope that I have found favor with the judges, ultimately I hope I’ve honored two women who I love dearly.