Thinking about Mother today

My mother (left), June Johnson, in the 70's, and her sister, Agnes Grohs.Glancing around the guest bedroom in my aunt’s wonderfully appointed home, I think this morning of how my mother would have adored this room.

A doll-sized round wicker table holding a gleaming silver serving tray with crystal-footed goblets is dwarfed by lightly-striped curtains, which cascade to the floor. A playful, childlike porcelain doll with a pouty face occupies a velvet rocker and ottoman—drawing a spotlight—next to which a wooden vintage stroller sits.

It’s both a child’s and woman’s haven.

Just inside the spacious room with its dark wooden floors and light sunrise walls, an elegant 5-drawer ladies dressing table with a gracious beveled mirror beckons. A comfortable damask covered stool awaits a ladies attention where she can pick up either of the hand-held silver mirrors there.

A wonderful carved antique dresser on the other side of the room holds a heavy bronze sculpture of cupid holding high a lighted torch and a Westminister mantel clock.

A four-poster bed, covered in rose and pale sienna with touches of sage and maroon promises a good night’s sleep—but that’s after a soak in my aunt’s jacuzzi tub in the attached guest bathroom.

Mother would have been in her element. You see, she adored dolls, she loved antiques, and like most women—including me—she craved a little pampering.

This morning as I flipped on the switch in my aunt’s room and my eyes lit on an oil painting someone did of her—the long dark hair nestled at her shoulders, her big, dark eyes, and even the serious look on her face, couldn’t but remind me of her sister—my mom.

My mother died seven years ago today. It’s the first time since then I’ve had the privilege of spending the day with one of her six surviving sisters.

Nothing will ever replace the hole in my heart that was left when she went. Knowing she is in Heaven gives me peace and a certainty that God is sovereign and He is in control and that there is order in the universe.

Nothing, however, will take away “missing.” I miss my mother’s smile, her laugh, her touch. I even miss her annoying ways. I miss her unconditional love. I miss her memories, her peculiarities, her stories. I miss her very being, her fiber, her vibrancy, her love.

And, on occasion, I am blessed with others who knew her even longer than I did. Like my Aunt Agnes, Aunt Nancy, Aunt Phyllis, Aunt Gloria, Aunt Margie, and Aunt Mary. And seeing them brings comfort.

So today, in Southern California, I’m going to think about my mother and how it was here, in California, that she met a woman in a laundromat, who shared with her Bill Bright’s “Four Spiritual Laws” and how the Holy Spirit used that little book to usher her into the Kingdom. I’m going to think about the fact that no matter how much I miss her—I will see her again.

One day in Heaven. And what a day that will be.

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