When the World was Mud Wonderful

Dear UD,

It’s spring again, which means rain and green, mud and warmer weather, flowers and baby birds, births and birthdays, yours, today.

 

It’s been eleven years since we lost you, eleven years since the last birthday we shared with you at your house. It seems both yesterday and forever ago that we all gathered together, playing Scrabble and Bridge, eating meals, laughing, talking, taking a walk around your land. All the family together, celebrating you.

 

Did you know, somehow, it was your last birthday that year? You invited us all, asking only that we bring a personal note or card, words of love and joy, gratitude for your place in our lives.

 

It’s been eleven years without you, UD, and I miss you still. I miss you and dad and mom. There are so many things I want to tell you all today, so many things to share. The best one is that I have a second grandson, Elijah, now, and he’s six months old and such a happy baby. DJ is now four and loves to read and play. You would all love them both. There’s so much that you all taught me that I now teach them, and I am grateful for your birthdays, your days with me, and your legacies that I pass on.

 

               The worst one is of news, wars and rumors of wars, famine, divide, the end nearer than ever. So many are hurting; so many are scared; so many are lost. Without hope.

 

But there is always hope.

               Every day, every moment is a choice. The best or the worst. The good or the bad. Which one will I focus on today? I remember how you once told me that I can stand in the middle of a raging storm and still be calm, still be okay. While I understood that intellectually then, I didn’t know how to do that. Now, I do.

 

               It’s spring again. It’s your birthday again. It’s storming outside right now: dark clouds roll by with strikes of lightning in between rolling thunder and strong winds blowing rain every which way. Yet I am at peace. Right here, right now, I have all I need. Right here, right now, I remember and honor you, mom, dad, and I am filled with love and hope. Right here, right now, the world is mud wonderful.

 

Love,

Rach

Conversation, Interrupted

Dear UD,

               Eight years ago on this day, we all gathered to celebrate your 61^st birthday. The next month, we lost you. I can’t believe it’s been eight years since we’ve talked. Eight years since I’ve heard your voice. Eight years since we played Bridge together, ate together, laughed together.

                Time is uncountable. There are so many things I want to tell you, so many changes in the world, in my life, so many times I want to brainstorm with you again.

 

Conversation, interrupted.

 

Even in this past year so much has happened that I wish you, and mom, and dad, were here to witness, to share. 

I’m starting my own business, a publishing company, and publishing some of my books, and your plays. So many days, I wish I could call you to talk about the company, the editing, the excitement, all those details that you nurtured, and I wish so much you were here to see Memorial Day Picnic published.

 

My grandson, DJ, David James, is a source of love and joy and happiness. He shares a name with you, and like you, he is the epitome of loving and creative and smart and sweet.

 

I met a brilliant, kind, amazing man, and I wish we could all sit around the table, play Scrabble or Spades, and talk and laugh and learn together.

 

One two three…those are only three but some of the top, best, most precious I want to tell you, mom, dad…

 

Conversation, interrupted.

 

It’s Spring again, UD, so time to celebrate and honor you and your influence on me, in this world, and in our family. Happy birthday, Uncle David. You are remembered, you are missed, you are loved.

 

Love, Rach

Signs of Spring

"I stuck my head out the window this morning and spring kissed me bang in the face. " 

~Langston Hughes

Dear UD,

 

I walk around the lake, grateful for the cooler temps and the sunshine peeking between rain clouds. The trees are green, and ducks dive for fish creating a gentle splash in the water. For a few moments, I forget the war in Ukraine, the rising gas prices, the astronomical increases in rent, the lower student enrollment impacting schools around the country, and the tumult over the recent pandemic.

 

In this moment, I’m just a woman walking in nature, putting one foot in front of the other as I breathe deeply and enjoy the crisp breeze.

 

One step. And then the next.

Abruptly, I spy green shoots springing up through the dirt, and I am stunned. Paralyzed by an overwhelming grief that sprouts from my heart and throughout my body. Signs of spring will always and forever remind me of you, Uncle David, and of mom, and I didn’t expect to see that one here in Florida. I kneel down, gazing at this reminder of beauty, hope, and renewal. A reminder of you and mom. So many memories flood my mind of hunting for signs of spring with you and mom. As I pause to take it in, the grief flows through and out, and I am filled with memory and love.

 

Today is your seventh birthday in heaven, UD. Seven birthdays without you here on this earth. Seven years of missing you. Same for dad…seven birthdays without him, seven years of missing him. And this year brings the fourth birthday without mom, four years of missing her.

 

Every day, I still miss you so much, miss mom, miss dad. Wish I could talk to you all again, share birthdays together, eat your specially crafted omelet and mom’s homemade rolls, play Bridge or Spades, and hear your voices and laughter. Each year that passes both dulls the ache of the loss yet sharpens the twist of living life without you. How I wish you had all had more time with us here. How I wish you were all here now and part of DJ’s life. I know you all watch over him from heaven, and he will know you all through memories, lessons, legacies passed down from you to me to my daughters and now to their children.

 

Happy birthday, UD. Thank you for the memories, the foundation of time together and unconditional love, and your model of creativity and excellence.

 

Love, Rach

Memorial Day 2020

Dear UD,

It’s Memorial Day weekend in 2020, a global pandemic still ravages, many states in America are in the middle of a phase to reopen, and all across the United States, people are preparing to gather together for the holiday weekend. Some Americans plan to stay home, others plan to go out while practicing caution and social distancing, yet there are those who don’t see a risk and simply want to have fun and/or exercise their freedom. Simultaneously, the New York Times major headline for this weekend reads, “U. S. Deaths Near 100,000, an Incalculable Loss.” It is a historic front page—simply a list of names of those Americans who have died from Covid-19 so far this year. The article then reveals memories, snippets from obituaries across the nation, of those lost to the virus during this pandemic; their positions, their hobbies, their accomplishments, their gifts and talents, their loved ones left to mourn their loss. The article honors them yet serves as a sober warning and reminder.

Uncle David, during the last several years of your life, you wrote a series of full-length plays titled Memorial Day Picnic (Morning 1919, Afternoon 1945, Evening 1976, Night 2007). I remember being one of your readers during that time and how much I loved the plays and your brilliance. The plays, always set on Memorial Day, range over the course of a century and include family drama, American history from World War I to World War II to the Vietnam War to the Iraq War and all the way to 9-11, and honor for the military personnel who have died while serving in the U. S. military.

Of those who served in those wars, there were a little over 100,000 deaths during World War I, over 400,000 deaths during World War II, over 50,000 deaths during Vietnam, and close to 5,000 deaths during the Iraq War.

UD, can you imagine an America where 100,000 people die from a virus in three months?

According to the NYTarticle, one of those was a 91-year old who “saved 56 Jewish families from the Gestapo.” It is all mindboggling, UD, and lugubrious. Just like in a war, there are now so many holes in so many families. Empty chairs, empty hearts, empty places that were once full. Once whole. So much knowledge wiped out. Gone. Forever disappeared.

Your plays span generations, showing connections, collective mourning, and emotional trauma passed down from one generation to the next. Likewise, this pandemic will span generations, pass down emotional trauma, and spur collective mourning. That’s already happening this weekend as we sit in our homes, reading the names of those recently lost to the virus and as we contemplate all of those lost in military service for our country and as we remember those loved ones we lost too soon.

UD, I miss you. I miss Mom. I miss Dad. I miss Grandpa and so many others. But I thank God for your time on this earth and in my life, and I vow to keep your memories alive, to pass your names down to the next generations, and to continue your values and traditions even in the middle of a world-wide pandemic.

Love,

Rach     

Barbara Ann Cunningham Crawford

A Legacy of Faith, Family, and Forgiveness:
Barbara Ann Cunningham Crawford aka Granny

She is worth far more than rubies. Proverbs 31:10

         Barbara Ann was born on a grain and sheep farm in Kansas in late summer of 1950 to Robert Bruce Cunningham and Bonnie Jean Volesky. She grew up on the farm with her brothers Bob and

David until a job change took the family first to Dodge City, Kansas and eventually to Clinton, Missouri where Barbara graduated from Clinton High School. Last summer, she attended her 50-year class reunion where she found a newspaper article from her senior year that said, “Friendly, lively, being gay and always wearing a big smile are only a few of the many features that crown Barbara Cunningham. She is very active in sports, her favorite pastime.”

            After high school, Barbara attended college at the University of Missouri for a year before taking time for exploration as young adults often do. During that period, she lived in California for three months where she went sailing for the first and only time before moving back to Missouri, worked as a waitress at a local restaurant and as secretary at the Chamber of Commerce, married Shelley Gene Rinehart, and had her first child. Within a year, the marriage ended, and in August of 1972, Barbara married Newton Ulysses Crawford, Jr. and started a family. They moved several times and had a few children before settling in Kansas City where they attended Baptist Temple and where they were both baptized. Barbara, who was saved at 13 at a summer Bible camp and then who rededicated her life to God when she was baptized, said that “knowing and having a relationship with Jesus saved her,” and over the years, it transformed her life and family.  

            Another job change came after a round of layoffs at TWA airline, so Barbara moved with her family to Houston, Missouri for a few years before relocating to the Crawford century family farm in Cabool where they lived for over thirty years. There, she raised a family of ten children, helped take care of farm animals (chickens, calves, goats, rabbits), gardened, attended church, welcomed anyone and everyone to her home, helped take care of her twenty plus grandkids, kept bird feeders that eventually fed a variety of birds every winter, feed numerous barn cats and dogs, worked as an enumerator at the Department of Agriculture, and took care of her inlaws when they became elderly. From taking care of children to working the land, Barbara was a hard worker. And through it all, she prioritized time with God and time with those she loved, making many memories and creating lasting experiences. 

Far and away the best prize that life has to offer is the chance to work hard at work worth doing. Theodore Roosevelt.

With 10 children, 26 grandchildren, and one recent addition of a great-grandchild, Barbara’s house was always full of noise, craziness, rivalry, rowdiness, wrestling, fun, laughter, love. She loved watching her children and grandchildren in their various sports or extracurricular activities and never missed a game or concert. In recent years, she had a grandchild in nearly every grade in the Houston School District, so she attended numerous events. She also loved exploring nature, swimming, and walking the river with her kids and grandkids. She loved playing Scrabble and Bridge and watching sports, especially

football. Every spring, she planted a flower garden and a vegetable garden, and she enjoyed working in the garden and eating the fresh produce, especially her asparagus. Barbara attended Bado Church and loved taking her children and then grandchildren with her. She also served at Bado Church as needed on Sundays, in the summers for VBS, and as part of the women’s prayer group.

Therefore, my dear brothers and sisters, stand firm. Let nothing move you. Always give yourselves fully to the work of the Lord, because you know that your labor in the Lord is not in vain. 1 Corinthians 15:58 

Every fall, she attended the Cunningham Family Apple Butter Day, and every summer, she hosted Crawford Camp at Baptist Camp. For events like these, all family and friends were invited, and she helped plan and make delicious, homemade meals. There was always enough food to feed an army, but with so many family members and friends, the food was always eaten.

Last Christmas at the family dinner, we watched some old family videos, and one of the them was Katch’s second birthday where Carly kept opening all of his presents for him. One thing he got was a Tonka truck, and Mom said that was a story she loved. Little Sonny and Aidan were about 10 or 11, and they were upset that they’d missed sledding that winter, and they thought it would be like sledding so they took an old Tonka truck up to Possum Creek hill and took turns riding it down. She laughed as she retold the story. 

She was always about bringing people together and letting go of bitterness and anger. For instance, in the summer of 2018, she hosted a reunion and reconciliation for extended Crawford family.

In recent years, she was known to remark on how lucky she was and how much she loved her life—the days of having her children and grandchildren visit, attending family events, working in her garden, attending her church, taking road tips to see her brother, enjoying special lunches with her friends. She enjoyed life, and she loved us all.

Reading through her last journal, a picture emerged of one who always thought of others, one who always praised God, and one who gave of herself. Throughout 2018, she wrote about spending time with her children and grandchildren, about praying for them, about concern and love for her family and friends. Even though she was in intense pain for months, she rarely mentioned it, instead focusing on what mattered to her—God, family, friends, prayer, experiences. In her journal, her spirit, grace, positive attitude, kindness, and love shine through. 

Strength and honor are her clothing; She shall rejoice in time to come. She opens her mouth with wisdom, And on her tongue is the law of kindness. She watches over the ways of her household, And does not eat the bread of idleness.  Her children rise up and call her blessed; Her husband also, and he praises her:  “Many daughters have done well, But you excel them all.”  Charm is deceitful and beauty is passing, But a woman who fears the Lord, she shall be praised. Give her of the fruit of her hands, And let her own works praise her in the gates. Proverbs 31:25-31

A beloved mother and grandmother, a virtuous wife, and a loving sister and friend, she leaves a legacy of faith, family, forgiveness as well as Christian living, homemade cooking, and sacrifice.

Thich Nhat Than said, “If you look deeply into the palm of your hand, you will see your parents and all generations of your ancestors. All of them are alive in this moment. Each is present in your body. You are the continuation of each of these people.” So I will look for her influence inside me and my siblings and all of those she touched with her spirit and generosity, her dedication and support, and her strength and positivity.

Mom/Granny, we love you. Thank you for always being there for us, for welcoming us, for loving us, for feeding us, for teaching us so much, and for praying for us. You are loved, and you will be missed more than words can say. We are blessed that you are our Mom and Granny.

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We want to honor Mom, her life, and the ways that she influenced us, so if friends or family have a memory and/or photo that you want to share, feel free to email it to me to add to this blog or any of you can add your memory in the comments below.

Remembering Barbara (Mom/Granny)

Rachel:

I read recently that simply hearing your mother’s voice lowers your stress level. I also read recently that mothers and their children literally share DNA, share cells.

            I think of memories, some sweeter than others, some mundane with daily chores and living, some filled with adventure and joy, some complicated with misunderstandings or emotions, but every piece of me is layered with pieces of you. Your words (advice, lessons, criticism) surround me, fill me, build me. Whether I want it or not.

            How I cook, how I speak, how I think, how I clean, how I view the world, how I learn, how I love—so much shaped by your hands, your heart, your voice, your behavior, your life, you. 

I can't imagine the world without you in it and don't want to. Only one thing has not changed during my lifetime, and that is you in my world, my mom.

Adventure as in viewing life as an adventure. As in going on adventures with you. As in finding adventure in every day details. As in hunting for rocks with holes in them at the riverbank. As in apple-picking, mulberry-picking, blackberry-picking. As in walking to the slab, walking the river, hiking to the narrows in snow and 20-degree weather that feels warm after the temperatures had fallen below zero. As in naming the tiny river turtles we found Mishas and putting them in a fish tank. As in searching for arrowheads in the cemetery when mowing it. As in mushroom-hunting, even in a thunderstorm. As in going outside to see the tornado funnel in the sky. As in stopping to roll down the windows and howl at the full moon on the drive home. As in listening to you read books to us.

Bridge as in playing Bridge with you. As in crossing bridges to get to the family farm. As in swimming near the bridge at Flat Rocks. As in water over the bridge. As in a bridge between you and me, always. 

Churches on every street corner in the Bible Belt; churches in our lives. I first remember Tri-City Baptist Church in Kansas City, Missouri, where we were saved and baptized. During that time, I went to a Christian school, but then we moved back to the family farm and went to First Baptist Church in Houston, Missouri, where I would one day marry my college sweetheart as you sat in the front pew. We attended First Baptist until you switched to Bado Church, a small country church, where you still take your grandkids and where you lead the prayer group. Churches where

Christianity is taught, where Christians fellowship, where Christ is celebrated. Christmas programs in the church. When I was a teen, I wrote and directed a play at Bado. Two years ago, I helped organize a play where Alaina played Mary and Aidan played Joseph while other cousins played various characters, again at Bado. A beautiful and fun Christmas program that we still talk about to this day. This year, we watched the Bado Christmas program where Cassius sang a solo and Jessalyn played a character. Christmas Eves where I babysat while you and Dad went shopping. Christmas Eves where you made a birthday cake for Baby Jesus, read the Christmas story to us. We sang Happy Birthday to Jesus and

blew out the candles. Or we gathered around the piano and sang, “Do You Hear What I Hear?” while Dad played. Christmas mornings where I passed out the presents to everyone, and we each took turns opening our gifts. Christmas Days where we played games, ate a huge Christmas dinner, and hung out. Churches where we memorized Bible verses and went to church camp in the summers. Churches—where your heart is, there your treasures lie. Churches—as for me and my house, we will serve the Lord.

Dinner at six sharp every evening with freshly homemade rolls. Dinners started with a prayer of thanksgiving. Dinners ended with homemade desserts. Daily dinners when we shared food and family, conversation and laughter.

Farm eggs, farm animals, farm-fresh beef, farm-fresh milk, century farm, farming. Growing up, we had chickens, rabbits, goats, cows, horses, dogs, cats. We hauled hay, jumped from the barn rafters, and helped work the farm—steering cattle, tilling dirt, planting seeds, hauling hay, milking goats and cows, fishing in the pond for catfish or bass or perch, mowing the lawn, picking the garden, shelling the peas, snapping the beans, shucking the corn, canning pickles or beets or tomato juice or salsa.  

Garden, gardening, gardenia, keeping a garden, no matter where you lived, you have always had a vegetable and flower garden.

Journals, journaling, journal writing, writing in journals. When I was little, you bought me a little pink diary that had a lock and tiny key. I remember writing in it. When I was older, you gave me notebooks to use as journals. For as long as I can remember, I’ve journaled, filled notebooks, written words of my daily life and innermost thoughts in journals. All because you first bought me a diary and invited me to share my thoughts on paper.

Kids, 10 kids, 25 grandkids, 1 great-grandkid, babysitting kids, teaching kids, watching kids play sports, talking to kids, walking with kids, swimming with kids, reading to kids, chasing kids, loving kids. House full of kids. The noise, the craziness, the rowdiness, the wrestling, the tea parties, the sleepovers, always you love a house full of kids.

Pretty smile, pretty spirit, pretty woman.

Service, selfless, giving of self to others…your greatest lesson to all of us. You live this, love this, show this in all that you do every day in every way.

Wild flowers— I remember all the flowers I picked for you for Mother’s Day. I walked up and down the Ozark hills, through the woods and fields of the family farm, over the rivers, hunting for splashes of red, purple, blue, yellow. One by one, I picked the flowers and walked back to hand you a colorful bouquet of wild flowers.
Jill:

The pain felt upon departure of loved ones from this life will generally mirror the joy we felt while they remained with us. –Sam Storms.

I can only speak for myself, but one thing that I know for sure is that my mom brought me more joy in this lifetime than any other person, therefore her death stings in a way that is hard to describe. My heart will always both ache and leap for joy at the sound of her name and every day will hold a little reminder of her as her name no longer flashes across my text or call screen as it did every single day before. My mom was an incredible woman. She loved her children and grandchildren deeply. If you know her at all, you know that I don’t say this lightly. She was there. At every event, every game, every award ceremony. She cheered us on, bragged on us, and prayed for us daily. We can each say that she was our biggest fan and we each know that she loved us in a unique and incredible way. To love 10 kids, 26 grandkids, and one great grandchild so deeply takes a very special kind of woman. I would say with great confidence, that there is no other person on this Earth that could have done a better job of loving all of us than she did. This death that we are mourning today would completely wreck me if it weren’t for one thing. That is my hope of eternity. I take comfort in knowing that I will see my beautiful mom again one day. I take comfort in knowing that my mom is in a beautiful place with a new, healthy body and is experiencing unspeakable joy. Death from cancer is a very difficult thing to experience.

Watching someone that you love desperately who is vibrant and full of life decline so quickly hurts in a way that is difficult to explain. The minute I found out that my mom had cancer, I knew that God had called me to go to her. To help her in any way that I could, so I went. The experience was both beautiful and traumatic and I know for sure that God carried me through every bit of it. As I sat by that hospital bed and held my mom’s hand and stroked her hair, every bit of me just wanted to scream in frustration. Why was this happening? Why my mom? Why so soon? Why did she have to suffer in this way? In the midst of this heartache, God threw his arms around me and stilled my heart. He strengthened me in a way that I can’t explain, and I stood to my feet and began to tell my mom of her future. She already knew, but I told her that she was on her way to Jesus, that she would soon run into his arms. That she would be out of this hospital bed and instead dancing in his presence. I told her that she would receive so many crowns for her steadfast life and that she would never ever feel sorrow again. These words, breathed through me by the spirit of God, brought me comfort in an indescribable way and I know they did the same for her. As I was telling her all of this, I replayed a conversation that we had earlier in the week when she was coherent, and I’d like to share part of it with you today.

The following is a message that she personally asked me to pass along in case she didn’t get the chance to: “I have greatly enjoyed every minute that I have spent with my children and grandchildren. They have given me so much joy. I need them to know though, that it all will be for nothing if they don’t join me in eternity. I really hope that each of them will accept Jesus as their savior so that I will see them all again one day.”

It is easy to wonder after a loved one passes, what they’d say if you could have just one more conversation with them. Today you have been given a beautiful gift of knowing exactly what she’d say if given the chance. I am hoping that this message from the grave is one that is taken to heart by every person in this room even if you didn’t call this woman Mom/Granny.

This next song is a song that I played for Mom, in her distress, on her death bed. I hope that you will listen to it and imagine that you are in her place when I played it for her…think about whether or not the words would give you peace in that moment. If they wouldn’t…if the thought of those words doesn’t stir your heart with great anticipation of eternity, if it doesn’t make your hair stand on end and your heart leap for joy, then I desperately pray that you evaluate your heart and make the decisions you need to get to that place. What this song portrays is something that nothing and no one can ever take away from you. Not death or life, not cancer or any other disease, not fear or failure…nothing can separate us from this beautiful reunion with our savior. That you would secure this destiny was her hope. It is what she lived her life for. It is what her legacy was meant to represent and, in my opinion, the greatest legacy a person could possibly leave. I am so grateful to her for being the example that helped me find the incredible love of God. I have had much suffering and heartache in the last month. Everyone in this room has. There have been so many tears shed, and so much sadness. I can only imagine what it will be like when tears will never fall again. When every bit of life is filled with joy and my heart will never break again. When I get my inheritance…not the one on this earth that moths and rust destroy, but my inheritance of eternity, I hope the mansion God prepared for me is right by hers.

The song that played after was “I Can Only Imagine.”

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In Barbara’s words:

I was born on a grain (corn and wheat)/sheep farm in Kansas in 1950, and we lived five miles from town, next door to my grandparents (Myrtle and Claude—Grandpa Bruce’s parents). My dad helped his dad farm but always had to take other jobs working on the turnpike and such, things that took him away from home, to make ends meet. Daddy’s brother, Uncle Jim, lived on a farm on the other side of town, and they once bought a buffalo and Daddy rode the bulls in the rodeo and Mom (Grandma Bonnie) got so mad that she made him shave off his beard. John Charles was born at seven months, and he died. Back then they didn’t have the technology, though now he probably would have lived. In 1952, Bob was born, and in ‘54 David was born.

We had a pony and Daddy was off working on the turnpike; we had a drought and by the time he got back, the pond had dried up and the pony had died. I remember the trailer taking the pony away. One time, Daddy brought home baby skunks; we kept them in the tractor-trailer sandpile and played with them. One night it rained really hard, and they all drowned. We had a dog named Lassie, a Collie. She wasn’t fixed, but since we lived close to the highway, most of her puppies were killed on the highway. A miniature Shelty showed up once, and we called every name we could think of and the dog finally came to Nicey so we named her that and took her with us when we moved.

We went to a two-room schoolhouse, riding the bus, and Mom made me take my egg sandwich on the bus because I wasn’t eating it. I was so mad I threw it under the bus when we were leaving.

We had rock collections and would go to this wooded area on the other side of our garden where we built forts and played.

When I was eight, Daddy needed help in the field, so I had to stand up to drive the grain truck. It was huge, and I was terrified, and to this day, I hate driving big things.

Daddy took us out to teach us to shoot. When I shot the shotgun, I remember it about knocked me over; I was around seven.

Bull snakes were everywhere (yellow but similar to Black snakes in Missouri). My mom would open up a closet or cabinet and find a snake. Daddy would always catch them and show us how to hold them, and we played with them all the time. In high school, when boys tried to chase me with snakes, they failed.

Every Easter, Mom got us a baby duck or chick, and we would play with them until eventually the cats or dogs would get them.

One time my mom told me to play with the kitties in a shed or outhouse. I was playing with them when my mom came to check on me and discovered that a tomcat had bit off all their heads. At age five or under, I was just in there playing with them.

One of my favorite things was that we would go to the barn after they parked the truck of wheat. We’d climb up into the rafters and jump down into the bed of wheat. Probably dangerous, you could suffocate, but it was fun!

We were wild, and we played up in the barn with forts. One time my cousin Tim was scared to jump from the loft onto the ground, so I pushed him, and he broke his arm.

I love windmills, and I still remember my grandma’s windmill. Would love to see it again. After grandpa died, we found a dead baby bird and put it in a matchbox. We went up into the windmill and held a funeral for it.

I always felt sorry for my mother because she went to high school when she was nine and lived in an apartment in town until she was 13 and then went to college and lived in a rooming house and got degrees in foreign languages and business. But she never learned anything about cooking or keeping a house. She met Daddy at K-State, got married, and went to live on the farm. Grandma Myrtle was an accomplished, high society person (she was featured in Life magazine for her mint-chocolate sherbet ice cream—she had an herb garden that I loved, and in a tree by it, she had a Baltimore Oriole nest that was so cool), and Aunt Betty had a degree in home economics. Mom learned quickly and worked hard, but it was difficult for her.

Mom was in Life magazine for being a “wonder” kid, starting high school at nine. Here’s how it happened: she went to a one-room school house with her sister. Aunt Carol was a few years older than her, but Bonnie had a photographic memory. She listened to everything when Carol was studying for the test to pass high school and memorized everything. She took the test and passed and moved into town with her sister.

She was offered a job to go to South America and work as a secretary but instead got married and had kids. On a typewriter, she could type 80 words a minute. She was a secretary off and on throughout her life.

When I went to kindergarten, she got a job to pay for it because you had to pay for it back then.

I used to love when they sheered sheep. We had 500 sheep, and there was always a lamb that wasn’t claimed, and we’d have a Coke bottle with a black nipple on it, and we’d feed them. When they sheered the sheep, they had big rectangular bags and would throw the wool in there. We would stomp on the bags to compact the wool and thought it was fun.

Bob and I had the measles and had to lay at my grandma’s in a dark room and couldn’t go anywhere.

When I was nine, Grandpa Claude died suddenly of a heart attack when in a meeting. He’d been a senator in the state office, professor of math at K-State, and a judge at the state fair. I remember going to the state fair and seeing a huge fat man who weighed a 1000 pounds and would say in a slow, monotone voice, “Don’t ever eat enough to get like this.”

After Grandpa died, Daddy bought a bunch of irrigation equipment, feed, and seed, and then found out his mom had signed over the farm to the government for money. They paid you not to farm. He was devastated. We had to move from the farm to Dodge City, Kansas where there were 42 kids on one neighborhood block. Daddy got a job as an agriculture salesman and would leave every Sunday night and get back on Friday evening. Mom got a secretary job.

Bob went everywhere with Daddy on the farm while David was always with Mom. I ran across the field through cedar trees to get to my grandma’s house and was there a lot. I remember making cinnamon rolls with her, learning to play cribbage, having tea parties together, and working in her herb garden. Once Daddy had a job that took him away every week, it about killed Bob. I remember Bob watching for Daddy to come home, and sometimes Daddy would go to the bar instead. We always had a garden, even in town, and each of us kids had our own garden too. Once, some neighborhood kids came over and stomped on our gardens. Bob wanted to beat them up, he may have, and David went across the street to one of the kid’s house. He had something behind his back and knocked on the door. When the kid answered, he gave him a cookie to make peace.

We were backward and didn’t know how to ride bikes. The other kids made fun of us.

We had tall trees in our backyard and would climb up in them and fly when the wind bent them low; Spookyville—we called the trees. We were still wild.

Once we got used to all the kids, we played games with them: walk the chalk, kick the can, draw a face on the old man’s back.

There were dust storms there….one year it was so bad it was black out, and we couldn’t see out the window at all. One year on David’s sixth or seventh birthday (March 15), we had a blizzard, and it was so bad that we couldn’t get out of our back door while our neighbors couldn’t get out of their front door. The snow was piled up to the roof!

We lived there for two years…

I don’t know how we dealt with all the moves. Kids just survive things. You just survive it.

            Daddy got what he thought was a great job in Garden City, Kansas. We moved there, and he started the agriculture job only to find out that one of the numbers he originally saw was missing. The pay was so bad (like $6000 instead of $60000) that he immediately quit and got a job in Sublet. He worked there while Mom and us kids went to stay with my Grandma in Marysville, Kansas for December. Then, Daddy got a better job, still with agriculture sales, with Chevron in Palmyra, Missouri, and we moved there for a couple of years. When they transferred him to Clinton, Missouri, I did not want to move. I told my parents that I refused to move. Once school started in Clinton, it ended up being better, but I threw a fit and hated everything that summer. When Daddy was 50, Chevron let him go so that they wouldn’t have to pay him retirement. It was age discrimination. He fought it and then bought the Mayview Plant Foods and started his own business. Daddy and Mom moved to Higginsville, and he eventually bought RB’s Feed and Seed and built his business up so that he had a quarter of a million dollars at the end.

            I want everyone to hear these stories and remember those who came before.  

Blessing Laina

Alaina Beth Johnson, daughter of Rachel, daughter of Barbara, daughter of Bonnie, daughter of Iva, and sister of Alexia Devin. Alaina Beth, you are of the Crawford - Cunningham Clans, the Johnson - Kellhofer families, and the Rineharts.

Laina, you are a daughter of the American Revolution. A daughter of the Native American Cherokee tribe. A daughter of inventors, leaders, homesteaders. You come from those who blaze their own path and those who fight for freedom, those who create and those who work the land, those who help others and those who teach, and those who heal and those who survive. Ultimately, you come from those who make things happen. 

A farm girl, beach girl, big city girl, you know how to navigate many worlds. Like the time when, barely 16, you followed me from Missouri to Florida, and then at 18, you drove alone from Florida up to the Smoky Mountains. Or when you trained as a gymnast for 25 hours a week at age ten. And, I remember when you were only 16 and we were visiting Lexi and you hopped off the subway train in New York City alone at dusk to shop and your cell phone died but you were able to find your way back to our lodging. You are fierce, fearless, resilient, and resourceful.

When I look at the headlines and statistics around this country and in this world today and see all the devastation to our planet, the dangers, and the problems that your generation faces, I cringe to think this is what we leave you.

Yes, the world might seem scary and dark sometimes, and you have already endured so much more than I wanted you to have to deal with--too much heartache, loss, and pain. At the same time, you have also already seen great kindness, compassion, and goodness from others for which I am grateful.

In the past two years alone, you have lived through four moves and too many losses, but through it all, you have stood on a strong foundation, a foundation built from the sphere of your family, friends, and ancestors, from the land that has been in our family for over one hundred years, and from God.

Through it all, you have remained pure and kind and good and light. Yes, dark and light both exist, but remember that light can chase away the dark. Shadow disappears when light shines on it.

“Blessed is the one who perseveres under trial because, having stood the test, that person will receive the crown of life that God has promised to those who love him.”

James 1:12  

When you were a child, I thought that you were poetry in action, and now that you are a young woman I see a firecracker who was born during Fourth of July weekend, and I know that your heart and your creativity and your smarts and your talents will come together to do some good in this world. Sassy and full of fire, you are the light this world needs.

“Don’t let anyone look down on you because you are young, but set an example for the believers in speech, in life, in love, in faith and in purity.” 1 Timothy 4:12  

You've got this. Whether you follow your gifts or whether you follow your intellect or your beauty or all three, continue following your heart and you will leave an impact on your community and your country and your world, an impact that you have already started and that I'm so proud to see.

What we remember most, George Saunders said in a graduation speech at Syracuse University, are acts of kindness, so the most important thing is to be kind. I don't have to tell you this because you have the biggest heart of anyone I know. If the first rule is to be kind, then you have mastered it. I see the seeds of kindness in everything you do. I think of the time when your 9^th grade teacher lost his dog and you picked out a special card, wrote in it, and gave it to him. Or when you, a stranger in a new school for your senior year, befriended the newer new girl who had nowhere to sit and knew no one. Or when you rescued the kitten, befriended the dog, wanted to take in every lost animal.

“May he give you the desire of your heart and make all your plans succeed.” 

Psalm 20:4 

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Laina, there are so many things I can say that I like about you. To start, you have a genuinely good spirit. You are a caring, intelligent and nurturing person who is beautiful on the inside and out. I’m so proud of you for graduating high school. This is a big transition for you into adulthood, and you will have a lot of fun and freedom that comes with it as well as responsibilities and trials. But when the challenges come, remember to use them as motivation to keep going and grow from the experience. Let each challenge help you grow and become the person that you are meant to be. I know that God has a great plan for you and that He will help you grow into the amazing woman He designed you to be. I’m so glad that you are my sister, and I wouldn’t want it to be anyone else in the world.  I love you, Laina.   Love, Lexi

Alaina: simple meanings; Little Rock, beautiful, light, torch, bright.

“Be strong and courageous. Do not be afraid; do not be discouraged. For the Lord your God will be with you wherever you go.” Joshua 1:9  

Characteristics of Alaina:  cooperative, considerate, compassionate, nurturing, sensitive, patient, loving, kind, gracious, balanced.

I am proud to say that you are a perfect embodiment of every one of those characteristics. I pray you will stay true to them and seek God's will for your life. I pray you will continue to be the bright light that you already are in this ever-darkening world where light is so desperately needed. 

“Trust in the Lord with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding; in all your ways acknowledge Him and He will direct your paths.” Proverbs 3:5-6  

I cherish every moment I was able to spend with you last semester. I pray you will be a force for good everywhere you go. May the Lord bless you and keep you and make His face shine upon you and give you peace. Love you, Granny

“But without faith it is impossible to please him: for he that cometh to God must believe that he is, and that he is a rewarder of them that diligently seek him.” Hebrews 11:6  

Graduation is just the beginning; let the Lord reveal his plan for your life by submitting to his Lordship.  Love and prayers, Uncle Bob

“Know ye that the Lord he is God: it is he that hath made us, and not we ourselves; we are his people, and the sheep of his pasture. Enter into his gates with thanksgiving, and into his courts with praise: be thankful unto him, and bless his name. For the Lord is good; his mercy is everlasting; and his truth endureth to all generations.” Psalm 100:3-6  

Twice-Laine, Congratulations! Remember, sometimes all you can bid is glasses. Love, Fred (Uncle Sonny’s ghost-friend).

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Alaina, you are a blessed and beloved daughter of God. You are loved, you are wanted, you are wise, you are safe, and you are strong. Your family, your friends, and those who we lost too soon are with you. For instance, Grandma Johnson is watching over you, your special angel. Wherever you are, our hearts and love are with you. Wherever we are, your heart and love are with us. Our hearts and spirit are with you always.

It has been my honor and privilege to be your mother and to see you grow into this amazing, talented, kindhearted, bright, beautiful young woman.

And so with our blessing, we send you out into the world to work, to travel, to live, to love, to laugh.

The LORD bless you and keep you; the LORD make his face shine upon you and be gracious to you; the LORD turn his face toward you and give you peace.” Numbers 6:24-26  

Together, we offer you our blessing. Now, we watch you flip into the wide world waiting for you as you tumble into your future of beauty, kindness, creativity, peace, and love. Travel with God’s love, His presence, His Word, and His promises.

With all our prayers, blessing, love, and faith in you,

Your family