Mother’s Day 2009 - Mental Images

As another Mother’s Day dawns I let my mind retreat to days gone by. To thanksgiving and myriads of memories of Lina Doering Kieschnick, my Mother. Image after image floats into my consciousness, hundreds and thousands of them. I select just a few, each one a pointer to others, possibly more important or profound.

Mother at Work - Some may say she didn’t have a choice. The wife of a Christian Education Minister in a rural Texas parish. The mother of nine (count them: nine!) with a miscarriage or two in between. So she worked at providing daily bread. I still see her standing at the kitchen stove, at first only a wood-burning one, then kerosene, gas and finally electric. I see her sitting on the floor of the porch doing the prep work for canning peaches, pears, plums, berries, beans, peas, corn, pickles, beets, jams. jellies, relishes, (One summer she “put up” 800 quart jars of them!) Baking was constant. We ate only home made bread and pie from fruits in season, also biscuits, cornbread, jellyrolls, strudel, and the mandatory angel food cakes (using a dozen fresh eggs) for every birthday. She fed the chickens, helped butcher the pigs, milked the cows and then separated the milk, made the butter and lowered it in a bucket into the well so the cooler temperatures there would help preserve it.

Mother Responding to Crises - She was there as each one of us ran the usual gamut of childhood diseases: measles, mumps, intestinal worms, whooping cough, chicken pox, appendicitis (before penicillin ), broken bones and broken hearts. One strong image is seeing her incredible strength, stamina and determination as she lugged two metal buckets each filled with 5 gallons of water and with wet burlap bags over her shoulders. A Texas late summer grass fire had erupted near our house. She led the way running full speed for over a hundred yards to the edge of the fire and kept the flames from spreading.

Mother at My Side - She was always there. She fought with unceasing resolve not to have a “favorite child” and yet each one of us considered ourselves her favorite. I was only 13 years old when she bundled me up and sent me off to the small dormitory prep school where future Lutheran ministers were trained. Years later she stood with me in her beautiful new blue dress quietly pleased that the first of her children was graduating from college. Later I saw her standing outside the train waving good-bye to my wife Jane, our son David and me as we were on our way to that great yet strange place called Hong Kong. In those days the church rules were that no one who went to “the foreign mission field” was allowed to return home for a visit until after they had served five year abroad. She may have wept for her little grandson but her heart was proud that her son and his wife had been seen fit to be called to this important ministry

Mother in the Spot Light - This she could never imagine. In her eyes she was too unworthy to ever be in any kind of spotlight. And she certainly wasn’t going to put herself there. “Eigen- lobt stinks” (Self-praise stinks) was a mantra, so she kept a very low profile when her husband or one of her kids received an honor, but her deep gratitude could not be hidden. When she was named Texas Lutheran Woman of the Year she was almost embarrassed and assumed that someone had made a mistake.

Mother at Prayer - Prayer was as natural (and often as quiet) as breathing. We prayed all the time, before and after meals, at bedtime, before dashing off for school, after a safe trip. Yet it was never a show. It was just quietly there. “Evening devotions” were absolutely routinized: a scripture reading and commentary, a written prayer, The Lord’s Prayer in unison and the blessing. Dad was always in charge. The leader for the readings and prayer might vary (it was never Mom) but the blessing was Dad’s prerogative. On the day of Dad’s funeral most of our vast family crew gathered in Mom’s home. We ate, drank, celebrated, cried and remembered. Finally it was time. Mother said, “It’s time for bed. Let’s have devotions.” As we went through the ritual my mind wandered: “Who will say the blessing? Should Erna do it? She’s the eldest. Should I do it? I am the eldest son. Would she prefer one of the official pastors in the group to do it?” Then the moment came. There was not one second of hesitation. Mother’s voice was instantaneous, loud, clear, completely at ease and in charge. “The Lord bless us and keep us. The Lord make His face to shine upon us and be gracious to us. The Lord lift up His countenance upon us and give us peace. Amen.

The mantle had passed. Mom wore it with dignity and grace.