I'm the kind of person that likes to start at the very beginning....and, well...the beginning of a woman's journey as a mom starts very long before she becomes one. It starts with what she learned from her mom, and what her mom learned from her mom. Don't you agree?
I don't know a whole lot about my maternal grandma. She died of cancer when I was six. I was growing up blissfully in Washington, and grandma lived in Oklahoma. Memories have been re-created for me through pictures, but I have no real time memories of her at all. My grandparents grew up in a German Mennonite community. Most of their neighbors and fellow townspeople were relatives in some way. They had all immigrated from the old country together and resettled in the Oklahoma Panhandle.
Now this particular brand of German Mennonites were not very touchy people. They didn't show their feelings. They gave "firm" hugs to say goodbye or hello, and they didn't smile for pictures. They did, however, fear the Lord. It has always been and still is very important to them that they honor God in all they do and pass that heritage on to their children. They had big family gatherings and (in my opinion) make the BEST food!
However, there was a small dark side of this culture: shunning. Families could be "put out" of the church and maybe not forced out of the community, but "put out" of relationships. Ever heard the phrase, "You're dead to me." ? Because of that, you better be mighty sure that you and yours walked the line. The family motto: What will people think? That was the bottom line for most decisions.
Enter, my mother. Grandma had broken her arm sometime around my mother's birth and wasn't able to hold her much. Mom was the baby of three. Her older brother, a relentless tease. Her older sister, her best ally. She grew up in this strong in faith and tradition, Mennonite farm family. Not only did they grind their own wheat to bake their own bread - but they grew the wheat first. They separated the cream off their own cows' milk and turned their own butter. They canned their own fruits and vegetables, butchered their own meat, made their own clothes, and rationed the water from the wind mill. They put away white after Labor Day, measured the distance of the silverware from the edge of the table, and followed strict social protocol.
My mom rocked the boat a tad. (I rocked it the rest of the way.) Now, mind you, she got most of it down. She was an expert seamstress, canner, egg gatherer, and silverware measurer. She had the fear of the Lord in her and never forgot to ask "What will people think?" However, she did smile for pictures, wear very bright colors, go to prom, and marry outside of her "culture." I think being the baby of the family automatically signs you up to be a bit more free spirited. She married a young, Baptist minister, who grew up in a heathen, Idaho, logging family and hit the trail of faith with him. Fast forward a few years...The young, tall, beautiful blond farm girl, that had lived in the same 20 mile radius until college, finds herself living in Seattle with two young children and a minister husband....then to Texas, then to Florida, then to Idaho, then to Oregon.
Most of her roots, she brought with her along the trail. She ground her own flour, baked her own bread, made all our clothes, taught piano lessons, played piano for the church, taught Sunday School and lady's Bible studies.... and home schooled ...and had five children....and was the pastor's wife...and....and.....and....She was Wonder Woman!
So guess what I had visions of, when I dreamed of my own future in motherhood? Well....we'll talk more about it next week. :)
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