My Mother’s Ascent

It was her mountain and her climb that lead to the pinnacle – the closest she could get to Heaven.  At times, she had run up the trail, excited with the discovery of everything new: new adventures with brothers and sisters, new faith in God, new husband so handsome, new knowledge of God’s voice and the leading by His Spirit.

Without warning, the trail turned rocky and dark; the happiness and sadness of motherhood mingled in the shadows that eclipsed the sunshine.  Climbing over the boulders, she made her path choices, one after another, as the elevation increased.  She sought His voice and leading.

The paths once more became smooth and full of sunshine, singing, and joy; motherhood bloomed again with the promises from God.  Loves and Grand Loves filled her heart.  The pleasure of creativity bloomed abundantly, and the laughter of friends and family strengthened her for the climb ahead.

More frequent pauses to rest were needed as the path grew narrow and steep, and the air thinned in widowhood.  Her head bowed at thoughts of the impossibility of the climb ahead.  Strength for every slowing step came from her faith in the One who never left her side.  So, on she climbed.  Direction and abundant grace emerged as birds sang to the music from her harmonica.  She had reached the highland.

Almost imperceptibly, fewer signs of Spring remained at the higher elevation.  The top of the mountain was getting closer.  Tired.  More periods of rest.  Still climbing.  Heaven closer.

The path became more obscure – her footing more unsure.  Tired.  So tired.  The unnecessary baggage of life began to be discarded.  The pinnacle remained to be attained.

Slower, deliberate steps brought her to the last stretch of visible path to the top.  No more were there signs of warming Spring, birds, or blooms.  The pinnacle, the closest peak of life reaching to Heaven, was now almost attainable.  Almost…until the fog rolled in – fog that was sometimes characterized with uncertainty and fear.  The pinnacle could no longer be seen.  The path was obscured; the way back was in the foggy shadows.

In a momentary shaft of light, there came the tiny voices of the Great Grand Loves, a baby’s soft cheek, kisses and prayers comforting her that the fruitfulness of her marriage and promises of her loving God would continue to bring forth new life.  She smiled.  She cried.  She blessed and prayed for them.  Friends and family came to remind her of the One who was always with her, and for one bright day she seemed to dance.

Nothing was left but the fog and the knowledge she was not alone.  She waited in the silence, assured she would soon hear His voice and find His hand leading her to the top of the mountain…to Springtime again.

“The voice of my beloved!  Behold, he comes leaping upon the mountains, skipping upon the hills.”  She laid down her tired frame and slept.  Waiting.

Then suddenly, she heard His familiar voice call her out of the darkness, “Rise up, my love, my fair one, and come away.  For lo, the winter is past, the rain is over and gone.  The flowers appear on the earth; the time of singing has come… Rise up, my love, my fair one, and come away!”

I wave good bye to you, dear Mother!  Not good bye forever… just until

 

Dedicated to Bertha Irene Jeffers    ~    September 17, 1921 – July 30, 2018

Song of Solomon 2:8-13

“The voice of my beloved! Behold, he comes Leaping upon the mountains, Skipping upon the hills.  My beloved is like a gazelle or a young stag.  Behold, he stands behind our wall; He is looking through the windows, gazing through the lattice.  My beloved spoke, and said to me: ‘Rise up, my love, my fair one, And come away. For lo, the winter is past, The rain is over and gone. The flowers appear on the earth; The time of singing has come, and the voice of the turtledove is heard in our land.  The fig tree puts forth her green figs, and the vines with the tender grapes give a good smell.  Rise up, my love, my fair one, And come away!’ ”

 

 

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