"You're Just a Bunch of Little Heathens"

She gets up while it is still night; she provides food for her family.
She speaks with wisdom and faithful instruction is on her tongue.
(Quotes from Proverbs 31)

 
> Naomi Bonnilee Radner (ficticious name) was my proud, fiercely independent mother. Since she was the greatest influence of my life, there needs to be enough about her that the reader can understand just how much of an influence. For such a woman to be my mother is evidence that God loves me.

 
> She was the middle child of nine siblings. I thought she was perfect and the most beautiful woman in the world. Raven hair and dark eyes with olive complexion that tanned to bronze in the summer along with her good proportioning, gave her the appearance of a doll. Five foot/two inches in stocking feet, she was always a lady and fiercely outspoken. A "tomboy" as a child, she could, and would, stand up to anyone. The proof was her nose; a wide flat nose that had been broken three times: first, tumbling from a tree, and twice from fighting. She frequently informed me that she once had a pretty nose - just like mine.

 
> She loved and missed my father to the day she died. After he left, with a teenage waitress, I remember nights hearing her cry herself to sleep. Their relationship caused her so much emotional pain that she made wrong choices more than once. She wore a tough shell about herself that kept her emotionally out of reach in order to protect that softest of hearts. One of Mother's proverbs: "You can't choose who your heart will love."

 
> Faithful and generous to a fault, mom was fond of telling us there was always someone worse off than we were. I remember a couple Christmases that we were required to give up a possession that was in good condition (preferably something we cared for.) This was how we were to learn sacrifice for someone else and the joy of giving. You do not give something that you yourself would not want and there was always something to replace it.

 
> Ever heard the teaching that you are to do as though you were doing it for/giving it to Jesus Himself - ? Mother was that example.

 
> She also had a lot of "proverbs" that were frequently repeated. "Tell me anything but a lie" and "You can do anything you put your mind to" are only two of the dozens that come to mind. My all-time favorite, "You're just a bunch of little heathens". When I was an adolescent, she was fond of telling me I was special. Mom was sure I was going to do something that would prove it. I needed to hear her assurances but took them as just a mother's love.

 
> Mother was a vain woman with a definite idea of how a lady should conduct herself and how she should dress. She grew up in a time when ladies wore hats and gloves to go shopping and television commercials showed housewives with hair combed, make up on and aprons over their dresses.

 
> Mom never went out of the house without makeup, hair combed and coordinated clothes. She detested jeans for women and bare legs were out of the question; stocking were required. All this from a girl who came from a large farmer's family who lived grew up climbing trees in the countryside.

 
> STORY: A particular day comes to mind when I was going to visit my grandfather in the VA hospital. I was a grown, married woman at the time. It was the 1960's, the age of "bra burning". I stopped at mother's house along the way. When I came in the door, she immediately demanded to know where I was going "like that". I responded "to see Pop". "Not like that, you're not" was her decree. She took me into the bedroom and "put" a bra on me. That was that.

 
> She was stylish and loved "layaway" for quality items. "You get what you pay for" wan another of "Naomi's proverbs". She would deny herself something if one of her children was in need but she did not deny herself. That was part of the lesson that taught us to respect her. "You have to respect yourself to get respect from others".

 
To be continued . . . .

The Tola Worm

(Taking a break from my biography to post something I want to share.  Found this out during one of my personal Bible studies of the Psalms.)

In Psalm 22 (a Messianic Psalm by David about the crucifiction)

V. 6 states, "I Am a worm of and not a man".

 

> In Ex. 16:20, we find the story of the Manna from heaven to feed the Hebrew people in the dessert, how they disobeyed and how the extra manna became infested with a worm (maggot).

 

                                                       Manna
        

> The worm spoken of is the "Tola" worm (also: Toluth). This red worm is native to regions of and around Israel - only.

 

The Tola worm

 

> This worm was used to make a deep red (scarlet) dye for the garments of the temple priests; done by crushing the worm to obtain it's blood. This dye (the worm's blood) proved to be permanent; once used it could not fade or be removed by any means. (Once we accept Christ, through His blood, as our Savior, He will not let go of us.)

 

> When a worm is ready to reproduce, it will attach itself to a tree. The cross was made from a tree. On the tree, it will shed it's blood and lay it's eggs (plant it's seeds). When the eggs hatch into larvae (are converted), the new worms feed on the blood that was left on the tree - just as Christians feed on (believe in) the sacrificial blood of Jesus. 

 

                                          

> After THREE DAYS (Christ was three days in the grave), the blood turns white, as snow, and sheds from the tree in dry flakes - that resemble manna. Christ was pure as snow after His resurrection (He refused to be touched because He had not yet gone to the Father), and is referenced as our Manna (bread of life) from heaven.

 

> Read Isa. 1:18

SEEK and you will find.

A Small Family Unit

> The barrel chested father of my mother was a great mentor.

He taught me how to cook, "cypher" and run a chalk line. He spent many years as a professional painter and took pride in his work, often pointing out public buildings that he worked on. "Hold your head up and stick your chest out. You are as good as anyone else" was a constant part of his stern teachings; I adored him. He has been a huge influence on me. This man was undeniable evidence of God in my life.

 

 

 

As far back as I can remember (age 4 or 5), I talked to God. Before Mother sent me to Sunday school, I talked to God. Memories are clear of looking up at stars and talking to Him. I have no recollection of why other than it must have come from my mother. There have been times in my life when I felt lonely but never have I felt alone; there is a constant presence.

 

I often wonder if it wasn't because I was first born. The Bible defines special blessings for first born children. God says, "The first born of every womb is mine", "they belong to me". Parents are to dedicate their children to God (for His particular care throughout their lives) with special emphasis on first born. It's like offering the first of the flock for sacrifice, or tithe. With all God provides for us, this is all He asks - a small part. Jesus was "first born among many" and the supreme sacrifice. Samuel's mother, Hannah, gave her first born to become one of the greatest prophets to anoint the first God ordained king of Israel, David. I believe God has special work for "His" first born. I am not talking about favoritism, just singled out with a special purpose. Just a thought.

 

My brother, Jerry, was only eighteen months younger and we were as close as twins. I am ashamed to admit we left my poor sister, Karen, five years my junior, on her own other than torment from us. She did rebel with jealousy and "tattling" on our mischief. It is a wonder she survived the two of us or that she even grew up liking us. This serves as a testimony to her beautiful nature.

 

 

We were not to wander beyond our own yard after school unless on an errand to the corner grocery, so we became a tight family unit. Gradually, Mother distanced herself from her siblings - all but her favorite brother, who lived next door with his wife and six children. There were frequent visits from a sister who would come to cry on Mother's shoulder about her abusive husband. Early on, I do remember Thanksgiving and Christmas at our house with meals conducted in shifts so everyone got fed. There were lots of cousins, food, conversation and football games on the television. This stopped when it became too much for a single working mom to provide.

Childhood Memories

 

There were warm summer days, laying in the yard and watching tiny ants busy at their business. When I learned there were no two snowflakes or blades of grass alike, I took time to search them out. Reeds of grass were examined with great caution and snowflakes were caught on the tips of mittens to compare before melting into droplets.

 

> Among Native Americans, there are two times in life that a woman is considered a "changing woman". The first from child to woman, the second from woman to "silver hair". Mother entered the second change early in her life, her mid 30's, with great difficulty. There were terrible mood swings, depression and adjusting to her body's inner radiance. She often said she could understand why women used to be admitted to asylums during this time of their life. We thanked God those days were in the past.

 

> During one of her many moments of depression, she sat on the back stoop surrounded by her three adoring children, my brother's arm around her, as she sobbed uncontrollably. She was apologizing to us for not doing a better job as a mother. We had no idea what she was talking about.

 

> We were happy kids. We had no idea our lives might be different from others our age. We had food and clothes, went to school, argued with each other, played games, ran outside and managed to, occasionally, get into mischief. 

 

> Meanwhile, my paternal grandmother was a constant thorn in the side of Mother. From the day my parents were married, she never accepted mom as a suitable mother for "her" grandchildren. She always knew what was best for everyone. Never mind she made a shambles of her own life. An unhappy "know-it-all" with nothing better to do, she created a project for herself. 

 

> Unknown to us, she spent weeks taking us kids for "interviews" to meet various people she had chosen to adopt us. When Mother found out what she was doing, Grandmother was out of our lives. Devastated, she reluctantly accepted who was really in charge and was gradually allowed to visit with us, in her car, in the driveway. It was years before she entered the house again.

 

> In later years, I was in my teens, we had a particular falling out and I dismissed her to a minor role in my life. She eventually took her retired living to Florida where, we were told, she later died of cancer.

 

 

> "Flossy" (stage name) spent a career as a "vamp" singer (also called "torch") in night clubs. I remember watching her, at a very young age of four or five, dress and create her make-up with false nails, lashes, metal hair clips, shaved brows and sequened gowns. I used to listen to a vinyl record she made, over and over. Her voice was described as a cross between the great Sophie Tucker and Kate Smith. She once taught me a stage routine that I used in a school variety show, which made me the talk of the school year.

 

> To give her the credit she deserves, there were many years that would have been even more meager had it not been for her loving generosity. Those Christmas holidays would have been all but nonexistent, and she attended every one of our birthdays with a novelty cake she created and gifts of clothes and toys in an atmosphere of family celebration. The fly in this ointment is that she never let us forget who gave it and was always reminding us to thank her - again.

 

> During my grade school years, Grandma plied me with icons and literature of her Catholic religion. When I confided this to Mother, she advised,"Listen politely, then do what you want." She always said, "If you want Linda to do something, tell her not to." This was a truth that can not be denied. Grandma's pushing turned me away from following the religion of her choice, but was a great learning experience.

*  This "Book Blog" begins with my first posting on Dec. 30, if you would like to follow this story from it's beginning.  This biography is on going until the finish of the book.

Time to Grieve

 

I took a break for a week - or so - to grieve the sudden death of a very dear friend.  Her death was sudden:  We had had lunch just a couple weeks prior and I spoke to her two days before she went to hospital.  She told me she had been down with the flu. Not so.  The following is something I penned and posted to Facebook in her memory.  I do not grieve for her death but for my loss:

 

 

Heavenly Father, 

you are our Daddy God. We are your children, sitting on your lap with our arms around your neck. You hold us securely. Praise always to Your Holy Name.

A dear friend of mine is gone from my life; you will know her when she gets there. She knows you; we shared conversations with you many times. She is one of the last of her kind: a true lady with integrity and high standards for herself and those around her.

Nothing came before the love she had for her family and especially her grandchildren and great grandchildren. She lived an amazing life of service to family and children. She worked tirelessly for her community and never asked for recognition. There are so many words to describe her: sincere, adamant, stubborn, persistent, unforgiving, proud, kind, private, honest, determined, traditional, sweet, faithful, friend, steadfast, wise, educated and this amazing woman called me "friend" and I love her. 

 

 

We shared joys, sorrows, work, gossip, shopping, meals, prayer and something very special that has no description. Her close friends were few and she counted friendship to be a very rare and special relationship.

God was your only help if she perceived you as harmful to a child.

She was a bulldog when determined; never letting go.

I am blessed to have known this rare servant of yours; a warrior angel.

I know you will keep her safe in your arms and give her plenty of work to do; she really likes to shop for others.

Help all those who will miss her find comfort in the fact that she is safe with you, whole and happy.

All this in the precious name of our Lord and Savior, Jesus, The Christ.

Amen

Mother Struggled

Mother struggled:

to raise three children on tips and her less-than-minimum wage. At that time, a waitress salary was not required to be up to minimum pay standards because of monetary tips that came with the job. Unlike today when the gratuity is figured into your bill to assure you pay for services rendered - or not, which can encourage laziness and a disregard on the part of your "server". Mother took pride in hard work and a job well done. I am certain she was excellent at her profession.

> As a child, I frequently wrote to my father with never an answer. I would literally beg him to attend dance recitals and school functions. He never came. Memories flood back to mind of standing behind a stage curtain and peering out at the audience to scan the crowd for his face. I just swallowed the disappointment of a little girl seeking the attention of her adoring "daddy". That undefinable bond that develops between a father and daughter that can not be duplicated with any other man in her life time; that relationship that sets the standard for men for the rest of a woman's life. A certain yearning has remained with me for most of my adult life; a small empty place inside never filled. That special indescribable relationship between father and daughter never happened for me.

> Fathers everywhere should be made to understand the affect they have on their children. I never shared my deepest disappointments with anyone; just swallowed them down deep and struggled with controlling my growing need. 

 

Father

> Dance lessons and my first dream of "what do you want to be when you grow up?" (answer: a prima ballerina), died when my skills advanced beyond mother's income. Any advancement was out of the question. Mother couldn't drive, we did not have a car, no money for travel, costumes or advance training. This was another disappointment to be swallowed that God would replace with an obsession in a few years.

> A prominent childhood memory is searching the sofa many times to find hidden coins for a loaf of bread and some milk. There was always something to eat even if it was just soup beans and fatback. There was a time when Mother had surgery, then months recuperating and searching for a new job. She applied to the state for Aid To Dependent Children. This was before food stamps. Once each month, she would walk with a neighbor friend, pulling a little red wagon to the fairgrounds to pick up her commodities. She was so embarrassed that she would try to hide under a head scarf. That winter, the heat bill did not get paid and I don't know what we would have done without the ingenuity of Grandfather.

> Lest this story take on a morbid twist, let me state here we were never given to self-pity. Mother often explained that no matter how bad off it got, there was always someone in lesser circumstances. Besides, Grandfather always had a childhood story available of how he had it worse: trudging through three feet of snow, barefoot, for five miles uphill - both ways, into forty-mile-an-hour winds and drifts as high as barns, to the one-room schoolhouse with a coal stove for heat. When Grandfather finished talking, we thought we were rich.

 

*  This "Book Blog" begins with my first posting on Dec. 30, if you would like to follow this story from it's beginning.  This biography is on going until the finish of the book.