Happy Birthday Mom!

Ruth's.  Even now that possessive name instantly brings a sense of dread.  Ruth was this old lady from our church who used to give us the worst fruitcake ever made.  I would hide it in my shirt and then dump it in an inconspicuous place like behind a couch or dresser when I got the chance.  She was nice but her house was pretty much a tortuous jail cell for a 10 year old that had plenty of energy to spare until it was time to do chores. We would go over once a week or so and mow her grass and clean her house because she lived all alone.  She had the thickest grass I had ever seen.  I would have to unclog the mower every twelve steps.  The only upside was that it could conceal an incredible amount of fruitcake. 

And then there was Janet.  She smoked about a hundred packs of cigarettes a day and owned a whole generation of cats.  My nose is still recovering.  We would go over once a week or so and try to help clean her mobile home, but she mostly just wanted to talk.  She would send us home with Disney movies on VHS she had run off for us from a cable station.  I appreciated being able to watch The Swiss Family Robinson every day but it definitely wasn't worth the weekly visit. 

I also have a few suppressed memories from volunteering at the Salvation Army, which despite the perk of being able to price toys at an affordable rate and shelve them behind mounds of clothes for an improved shopping experience later, was mostly just two hours of mind numbing boredom.  And the food kitchen where I would have to carry boxes all morning.  And Pete's.  And there are probably more that are escaping my memory. 

Ungrateful as I was for these opportunities to grow in character and help the elderly in the process, I think something deep down knew that what my Mom was doing, entirely voluntarily out of the good of her heart, was inherently fulfilling.  It wasn't until much much later in life though that I could look back and see that it was shaping me into someone who had a deep rooted faith in God.  Because I saw that the Gospel made a difference, that church wasn't just a room of hypocrisy, that God did actively love his created beings.  It was showing me what true religion looked like.  So thanks Mom.  Thanks for following out your convictions with deeds.  Thanks for taking the time and effort on top of all your loads of responsibilities to esteem others above yourself.  Thanks for visiting Ruth and Janet in their afflictions.  And thanks for dragging along your whiny son, even when he carefully dropped his mouth of fruitcake into his hand and inconspicuously pushed it deep under the couch. 

 - Love Brant