"You gotta mach snell!" My German mother. Always practical with a no-nonsense "get it done" attitude. "Make it fast" in German was almost a daily phrase at our house, often followed with a laugh. We learned a Depression-era work ethic from a woman who grew up on a farm in North Dakota in the 1930s. We are still working hard and thrifty to this day.
"Save it for a rainy day." Even when there was money my mom lived like there wasn't. She recalls during the Great Depression catching gophers and selling each tail at five cents a piece. You never know when you're going to need that money in the bank. Saving was a habit we all learned and perfected to an art. When she was diagnosed with cancer I told her, "Spend the money for what you need Mom. The rainy day has come."
"Do better than your best." After a parent-teacher conference when I was in the second grade, my mom told me to try harder. "But I'm doing my best!" I protested. "Well then," she retorted, "you have to do better than your best." This became a rallying cry to each of us. Sometimes we blame our workaholic nature on this very phrase.
This phrase, though, well describes our mother. In her teens she was diagnosed with a mild form of cerebral palsy which began at infancy. That time period treated those like her as mentally retarded and sickly. She was far from it! Sharp, bubbly and rambunctious, she felt misunderstood even as a young girl. At age 7 while sick with the flu, her parents left her sleep in the car during church. She overheard a parishioner say, " I don't think that girl's gonna live very long." "I'll show them!" She decided. And here we are, seventy some years later.
She taught herself to type and play the piano. She went to college and read Dr. Spock when she had kids. She sought to excel where others least expected it. "I like to surprise people," she liked to tell me. As an adult, she chose not to divulge her cerebral palsy. In today's era that celebrates the "Special Olympics," our mom is a champion.
"Venzivilla." Mom had a language all her own. We tried to tell her to say "Venezuela." One day she told me, "I know how to say Venezuela. I just like calling it Venzivilla" She said the same thing about "Thrifty shops." She liked to be unique. She just wanted to be respected and make people smile.
I'll never forget the Sunday Mom brought a bib she made to church. "Who's that for?" I asked. "Last week I sat in the back with a couple who just moved here. They had a week old baby. I'm bringing this just in case they come back this Sunday." They were there. The new mother accepted the bib with tears. Our church became their church.
In 1982 I graduated from college. I got my first nursing job in Manhattan, NY near the Alliance Theological Seminary I wanted to attend. People were questioning our parents for letting a 22 year old move alone to New York City. I asked how she felt about my decision. Her response was characteristic of her adventuresome spirit and her trust in God. "If God is sending you to New York, who am I to tell Him, 'No.'"
It was the same when God called me to work as a missionary nurse in Guinea, West Africa. She proudly let me go with prayer and only a tear at the airport. Now when I was far away she entrusted me to God in challenging, and even dangerous situations. This same woman, when I was with her, would keep a foot on an imaginary brake when I drove her somewhere. And she was certain I'd burn the house down if one candle was lit.
When I was a missionary speaking in a Minnesota church in 1990, a pastor invited my parents to share what life is like being the parents of two missionaries. The pastor expected tearful affirmations to pray and trust God. Instead, my folks came armed with practical lists how to encourage your child to be a missionary.
I was impressed with two observations my mother made that day. Firstly, get your kids involved in church activities... Sunday School, Bible Camps, Youth Groups. Why? Because your kids won't always accept what you say. So get them around other godly adults and peers who will reinforce the values you are trying to instill in them.
And they will be challenged to make fresh decisions about a deeper walk with Christ. Mom sent me for a week of Bible Camp when I was in the second grade. Duane went when he was just a first grader!
Secondly, someone asked my mother's theory on raising teenagers. She summed it up with Solomon-like wisdom. "I kept one eye open watching them, one eye closed praying and my mouth shut." Now my mom was one who loved to talk. I could listen on the phone for 45 minutes just saying "uh huh, hmmm." But I recall in teen years when she'd just let us go in a huff. Later she silently slipped a Bible verse or a word of gentle exhortation on our pillow.
My father, unlike my mother, was a man of few words. About two years ago when my father was dying of prostate cancer, he pulled me aside to talk. My heart seemed to stop and my ears tuned in to this rare conversation. "When your mom and I were dating," he began, "I was aware of her handicap. But I enjoyed spending time with her.
One day it came to me that I am thirty and unmarried. I could marry her and take care of her. And so that has become my life ambition. To take care of her. And somehow I always thought I would outlive her. I just wish I wouldn't have to go first so I could keep taking care of her. But that does not seem to be the way the Lord would have it."
Sometimes I think Mom and Dad did their best communication through music. Dad sang popular love songs to Mom during their entire honeymoon. Later, she'd play the accordion, he'd play the guitar and together they'd sing songs about the Lord. Music and laughter was a big part of our home.
A favorite song of my mother's went like this. "Smile the clouds away, that's the only way. If you sing and smile and pray you'll smile the clouds away." At a children's program, she'd always silently mouth the words they sang. I used to find this embarrassing and frankly, a little weird. But a few weeks ago at our children's Christmas program, I caught myself doing the same thing for the first time. Isn't imitation the highest form of praise?
On January 9th, 2007, I found myself on a plane from Frankfurt to Fargo, North Dakota. After a 6 month battle with cancer, my mother had peacefully gone to be with the Lord. Her burial was on January 12th in Minot, North Dakota. During our drive through this frozen tundra, the outdoor temperature went from 18 below up to a balmy 5 below at the graveside! It matched the cold in my heart at loosing this woman so dear to me. Yet I enjoyed going back to my roots... the land of ice and snow.
"Look at the kids playing in the snow!" My brother-in-law said. "Don't see any? That's because it's too COLD to play!" 
Anatomy of Sledding. Head to top of hill.
Let's go!
Climb back up for more.
On your mark... Get set...
Taking off
Wipeout!
Running up the hill
Can't we go one more time?
Time to head home...
Deanna, my sister, with her husband Ken on the left.
