in it together

That's my family- at Disneyland, November, 1961 -I'm the really cute guy next to my sister Kat, getting "cooked" up front. My oldest brother, Danny, is on the left and Tim on the right. Dad and mom seem to be getting a kick out of watching their kids stew a bit... we were all so young, each of us just kids...

Mom loved Disneyland- back in the days when entry was free and in the evenings it was easy to take a stroll down Main St., shop a little, and dole out tickets saved from past trips to us kids. Gold "E" tickets were a rare commodity... usually saved for the older boys adventures while Kathleen and I rode Dumbo or the Merry Go Round on the dreaded "A" or "B" tickets at the front of the book. I'm guessing that with four kids in the house any escape was welcomed and one that offered so much diversion must have been wonderful.

Mom died this morning, a little before 2am, June 3, 2008. We held hands and wept together, prayed and then released her, with tears, into the Main St. of eternity. Heart's broken, hope securely fixed on the promises of Christ, one more time we were all in it together... never to be all together again until we're Home with The Lord.

That's our family... that's my mom... she gave us more than we could have ever asked for or imagined. She loved us with her whole heart. What she always wanted most is for us all to be in it, regardless how hot the fire, together.

Can't imagine life without her. I'll do my best to keep her constantly in my heart, live out her practical faith daily, remember her sense of a "higher calling" and do my best to see God's Big Picture in everything. Our family stew, stirred carefully over the years by mom, has seeped to the core of my being. I'll keep her memory alive in my life, in my actions, in my love.

Main St. in Heaven is packed with good folks I love. Tonight, as the little white lights in the olive branches begin to twinkle, I imagine mom just getting settled in...enjoying "The Evening Light" waiting, until we're all in it together again.

love you mom

Someone Will Take My Hand

My mom wrote the following words. They're the final chapter in her wonderful book: My Alabaster Box. That's Mom and Dad at a book signing some years back at our home. They encourage me, I know they can bring hope to you when you're a little down... or maybe even devestated. My mom's known dark moments: her brother killed in WWII, her dad died not long after, her oldest son served overseas during the Vietnam war, her middle son was stabbed by a serial killer (and thankfully survived), I've had health problems I wouldn't wish on to my enemies... the kind that keep mom's up in the middle of the night. Through it all, mom's been there.

Today Debi and I are going to spend the afternoon with my parents while my sister-in-law and brother have to be at the doctor. Mom hasn't known that she wrote these words for years. Her memory has slipped away. Her words and lessons remain while she and dad live in a downstairs room, watching CNN all day at my brother's house. It's enough to break your heart. My prayer is that in her moments of confusion and loss that there is always Someone there to take her hand.



SO MANY YEARS. . . .so many months. . .hours. . . .minutes . . .and not all of them happy. Count them up – perhaps the sorrows outweigh the joys. It’s strange how one joy can cancel out many sorrows!

The past year seemed to add up more sorrows than joys…nothing evened out when I tried the system of one joy canceling out three sorrows. But the thought came to me as a bright diamond in the dark….these sorrows MAY bring joy SOMEDAY.

When a mother holds her infant until the five-o’clock hour of the dawn as the baby fights for the breath of life…I shall be able to say “take my hand….I understand your anxiety”….when a family lays away a beloved member and the tears fall, fall freely, and they long for a view of a rainbow…I will be able to say, “I’ll cry with you…hold my hand…I’ve walked this way before.” When the heart is bound with grief-a sorrow so deeply hidden within because of a prodigal child…I will say, “Yes, take my hand, I too have walked this way before.” When a mother sits by the hospital bed of her near grown child as he struggles to hold onto the thread of life…I will softly whisper, “Here…hold my hand let’s share together.”

When dreams lie shattered in the dust…the dreams of years of planning and waiting-and the future seems dark, I will say, “Take my hand, I have walked this way before.”

But someday the dawn will break and I shall see the rainbows and the long journey’s end and I reach the moment we all must face when eternity looms out ahead, I am sure at a second’s fraction of time I will reach out and someone will take my hand and say, “I’ve walked this way before – come follow me.”
And this one final joy will cancel out all sorrows.

Ione Denton