Tag Archives: A Mother’s Love

Baby Book Four

27 May

My Take

DiVoran Lites

Story by Dora Bedell Bowers

DiVoran talks very well now and she is still just as friendly with people as ever. She sucks her thumb (yet & still). She weighs 26 ½ pounds. She has a black kitten which we call, “Little Devil.” We have a grass yard here so she is able to get outside in good weather. Everyone compliments her on her lovely curls, which are now blond. Grandmother Bowers sometimes forms them into a head full of long curls. Our child is sweet and everyone loves her. May that always be true.

January 1, 1944

Dear little book,

It has been a long time since I have written.  We are living in Crowley, Colorado now. Ivan works on the machinery in a tomato factory, and my paid job is to cook the noon meal for six workers every day.  Sister is five years old now. I call her that because she has a two-year-old baby brother. His name is David.  He is just learning to talk and can’t say her real name so he calls her Doo-Doo. We still have our cat. He is big and very mean at times, but he’s beautiful and shiny, and we love him in spite of his disposition. 

David and DiVoran about 1943   DiVoran’s Vintage Photos

We have a goat for milk, and she has a kid. DiVoran loves warm goat’s milk. The doctor recommended it. It’s very good for her. We have chickens and a rooster. When we go over to the factory to visit Daddy, we walk in a line. I carry David piggyback, then comes DiVoran, Boots the Irish Setter, Mama-goat, baby goat, and Chanticleer the rooster. I’m always surprised when the baby goat prances over the window glass that protects the young tomato plants. He never breaks a one.  

Sister can help out a great deal now. She sets the table and takes the scraps to the chickens. She looks after Dave very well for her age. I take them to Sunday School. DiVoran still has curly hair but so hates to have it combed. She says she is going to let it grow until she can walk on it. She has decided to marry the neighbor’s boy Lloyd Osbourne. 

Sister doesn’t care for dolls. She loves books, though, and she likes to color. She reads to Dave when she can get him to sit still long enough to listen. Sister has a persistent cold which I hope we can overcome. Her eyes are hazel now; her hair is darker too. Her feet were somewhat curved when she was born. I tried to massage them and help them to be straight, but I didn’t succeed. Sister likes the radio, and she loves to dance. I suppose she picked that up from me. Daddy Ivan will be examined soon for the army unless his boss, Mr. Picketto gets a deferment for him. Don’t misunderstand, he’s ready and willing to fight for his country, but the boss needs him at the tomato factory to keep the machinery running. I’ll close now with a prayer that I may be a good mother through the coming years. 

The End 

Author, Poet and Artist

DiVoran has been writing for most of her life. Her first attempt at a story was when she was seven years old and her mother got a new typewriter. DiVoran got to use it and when her dad saw her writing he asked what she was writing about. DiVoran answered that she was writing the story of her life. Her dad’s only comment was, “Well, it’s going to be a very short story.” After most of a lifetime of writing and helping other writers, DiVoran finally launched her own dream which was to write a novel of her own. She now has her Florida Springs trilogy and her novel, a Christian Western Romance, Go West available on Amazon. When speaking about her road to publication, she gives thanks to the Lord for all the people who helped her grow and learn.  She says, “I could never have done it by myself, but when I got going everything fell beautifully into place, and I was glad I had started on my dream.”

Baby Book 2

13 May

My Take

DiVoran Lites

  Story by  my mother, Dora Bedell Bowers  

Card-Star of the West Press

On Christmas Day, when DiVoran was nearly two months old Ivan’s Uncle Glen and Aunt Lucille invited us to Sparks for Christmas. We put aside the long gown that most babies wore for the first couple of months and she wore a pretty pink dress a and a bunting I had crocheted which went perfectly with the leggings her Great-grandmother Hunter had made for her. When we got to Sparks, Glen and Lucille were glad to see us, especially the baby who squirmed and kicked her feet to show she was happy to see them too.

 

For Christmas DiVoran received a wooly dog made by a convict from the Colorado State Penitentiary in Canon City where Granddad Bowers worked as a guard. She also got a baby rattle from Boonie Egbert and another rattle from the Safeway folks, where Ivan worked as a meat-cutter. There was another baby book from Ivan’s aunt and uncle. She got a soft, fuzzy duck and swan from my brother, Snooks (Smithy) Bedell and his wife, Lena. She received a crib-sheet and pillowcase from Mrs. Hill and Kitty Hill. We got her a doll, which she likes to have in the crib with her.

 

She learns something new every day. During her first eight weeks, she learned to turn her head to see who was talking to her. When she smiled, that person would just beam. And on the second day of January when DiVoran was three months old, she held up a tiny hand and stared at her fist for a long time as if it were the most interesting thing in the world.

 

DiVoran likes to suck her thumb, she not only likes it but feels it is an absolute necessity. Last night, we wrapped her thumb in gauze so she couldn’t suck it. She cried, so we unwrapped it. She went back to sleep so we wrapped it again waking her in the process. She cried again so we unwrapped it. So that’s how it went until we gave up and went to bed. All in all, though, she is a good child and not only because she belongs to us.

 

Photo by Pixabay

 

  Our baby girl likes intense colors, particularly the afghan throw over the back of the Chesterfield couch. She lights up at the sight of a bright dress. She enjoys listening to music on the radio, especially the lively tunes. There are a few things she is particular about such as thumb sucking, sleeping in her basket, and not having too many covers on. She wants plenty of food and it had better be on time. Sometimes she just lays in her crib and kicks her feet. The doctor said we were not to pick her up too much because it would spoil her, but sometimes it is hard to resist. She coos and smiles a good deal, particularly when we say hello or call her sweetheart. She turns her head with a definite movement now.

To Be Continued

 

 

Author, Poet and Artist

 

DiVoran has been writing for most of her life. Her first attempt at a story was when she was seven years old and her mother got a new typewriter. DiVoran got to use it and when her dad saw her writing he asked what she was writing about. DiVoran answered that she was writing the story of her life. Her dad’s only comment was, “Well, it’s going to be a very short story.” After most of a lifetime of writing and helping other writers, DiVoran finally launched her own dream which was to write a novel of her own. She now has her Florida Springs trilogy and her novel, a Christian Western Romance, Go West available on Amazon. When speaking about her road to publication, she gives thanks to the Lord for all the people who helped her grow and learn.  She says, “I could never have done it by myself, but when I got going everything fell beautifully into place, and I was glad I had started on my dream.”

The gift you give that costs you nothing

27 Oct

Walking by Faith, Not by Sight

Janet Perez Eckles

 

The gift you give that costs you nothing.

 

Reblogged October 27, 2018

 

“Hey, what happened to my candy?” my seven-year-old son complained the day after Halloween.

I had done what any health-conscious mom would do. Once they were asleep, I emptied those buckets of candy, left only a handful, and tossed the rest in a bag to give away.

When they realized what I did, they complained. That was okay. And although I was a “mean Mom” for taking their candy, I went back to my daily routine—placing love notes in their lunch boxes.

Now years later, I wonder if that gesture made any difference. I decided to ask them.

Notes from a mother’s heart.

I looked in their direction one day. “Hey guys, do you remember the notes I used to tape to your pillows and put in your lunch boxes when you were growing up?” I asked.

“Got everyone of them; I saved them, Mom,” my oldest son said.

“I remember the notes that you’d put in our lunch boxes,” my middle son said. “One day, I almost ate one of them by accident.”

I smiled, glad they remembered. And also hoped they forgot those times I raised my voice, blurted instructions, made demands, and more than a few times, delivered harsh scoldings.

I also hope they lost the memories of times when I threw my hands up in the air, and, in utter frustration, commanded, “Okay, the three of you, in your room, and don’t come out until you know how to behave.”

As they grew older, longer notes that expanded on life’s insights, admonishments, praises and advice waited for them on their pillows.

But I confess. Often, I questioned my ability to discipline them. I doubted its effectiveness. Yet I don’t regret spending those moments writing words that expressed my love.

I got that idea from God’s Word which He wrote on the pillow of my heart. And His Scripture notes of love, unconditional and constant that kept me going through moments of insecurity.

Here are five rules that guided me:

Pray with conviction. “Let the words of my mouth and the meditation of my heart be acceptable in your sight, O LORD, my rock and my redeemer” (Psalm 19:14).

Ask for help. “Set a guard, O LORD, over my mouth; keep watch over the door of my lips” (Psalm 141:3).

Recognize the goodness our words can carry. “Gracious words are like a honeycomb, sweetness to the soul and health to the body” (Proverbs 16:24).

Remember the power of our words. “Our words can build up or tear down. As the tongue has the power of life and death, and those who love it will eat its fruit” (Proverbs 18:21).

Heed the warning. “Do not let any unwholesome talk come out of your mouths, but only what is helpful for building others up according to their needs, that it may benefit those who listen” (Ephesians 4:29)

You may not be a mom or dad; but you’re special to someone. That someone is waiting for a word of encouragement to build them up. To offer warmth in a cold world. To reassure in moments of doubt. To show your presence and erase loneliness.

Words of love can be the gift no one else has the time to give, but they give what others need the most.

Let’s Pray

Father, help my life to be a note of gratitude for others to read. And may they see your love written between the lines. In Jesus name.

Who is that someone in your life who would welcome a note of love from you?

Hey friends…

I hope my weekly notes to inspire you help brighten your day. I love, love your comments. Please send them using the comment button. and if you share this blog post, it would mean the world to me.

Love you all!

Janet

______________________________________

Did you know I wrote a book filled with words of encouragement, uplifting thoughts and illustrations of real-life triumph to empower you? Its title, Trials of Today, Treasures for Tomorrow: Overcoming Adversities in Life. You can get it HERE.

CLICK HERE for a one-minute inspirational video.

Looking for a speaker for your upcoming event? A great speaker makes the difference between a so-so event and one that shines with impact. I invite you to view one of my two-minute videos HERE.

Please share: Feel free to share Janet’s posts with your friends.

 

Source: https://janetperezeckles.com/blog/encouragement/the-gift-you-give-that-costs-you-nothing.html

 

Janet Eckles Perez

Some say she should be the last person to be dancing. Her life is summarized in this 3-minute video: http://bit.ly/1a8wGJR

Janet Perez Eckles’ story of triumph is marked by her work as an international speaker, #1 best-selling author, radio host, personal success coach and master interpreter. Although blind since 31, her passion is to help you see the best of life.

www.janetperezeckles.com

Mom

8 May

A Time to Live

Melody Hendrix

 

 

I was born and raised in Florida. As a kid, I hated wearing shoes and still do. My friends and I walked everywhere enjoying the outdoors and exploring nature. In the evening when dinner and chores were done, I stretched out on the couch with my feet in Mother’s lap, and she pulled sandspur splinters out with tweezers. She was so gentle that I fell asleep during the operation.

 

 

 

 

Growing up in the 60’s and 70’s our family had little money. Our mother was widowed twice before she was twenty-five years old, and she ended up with four kids to look after on her own. She knew about pain and she knew about life. We children were her life, and she allowed us to be as carefree as possible. Sometimes, though, if she thought we needed chastising, she would call out a name, which many times was the wrong name. We thought it was funny, and our laughter got her back into a good mood. When Mom wanted to let me know I was in trouble, she’d call me, “Melody Jane.” In these cases, Jane was a bad-girl name. My friends heard it a few times and thought Jane was my middle name. Most of the time, though, Mom called me Honey-Dear.

Mom started working in at a bicycle shop in Winter Park. She and the owner fell in love and got married. He was the only father I knew. He had two boys, so now we had six kids in the family. But mostly they lived with their grandparents. When school was out, Mom’s kids sat in the business office until time to go home. It was a boring few hours, so mom did her best to keep us entertained. She’d put several layers of red polish on her nails and let us peel them off. She gave us long ball chains to dribble into circles which we pretended were pies. Sometimes we linked several together and made an extra-large pie.

 

 

 

Whenever I was sick I told no one, but somehow Mom always knew. She knew what to do, too. I marveled at that even as a kid. She would kiss the patient’s forehead to take their temperature. If it was high, the child was allowed to stay home from school and Mom bought him or her an inexpensive toy from the five and dime. The favored medicine was a cup of hot tea with cream and sugar and a piece of toast to dip. To this day, that is a healing comfort when I’m not well.

I recall thrifty foods Mom invented. She cut the crust off a slice of white bread, layered butter, sugar, and cinnamon, and then rolled it into a ball. Yum. A slice of white bread could end up on a plate with sugar and milk over it, and we ate it with a fork. She cooked macaroni and mixed in a can of stewed tomatoes and to this day I love that combination.

I still have a picture etched in my mind of the last day time I saw Mom alive. She had on a pretty denim Capris outfit with embroidery on the legs of it. After our visit, I started to walk out to my car. I turned to look back. She stood there smiling and waving. I waved and went on, but when I realized I hadn’t hugged her or told her I loved her, I thought I should go back. For some unknown reason I decided not to. Instead, I got in the car and drove away. I would never get to hug her or tell I loved her again. But you know, somehow I think she knew it and I believe she knows it still.

 

 

 

 

I am retired and enjoying life. My hobbies are my 5 grandchildren, son and daughter, and my loving husband. I am a photographer and extreme nature lover. I love spending time in my garden or in the wilderness connected to God my Creator.
Melody

A Bouquet of Mothers

7 May

My Take

DiVoran Lites

 

Author, Poet and Artist

 

 

A Bouquet of Mothers

DiVoran

 

Melody’s Mother

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Three friends told me about the joy their Mothers brought them.

One said, “We didn’t have much, but we three sisters and our
3 brothers knew we were loved.
Knowing Mom was designing
And sewing complete wardrobes
For our Barbies each year at Christmastime
We were rich in love and floating
On our mother’s creativity.
Excited by the ticka-a-ticka of Mother’s sewing machine
We could hardly sleep.

On Christmas day
We ran to the tree and ripped open beautifully
Wrapped packages to reveal
A trove of evening gowns, dresses, pants, and blouses.
That had been made from hoarded
Scraps of whatever materials
Mother found and saved for us.

 

Onisha’s Mother

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

As soon as mother and dad got home from work on Friday night
Mom, Daddy, my two older brothers and I drove the hour to the Indian River near Titusville, Fl.

Mother loved the Lord, Daddy, my two brothers and me with all her heart.
She also loved fishing and shrimping.

At dark we slung a lantern over the rail of the pier
And shrimp came under the light, and into our nets
Then came fish chasing shrimp
And we caught them, too.

Mom would make a pallet so I could
Lie face down, and watch the water until I fell asleep.

Sometimes we drove out to Playalinda beach
And built a campfire on shore.
We satand sang…
Sweet Hour of Prayer,” and “Just a Closer Walk with Thee.
We kids fell asleep the minute we got in the car.

Fern

My mother is a born homebody.
She married at eighteen
And she and daddy had three girls and a boy.
She loved nothing better than to cook big meals
Every day and watch us enjoy them.
She was always there when we came
From school clamoring for snacks.

She nursed us through fevers
She sewed most of our clothes.
When I had surgery as an adult
She looked after me
She cooked so much food…
I didn’t know how to tell her
I wasn’t hungry and please
Don’t cook so much.
Please don’t be hurt when I can’t eat.
Then one day it came to me,
This was and always has been her
Way of showing love
I have never known her to yearn for
Any other kind of life.
Thank you Mother.

Reflections

12 May

From the Heart

Louise Gibson

 

 

What does a mother say to her children
at the end of her days-
Those she has loved in so many ways?

 

“Oh, what joy I felt in my heart
when I was informed that new life
had its start.

 

Each of you was a blessing from above-
a gift of God-
the symbol of love.

 

Each is unique-
Not one is the same.
You are loved and admired
for who you are; what you became.

 

Your talents are many-
Thank God for each one.
They will nurture your being
when the day is done.

 

God will supply the strength
to face each new day-
I will be with you in spirit
every step of the way.

I Love you.

Mom”

 

 

Footnote:

Quote from Max Lucado:

“God knows that we are only pilgrims and that eternity
is so close that any “Good-bye” is, in reality, a
“See you tomorrow”.

 

 

 

 

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