The Last Gift

When I was young, I sometimes thought my mother favored my sister. I knew it wasn't really true but sometimes as children, we judge and see things from a childish mindset.  There are so many things you learn as you grow and mature, and especially as you walk with the Lord and let Him open your eyes to truth rather than perceived "truth."

My mother didn't make me feel less favored  – it was simply my skewed perception at times - in my immaturity...

Growing up, my sister obeyed easily. She saw jobs that needed to be done and she did them. She didn't talk back to our parents. She didn't have the same stubborn streak that I had. I looked up to her.

Because of the differences in our personalities, I now see that our parents related to us differently. And it wasn't favoritism. My sister and I had different temperaments. (As did our brothers.)

But with the two girls,  I was head strong. I had opinions.  I liked to write those opinions down especially if I couldn't share them out loud.  My sister was steady. She liked tasks. She listened.

I've come to realize that my parents valued both of our temperaments. They valued the pleasing personality of my lovely sister. But they also valued the stubborn streak I had. They did their best to shape me and mold me and help me - they worked hard to turn my stubbornness into steadfastness. I believe they succeeded.

I'm grateful for the discipline I received as a child, for the standards they helped me attain, and especially for all the times I spent alone in our living room - working out my stubbornness (as my dad often said).

There was a swivel rocker in that room. There was also a record player. When I was in there being separated from the family, my dad would let me listen to records. And I did. A lot.  I have vivid memories of sitting by the fireplace with my elbows resting on the round wooden coffee table. I loved it. Even though I couldn't be with the family during those alone times, I was ushered into a world of Elvis Presley singing hymns and Marty Robbins serenading ballads.

As I grew and we moved from that little farmhouse, I carried the love of record playing with me.  I would set the record player at night with lots of albums that would drop down and I would go to sleep being serenaded not only by Mary Robbins ballads and Elvis Presley hymns - but now the Osmond Brothers, Glen Campbell, the Carpenters, and John Denver. My sister and I shared a room and I don't ever remember her complaining about my music habit.

I think about these things sometimes - especially now that my both my mom and dad are gone.

After my dad died in 2014, my mom had a "bucket list" of sorts - she wanted to do a road trip and go to all of four of her children's homes over Christmas. She was 81 and fit as a fiddle.  And as far as her children were concerned, she had no favorites.  She was going to spend an equal amount of time with each of us.

Mine was her first stop - being south of her - my three siblings were all clustered in North Carolina.  When she arrived, it was such a lovely time with her.

That Christmas, she gave me a Crosley "old-fashioned" record player.  It was the last "tangible" Christmas gift she ever gave to me. When I opened my present from her and saw that record player, I flashed back to all those times this stubborn girl had to be alone in the living room of our little Timmonsville farmhouse, and I realized that my mom didn't favor any of us. She just related to us differently because we were different. I looked her in the eye and hugged her because I knew for certain that her love knew no bounds.  I also knew how much she knew me - an old-fashioned record player was the perfect last gift.  

My mom prayed for each of her children faithfully - I have come to know that so much more as my sister and I have had time cleaning out her house. We have seen her written prayers for us, her children, all over her house in different places.

I am forever grateful. So now I will pop on a vinyl record – sometimes Marty Robbins, sometimes Elvis Presley, and sometimes John Denver … and I think of her and my dad. And you know what?   I'm ushered right back into that little farmhouse living room room sitting at the coffee table learning lessons about taking my stubborn streak to the Lord and letting Him work it out. That same coffee table now sits in my living room along with the Crosley record player. On top of it rests a lovely old-fashioned black and white photo of Mama when she was young and one of Daddy when he was a boy - a reminder to me of their influence in my life.  I don't know if I'll always leave them there ... but for now, I like it.

Merry Christmas!