| My Guardian Angel |
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Welcome to Stories of Heart! ~ If you are not a subscriber and this has been passed on to you, join us by sending a blank e-mail to [email protected] with "subscribe" in the subject line. And get the love direct! Tour our web site: http://www.geocities.com/jenniferioliver2001 ________________________________________________________ Folks, please give a Texas-sized hug to Carol Roach, whose story below reflects her appreciation for a lady who raised her with the kind of love only a grandmother can give. I present this tribute to you in time for Mother's Day, which is Sunday, May 12. May all children be so lucky to experience love of this magnitude. For my mother, I present to you a tribute that reflects a metamorphosis through the eyes of your daughter. Happy Mother's Day to my mother...and to all mothers around the world! _________________________________________________________ MY GUARDIAN ANGEL I was raised by my grandmother. Neither my mom or dad had wanted me when I was born. My mom was single and said that she would put me up for adoption rather than keep me. In those days being a young unwed mother was a disgrace. Strangely it was my dad who brought me home to his mother, and I was immediately accepted and raised by her. I was so loved and protected by her that her own children had often felt that she loved me more than them. However, I know it was not true. It was just that I needed more love since I was being ignored by both of my parents. As I grew up I knew who my parents were, no doubt, but they were parents in name only. My father stopped seeing me when I was five when he married another woman who didn't like our family. My mom came visiting sporadically to take me out somewhere now and then. Since I hardly knew her, I never felt comfortable with her. My grandmother was my "ma," and that is what I called her even though I knew the difference. My "ma" protected me all through my life, and she loved me like no one else ever could. My grandmother never left the house in the years that I was growing up. She was severely depressed since she lived alone and had lived a terrible life of hardship. Her link with the outside world was the telephone and the television. One of my most fondest memories of the times we had spent together was sitting down and watching Billy Graham's crusades. I always prayed that my ma would admit that she loved the Lord. She neither encouraged me or discouraged me from going to church. On my own, I had met a group of friends, who were churchgoers, and from the age of nine, I started faithfully attending Sunday school at a local mission for about six years. Later on, I do not really know what happened as I seemed to have drifted away from church life. Still later, I married and had a son. Both my husband and I believed in the Lord, we started to go to church every Sunday, and then somehow we drifted away from it as well. Tragedy hit us in 1980. I was now alone to raise my son as I had just divorced and my grandmother had passed away at the same time. I felt totally alone and isolated from all my love ones. After her funeral, I wanted to know more than anything else that my beloved ma was all right. I wanted to know that she was in heaven and that I would not have to worry about her. I wanted to know that all the years we spent watching Billy Graham together had meaning and now she was with her maker. I needed to know so badly that she was happy and with God that it became an obsession. I prayed for a sign, any sign, to know that she was okay. I had a recurring dream at night where she would come back to tell me something, but I could not hear the words she was saying. I could not reach out and touch her. The barrier between life and the afterworld was much too strong. As a result, this dream would only serve to torment me further. So strong was this need to know about her happiness that I decided to go to church with my young son (age 4) and pray to God for a sign that she was okay. I went to church for the first time in years and just sat quietly in the pew listening to the sermon. I had no clue what that sermon was going to be. To this day, I do not even remember what it was all about except for one statement that the minister had made within the sermon. He said, "And all of you out there who are worried about your love ones whom have passed on, do not worry for they are happy." There it was. I couldn't believe it I got my sign! After that time in church I felt better. First of all, I had my sign, and secondly, the dreams of my ma's failed attempt at communication had ceased. She had found her first means of getting across to me. I began to talk to her in prayer and each time that I spoke to her I would touch the emerald ring that she had left for me. It comforted me. I always wore it and still do for it is a constant reminder that she is with me now and forever. It is a constant reminder that she is looking out for my best interest while keeping me safe from harm's way. Not long after her passing, we had a transit strike here in our city. Montreal is a city that enjoys four seasons, but having a public transit strike in the dead of winter is not a pleasant thing. Since I was now divorced, I could not enjoy the luxury of staying home to wait it out, so I found myself freezing on the corner of a busy intersection waiting for a car to offer me a ride. Even while I was freezing and knew that others had to rely on the kindness of strangers as well, I was afraid of getting into a car with a stranger. My ma had often told me about the dangers involved, but I was desperate. My options were limited. It was either go home and lose a day's pay which I could not afford, attempt to walk to work and risk frostbite, or accept a ride and pray to God that I would be safe. I chose the latter. I waited for close to 20 minutes, but the cars were not stopping for me, and I was getting colder and colder. It was then that I decided to touch the emerald ring that she gave me and asked my ma to help me. Within 30 seconds of touching the ring, a car stopped for me and drove me to work. It was then that I realized that my ma was my guardian angel. She protected me in life, and she was protecting me in death as well. There has been numerous other times that I asked for my ma's help when I was worried or in a jam. Each and every time all I had to do was touch the ring, and lo and behold I got either what I wanted or a compromise that proved to be beneficial. My Guardian Angel always came through for me. I know that my ma is with the Lord our Saviour, and I know that she will always be with me through the good times and the bad. Carol Roach [email protected] Copyright © 2002 by Carol Roach. All rights reserved. ________________________________________________________ MY MOTHER'S EYEBROWS "Can you show me how to pluck my eyebrows?" she asked. I looked askance at my mother. It's not every day one's mother asks an eighth grader how to pluck eyebrows. She wasn't joking. This request came from a mother whose adult life consisted of raising eight children and keeping house as a dutiful wife while trailing an Army officer from one installation to another. Surely they had modeled Mrs. Cleaver after my mother with her beehive hairdo, cat- eyed glasses, ever-present apron, no-nonsense approach from child- rearing matters to baking homemade bread. On rare, special occasions, Mom wore perfume and red-orange cream lipstick to accessorize sleeveless dresses and other Jackie O-inspired fashions when she and Dad stepped out for the evening. In the ignorance of my youth, I believed that my mother was -- year after year -- 45 years old. For some reason, I affixed that age to her persona. It just seemed right. She never got older than 45. To my young eyes, the age of 45 bordered on geriatric. And so it was with great pleasure that I showed my mother how to pluck eyebrows. The changes were gradual. Not long after Mom began contributing her bass voice to the Sweet Adelines, her Singer sewing machine -- at one time reserved for spitting out summer outfits for me and my sister -- began foaming with glittery gowns and other lush costumes. Fake eyelashes, tubs of facial cream, bottles of makeup, various shades of lipstick began to clutter the medicine cabinet and around the sink in her bathroom. I remember the first time I saw Mom on stage. I almost didn't recognize her. The years had fallen away -- she was no longer 45 -- and all assumptions about my mother were escorted quick-like to the exit doors. Mom dazzled me with the way she swished around in costumes, smiling broadly to timed steps, carefully shaped eyebrows arching over false eyelashes and rouged cheeks. This was not my mother. Mom was...well, she was a woman! My mother was a woman having the time of her life. And looking every bit as young as she was feeling. We traipsed to countless Sweet Adelines shows in support of our mother. After all, she had spent nearly thirty years cheering each of her kids in school plays, church choirs, jazz bands, half-time marches. Now it was her turn. She disappeared into a world of bus trips and workshops and competitions with the large chorus that sang barbershop-style. Tirelessly honing scales and choreography. Loud, boisterous ladies with husbands to match came over to our house, filling our normally quiet lives with raucous laughter, songs, and jokes. We grew to love these friends, revel in their good humor, idiosyncrasies, and outlook on life. When shows were held under the stars in the amphitheatre, we'd bring a cooler filled with sodas, cheese, and crackers and kick back. After the biggest show of the year, my parents would attend the Sweet Adelines Afterglow party and come home late with flushed cheeks and confetti in their hair. Finally, when Mom made it to first row on the risers -- reserved for the cream of the crop -- it was a champagne moment. Several years after Mom retired from the Adelines, on my parents' fiftieth anniversary, we reserved a table for the ladies from the good ol' days. "C'mon, gang!" someone shouted. "Let's sing a song!" And there was she was again. Up there with her buddies, harmonizing with arms linked around each other's waists. Nostalgia welled up as I remembered the day she asked me how to tweeze eyebrows. I snuck a look at Dad. His beaming face mirrored the pride I felt. Because Mom was proving it to us all over again. That age, after all, was just an attitude. Jennifer Oliver [email protected] Copyright © 2002 by Jennifer Oliver. All rights reserved. ________________________________________________________ Find out how Roger Dean Kiser, Sr., is using his life to spell success for orphans coast to coast! He's started the Sad Orphan Foundation in hopes that other orphans may experience kindness. As Roger said, it was acts of kindness, however small, that saved him. For more information, please visit Roger's web site at http://www.geocities.com/thesadorphanfoundation. You may send your check or money order to: THE SAD ORPHAN FOUNDATION c/o Author, Roger Dean Kiser, Sr. 100 Northridge Drive Brunswick, Georgia 31525 Or click on his website and donate using your credit card using PayPal! ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Find out how you can help Brittnia Brandl spread the Word in Africa! Check out http://www.hearttouchers.com/jesus_film, a site powered by one of my favorite married couples, Michael and Kristi Powers! Whether you're donating money to meet her goal of $3500 or your prayers, I know that Brittnia would certainly appreciate you passing on the love! Send donations to: Brittnia Brandl, P.O. Box 393, Clinton, WI 53525. You can contact her at [email protected]. ________________________________________________________ QUOTE FROM LESSER KNOWN PEOPLE After scouring the entire house for his lost slipper, Matthew was ready to give up when-- "Matthew," Cody said, "I found your slipper." Matthew wrapped his arms around Cody's legs and cried out, "Oh, thank you, thank you, thank you, Cody! I love my big brother!" ________________________________________________________ FROM YOUR FRIENDLY E-MAIL CARRIER In response to "Hearing-Ear Sister" by Jennifer Oliver (http://geocities.com/jenniferioliver2001/043002.htm) Dear Jenny -- It's funny that you write about Kim and the laughter in her eyes, because my friend and neighbor, Vickie, commented on just that when you and Kim and Beth, et al, were here at Easter--she said, "I just love Kim. She's always smiling that beautiful smile!" And she was right, Kim, you have a beautiful smile that lights up your whole being! Your resilience is an inspiration! -- Love, Jackie Jennifer, this is so touching...it is a beautifully crafted, loving piece. - Beth A nice one, Jennifer! You are both lucky! How strange that one sister has ear problems & the other eye problems....that's coming from someone with her own set of problems!! Just be thankful you both have a set of legs that work! I know that's not much consolation....I suppose we each have our own handicaps. Some are just more visible than others. Wonderful that she has someone now to share her life. That can make any handicap more bearable! - Betty King How wonderful that your sister is able to love again and have someone by her side through this struggle with her eyesight. Sometimes when we think something or "someone" is just too good to be true...in fact, they are. Domestic violence has taken so many lives, it is wonderful to see the support of agencies that women can go to when this occurs. I'm envious of your relationship with your sister, I never had one. May you two continue to be close and happy! Blessings, Diane Jennifer, thank you so much for the publication of Mr Praise. I have received feedbacks from readers asking me to write more especially about Praise. I have some good news for you though (I must confess it didn't sound good before now, it was more of a shock), we are expecting another child. Please give my love to everyone and tell Stephen that I am with him and continue to pray that he will recover fully soon. Your today's story was very moving and my heart goes out to your sister. I believe that there is nothing that God cannot do and I will trust God to touch those eyes and heal her. Do have a wonderful day and know that you are loved and cherished. - Love, Steve ~ Thank you for your prayers, Steve, and CONGRATULATIONS on your impending arrival! That means more stories from you! Great tribute to your sis and am so glad she has the sparkle coming back in her eyes. - Mark Crider What an absolutely beautiful tribute to your sister! Nice writing! - Irene Budzynski Hi Jennifer, I loved your story so much. It really made me feel better tonight. I just lost my job today, and I don't know what the world has to offer me anymore. Your sister's search to find the right man has given me some inspiration. She is also fortunate to have a loving sister such as you. It took my 22 years to find a good man after my divorce. I finally have him and I wouldn't trade him for the world. My sister Joyce has cancer, and we don't know if she is going to make it. She is only 43. Thank you for your prayers. - Carol ~ My prayers go out to you and your sister, Carol! _________________________________________________________ If you own a small business, or you are in an intimate relationship with someone who does, sign up for the Entrepreneurial Couples Success (ECS) Newsletter by Azriela Jaffe! This FREE newsletter can help you achieve your business goals while sustaining a loving marriage. You'll find humor, advice, business and relationship tips, and plenty of sharing. Join over 3000 entrepreneurial couples all over the world who care about each other and their businesses. It's simple. Just e-mail Azriela at [email protected] to subscribe to her newsletter. Check out her cool website "Anchored Dreams" at http://www.isquare.com/crlink.htm. _________________________________________________________ LOVE, JENNIFER I. OLIVER AND FAMILY [email protected] When you are born, you cry and everyone is happy. So live your life in such a way that when you die, everyone cries and you are happy. - Unknown The quote above is derived from "To live that in thy last long sleep, Smiles may be thine wile all around thee weep." - Nellie L. Wallace, June 24, 1873 _________________________________________________________ This E-mail may be forwarded in its entirety, but first ask the writer for permission before forwarding. Thank you for doing the decent thing! Ü ________________________________________________________ SUBMIT STORY, QUOTE, OR FAMILY LOVE MOMENT: http://www.geocities.com/jenniferioliver2001/submission.htm FEEDBACK: [email protected] ________________________________________________________ |
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