Remembering Creative Friends and Mentors

 Remembering Creative Friends and Mentors

best friends growing up in Virginia Laura and Suzanne

“Some say the creative life is in ideas. Some say it is in doing. It seems, in most instances, to be in simply being. It is not virtuosity, although that is very fine in itself. It is the love of something—so much love for something—whether a person, a word, an image, an idea, the land, or humanity—that all that can be done with the overflow is to create. It is not a matter of wanting to, not a singular act of will; one solely must.”—Clarissa Pinkola Estes, Women Who Run With the Wolves.

Several years ago, my husband and I took a motor trip of more than 2500 miles to revisit the towns and farms where I grew up, reconnecting with my cousins and childhood friends. On this last visit, I was reunited with women who loved me no matter what I did. I was with friends and family, including Liz, Kelly, Janie, Debbie, Laura, Jean, Christine, Betty, Anne, Wanda, and Suzanne, who encouraged me to become the person God created me to be. They still do, more than sixty years later. 

Traveling by car fostered long periods of silence, introspection, and reflection on the people, especially women, who shaped my life. I grew up in a small coastal town in Virginia. There were thirty-three in my high school graduating class. I went to college in North Carolina and eventually studied to become a medical technologist. Then, the summer before my senior year, I worked in that field and realized I had the training and education to become a physician. 

However, in my college graduating class of one thousand women, only two others attended medical school. No woman in my family had become a doctor. The only female physician I knew was Dr. Shirley Olsson in my small hometown.

Dr. Shirley Olsson

I now realize that Dr. Olsson was someone I most admired and unconsciously wanted to become, the authentic, caring woman and physician she embodied. She modeled in her everyday life how a woman can be a talented doctor and still have a family and a fruitful life. By chance, I would often run into her at the post office when I was home from medical school. I grieved when I later read that she died at age 92. I grieve that I never told her how she influenced my life, just as I did not realize at the time how she unconsciously shaped my decisions. 

I also know now that one of the incredible women I saw on this past trip had advanced dementia and has since died.

What I learned on this trip is to be a little more aware of how I can support others in becoming the person God created them to be, as Dr. Shirley, Laura, Liz, Janie, Suzanne, and so many others encouraged, sustained, and stood by me.  

We have another reminder to live in the present moment and to treasure each person we meet, especially those we meet by chance.

The Great Fifty Days of Easter is a time to reflect on the people who have influenced our lives, to let them know, and to thank them. There is still time.

Joanna. joannaseibert.com https://www.joannaseibert.com/

What I learned from my Grandmothers

What I learned from my grandmothers

my grandmother Whaley and her sisters

The prompt for our writing group this week was “What I learned at my grandmother’s knee.” I am thinking about my grandmothers, especially around Mother’s Day, because I am one as well.

Grandmother Johnson’s wedding dress

I dedicate this piece to my Grandmothers Johnson and Whaley.

I had the privilege of growing up with two amazing grandmothers. My Grandmother Whaley lived a block away, and my Grandmother Johnson lived about a six-hour drive away. She lived near my other cousins, but I never felt she loved my brother and me any less. She was a widow for many years and lived on my grandfather’s Methodist minister’s pension, so she had very little money. But every Christmas, she would give one of her five grandchildren a little extra, according to their needs. When I was in medical school, I frequently received the Christmas Jackpot! 

My Grandmother Whaley was kind and very quiet. I would help her during her “women’s circle meetings,” serving refreshments like egg custard, punch, cake, nuts, and mints. She had four sisters; two lived close by. They often played canasta at my grandmother’s, and I would play with them when I was younger. Of course, we never played on Sunday. When I went away to college and medical school, I would always stop by my grandparents’ house to say a brief goodbye. I remember one time when my grandmother was playing cards with her sisters. I said goodbye, and shortly after leaving, I realized I had left something at their house. I walked back in, and my grandmother was not there. “Where is Grandmother?” I asked. Her older sister, Fannie, said, “She has gone upstairs to cry. She always misses you so much.” I quickly ran upstairs and gave my grandmother a big hug and a kiss. That day I learned how much my grandmother loved me, and I never forgot it. I would always decorate my grandmother’s Christmas tree. My grandfather would cut down a small tree from his farm and put it on the white marble table that is now in our living room. I don’t know what I learned from this, except that, as a child, my grandmother let me become the person God created me to be rather than some model of perfection.

Both of my grandmothers taught me about love through their actions more than their words. I treasure the time we spent together. They were both bright spots in my childhood, one far away and one close, each teaching me about unconditional love.

Joanna joannaseibert.com

Grace and My Mother's Book of Common Prayer and Hymnal

Grace

“Like the unexpected call of a friend just when you need it most, grace arrives unannounced. A door opens. A path becomes clear. An answer presents itself. Grace is what it feels like to be touched by God.”—Bishop Steven Charleston, Facebook page.

I stand waiting to walk out and read the Gospel as we sing the hymn before the Gospel: “Dear Lord and Father of Mankind.” I glance at the last verse and see, faintly written in pencil just before the last line begins, the word “softer.” It is in my mother’s distinctive handwriting. I had forgotten that my mother sang in the choir at Grace Episcopal Church in Yorktown, Virginia. This must be a directive from the choir director. 

My mother has been dead for twenty-seven years. We did not always understand each other, but when she died, I wanted to honor her. I decided to start using her personal hymnal and prayer book in church.

Her name has worn off the front cover; the gold cross will soon disappear. The red leather cover is coming apart, especially the backboard of the book’s spine. I have not repaired it because, for some unknown reason, what remains of this book, just as she used it, seems to connect me to her.

When I saw my mother’s writing, I gasped and offered a brief prayer of thanksgiving. We had some challenging times, but I have begun to heal over the years since her death. This morning, in this split second, I felt reconciled with my mother and grateful for her life and support.

Healing family relationships takes time and constant prayer for family members and for ourselves. Today, I realize that prayer works. Attempting to connect with an estranged family member through something the family member treasured over time works.

Valuing what we have in common, rather than dwelling on our differences, brings healing in life as well as after death. For example, my mother and I shared our love of the Episcopal Church, especially singing. Today, I felt my mother beside me. 

Through this realization, I came to understand another way: God’s Grace continues to heal and care for us over time if we only put ourselves in a position to receive.

 Grace is helping us through this time. Our only job is to look for it and see it all around us.

The name of my mother’s Episcopal church in Yorktown also helped! Grace!

Bless you for supporting the ministry of our church and conference center, Camp Mitchell, on top of Petit Jean Mountain, by purchasing this book, A Daily Spiritual Rx for Lent and Easter, part of the daily series of writings for the liturgical year. 

My mother never saw this book or the other two in the series, but she would have liked them. If you enjoyed this book, could you briefly write a recommendation on its Amazon page? More thank-yous than I can say for helping support a special camp for Arkansas’s children, youth, and adults!!!

Joanna. https://www.joannaseibert.com/