An Open Letter From My Mom
(this is a letter my mom wrote in response to all the cards and well wishes she received from my social media friends before heading into brain surgery. She received many questions about her life and has peppered those stories in.)
Greetings Celerians,
This afternoon, I spent time reading all of the cards and letters I received from you during my difficult journey. Every time I read them, I am touched, and I cherish the beautiful gifts and flowers I received. As I pray over all the cards each week, I ask God to bless all of you, for blessing me.
Several of you asked me questions, wanting to know more about my life — so here is a little bit more about who I am.
God spared my life the first time on the day I was born, in 1947.
My father and grandfather were the most influential people in my life. Both were Evangelists, gifted writers, poets, and storytellers. I inherited their love and passion for writing and for reaching out to lost, hurting people. I hope that people who cross my path in life will see God’s love shine through me. You cannot help everyone, but everyone can help someone.
my dad during WW2, with two German girls he would tell stories to— they wrote to him for decades afterward.
my grandparents and i
my mom and i
Last week at tutoring club, a young boy gave his heart to Jesus. When he came to us last fall he was very sad and failing in school. His father had just been deported and he was giving up on everything. Now he is able to read and learning how to spell. He has confidence and a great bond with his tutor. He had a huge smile on his face when he told Denny and I that he loves Jesus. It brought tears to my eyes, because I could see how much pain he was in for so long — it’s a beautiful thing.
And it’s a beautiful thing when a broken mom wipes away her tears after hearing that she is worthy to be loved no matter what she’s done.
end of the year prayer circle at tutoring club
My favorite quote:
“One hundred years from now, it will not matter what kind of car I drove, what kind of house I lived in, how much money I had, nor what my clothes looked like - but the world may be a little better because I was important in the life of a child.” — Margaret Powers
Growing up in the fifties
In 1953, I was 6 years old when we moved to the country. Orchard Lane was a winding road with 19 families surrounded by cornfields, meadows, and a woods. We had an acre of land with 40 apple trees. There were always homemade apple pies and containers of ice cream in the freezer. My father loved gardening and planted vegetables, grapes, peach and plum trees, raspberries, and strawberries — I was spoiled.
my dad taking care of the apple orchard
my dad and i
We all had clotheslines in the backyard, and I always looked forward to hanging clothes with my mother in the summertime. In May, we would make “may baskets” for the other neighborhood moms, which were paper baskets with spring flowers and treats, left anonymously.
me outside our house on Orchard Lane
Those early years were spent running through cornfields and meadows, breathing the fresh country air, filled with the sweet fragrance of apple blossoms in the springtime. I remember standing on a stump in our yard, holding binoculars, as I watched my grandma walk through the field to our house, where we would peel apples all day. I would often sit under the trees with my dog Duke and throw them for him to catch, while I imagined cloud pictures.
My childhood is peppered with many favorite memories like reading the love letters my grandpa wrote my grandma (he wrote her one every morning), listening to my mother playing the ukelele, climbing up old silos with my friends, and walking through the woods hoping to find hidden treasures. Making dandelion bracelets and hunting 4-leaf clovers.
me (left) and my cousins on the teeter totter my dad built
I’ll never forget the smell of my grandmother’s blueberry pies baking, or staying over on hot summer nights — talking for hours while looking up at the stars. My father, a pastor and carpenter, baptized me in the little chapel he built— and I used to love listening to him play the harmonica and helping him stack wood for the winter. When it snowed, we would make forts and snowmen, then go inside to warm up by my dad’s fire with hot cocoa and peanut butter cookies.
It was amazing growing up without cellphones, tv, social media, or video games.
me (left)
A meaningful moment
When I was 13 years old, I remember walking through a meadow with a sea of wildflowers blowing in the breeze. It was as if they were dancing to a symphony just for me. I touched them. I smelled them. I talked to them, and picked some for my hair. It was a magical moment and I knew one day — I would live amongst the flowers.
And I did.
Denny and I fell in love with a dilapidated fixer upper at the top of a hill in the country— all you could see was hilly farmland for miles. It was the most peaceful place to watch a sunset or the storms roll in. We raised our kids there and planted every kind of flower, fruit, and vegetable you could think of.
The Simple Things
I’ve always loved the simple things in life. My favorite sounds are the wind whistling through pine trees, the sound of rain, a mourning dove, a crackling fire, distant thunder, and the bittersweet signal of cicadas reminding me that summer is ending. My favorite things are children’s books, picket fences, a snowy Christmas Eve, afternoon drives with my husband, twilight, hummingbirds swirling around my flowers, memories with my children, flags blowing in the wind, and walking through a garden.
A garden is my happy place. Rainy days are mesmerizing. Broken people are beautiful. And God is the master artist.
No Regrets
My third grade teacher told me I could be a writer someday. But my dream was to be a teacher.
I did not become either a writer or a teacher.
However, I was content and blessed to be a stay at home mom and gardener. Both were fulfilling and I have no regrets.
Who am I?
I am patriotic. A realist. Detail orientated. I believe words matter. I’m not adventurous or spontaneous, but totally content. I hate dishwashers and the internet. Bad with directions — I’m always going north. I love words — serene and tranquil are my favorites. I also love ravine, but don’t know why. I read every label twice. I’m a commonsense creative — truthful, and a worrier. A gardener, thrift store shopper, and finder of beauty in imperfection.
Peace
It was also in third grade that I read the Hellen Keller story. I was traumatized at the thought of going blind. From that day forward, I always thanked Jesus for my eyesight and I would take the time to notice and admire the beauty all around us. I was especially aware of the details and colors of flowers. I recall picking up a bird nest on the ground and appreciating its intricate beauty – I kept it for years and looked at it often.
Over the past three years, as my world became more dim and the colors began to fade, I was convinced I was going blind. But throughout my 18 month journey to diagnosis, God was in control. He raised people up to pray for me — even the nurses at Northwestern.
And all of you.
My surgeon was incredible and once again, my life was spared and my eyesight is being restored. God gets all the glory and praise.
In the twilight hours on the morning of my surgery — I asked Jesus what he wanted me to be thinking about. I was reminded of a dream from years ago. In the dream, I saw what I believed to be the hands of Jesus hovering over me —but I never knew what it meant.
Suddenly, a feeling of peace washed over me. I felt Jesus drawing me close to Him, and I saw His hands embracing the hands of my surgeon.
That’s what it meant.
starting to see colors on the ceiling when I was back in the hospital after surgery
Thank you, again, for taking time from your busy lives to write to me, to pray for me, and also to support Britteny. You all will always have a special place in my heart.
Always remember to take time –
To notice the flowers
To find a happy place
To bless someone each day
To keep kindness in your heart
To say “I love you”
To be silent and hear God
To appreciate nature
To make your world a better place
Much love,
Sherri
