Mothers’ day

Yesterday was appropriately marked on the calendar as a day to honor mothers. The day began with Conrad picking up me, Joyce, and Jill in that order. We went with Conrad and Jill to their newly discovered church known as The Vine. The meeting place was near the Old Bag Factory in Goshen.

We went for the first service and chose seats on the 3rd row as we would do at College Mennonite. It is a fast growing church which aims to change Goshen.  It attracts young families.  The ambiance was much as I anticipated: Loud singing with a platform of musical instruments. . What I had not anticipated was the sermon by a young woman on the question, Who says who we are? Her answer was simple, God does. She supported this answer by careful exegesis of the Biblical text. It was a powerful sermon, and I could not leave the meeting without telling her so.

Then Conrad and Joyce’s daughter Jill took us to Niles, MIchigan to the new home of Joyce’s other daughter Beth and her husband, Mark Hooley.. The Hooleys have purchased a large house to rescue from depredation by a dog that was never seen out of doors by the neighbors.  The house stinks!

We ate delicious food in an outdoor patio warmed by fire in a firebit. The food was grilled chicken, baked beans, potato salad, green leaf and fruit salads.  As the afternoon wore on clouds broke and we were warmed by the sun.

Beth and Jill were born six years and six months apart, and their choices have tended to keep them separate.  Joyce happily saw her daughters begin to really know and care for each other.  She told me that it was the only Mothers Day in her memory as adults that the three of them had been together. Her daughters honored her with cards and gifts. She was surprised and pleased.

Conrad and Jill brought us home in late afternoon.  I walked into Apt. 83, sat on my chair at my computer desk and fell into a deep sleep.  In the middle of the night I awoke thinking of my own mother.  The mother of my mother died within a year of giving birth to her youngest daughter, my mother.  So my mother did not remember her mother.

When my mother thought of heaven she often spoke of the future joy of meeting her mother for the first time to know and remember her.

About Martin Lehman

I was born 92 years ago, the son of a Mennonite pastor and organic gardener in Franklin County, Pennsylvania. At age 10 I was baptized as a member of the Marion Mennonite Church. I own the "Old Fool" moniker because I want to walk the Jesus Way even though the world and much of the church takes me as a fool for doing so. In my life I have moved from being a young conservative to an elderly radical. I tell that story in My Faith Journey posted on my website.
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