A Thrill of Hope… the Weary World Rejoices!

imagesA couple of weeks ago I did a post about a favorite Christmas hymn, “O Come, O Come, Emmanuel.” This morning I woke up thinking about another favorite, “O Holy Night.”

O Holy Night wasn’t traditionally sung in the Presbyterian church of my childhood. It was saved for special solos and performances outside the regular church service. At least in my experience. But my favorite memory of this hymn is from Christmas gatherings (and also Thanksgiving gatherings) at my aunt and uncle’s house in Jackson, Mississippi, in the 1950s through the 1980s. Aunt Barbara Jo was the “glue” in our extended family. Ten years younger than her older brother—my father—Barbara Jo was always more like an older sister to me. She loved family and she loved having us all in her home. Uncle Dan was a military man with a career in the Mississippi National Guard. But he had a softer side, and the most beautiful tenor voice I’ve ever heard. My father was also a tenor. When my Aunt Joy was visiting from Texas, she would play the piano (by ear) and we’d all gather around and sing Christmas carols. At some point everyone would get quiet and we’d know it was time for O Holy Night. As Joy played, my father and Uncle Dan sang the most beautiful duet, always moving me to tears.

So, this morning I did a little research, learning something of the song’s history. It was written in 1847. In light of our country’s (and the world’s) current political unrest, I found it interesting that the history of this beloved Christmas song is also filled with politics and war. Here’s more of the story, from a post by Tsh Oxenreider at (in)courage:

A parish priest in a small French town commissioned a local poet and wine commissionaire, Placide Cappeau de Roquemaure, to write a poem for the village’s Christmas Eve mass. Cappeau read through the birth of Christ in the gospel of Luke en route to Paris, and finished the poem O Holy Night by the time he reached the city.

Cappeau turned to his friend, Adolphe Charles Adams, to compose the music to the poem, and three weeks later, the song was sung in the village on Christmas Eve. Initially, Cantique de Noel (the song’s French name) was widely loved by the Church in France, but when leaders learned that Cappeau was a socialist and Adams a Jew, the song was uniformly denounced as unfit for church services. But the common French people loved it so much, they continued to sing it.

The song came to the U.S. via John Sullival Dwight, an abolitionist during the Civil War. Moved by the line in the third verse, “Chains shall he break, for the slave is our brother, and in His Name all oppression shall cease,” he published it in his magazine and quickly found favor in the north during the war.

Even though it was banned in France, the song was still popular among the people. On Christmas Eve in 1871, in the midst of fierce fighting between France and Germany during the Franco-Prussian War, a unarmed French soldier jumped out of the trenches, walked into the battlefield, and started singing, “Minuit, Chretiens, c’est l’heure solennelle ou L’Homme Dieu descendit jusqu’a nous,” the song’s first line in French.

After singing all three verses, a German solider emerged and started singing, “Vom Himmel noch, da komm’ ich her. Ich bring’ euch gute neue Mar, Der guten Mar bring’ ich so viel, Davon ich sing’n und sagen will,” the beginning of a popular hymn by Martin Luther.

Fighting stopped for the next 24 hours in honor of Christmas Day. Soon after, the French Church re-embraced O Holy Night.

My wish these days leading up to Christmas is that we would embrace one another, and that the fighting would stop.

Click here to enjoy Jordan Smith’s wonderful tenor voice in this arrangement of O Holy Night.

Behind the Scenes with Tangles and Plaques and Richelle Putnam

Richelle Putnam

Richelle Putnam

This morning I was interviewed on Behind the Scenes with Richelle Putnam on Meridian, Mississippi’s 103.3 Supertalk Mississippi radio station about my upcoming book, Tangles and Plaques: A Mother and Daughter Face Alzheimer’s.  You can listen to the 16-minute interview here.

When you click on the link, fast-forward to 5:15 minutes in to listen to the interview, which ends 21:35 minutes into the one-hour show.

Richelle and I met almost ten years ago at the first Mississippi Writers’ Guild Conference in Clinton, Mississippi, (August 2007) and we’ve been keeping up with each other Facebook. She’s not only a radio show host, she’s also a musician, songwriter, and author. I’m looking forward to being with her again in person some time this spring, when I’ll be in Meridian for another interview as well as a literary/musical event with Richelle.

My particular interest in Meridian stems from the fact that my mother was from Meridian, and I lived there for a couple of years when I was 3-5 years old (1954-56). And some of my favorite childhood memories are of summer vacations spent with my grandmother (my mother’s mother) who sewed all my clothes for the coming school year while I was with her each summer. For many of those summers my parents would come over (from Jackson, Mississippi, where we lived then) for a few days for Dad to play in the Northwood Country Club golf invitational tournament. As I got older my pre-teen and teenage memories include hanging out at the swimming pool with friends I made in Meridian—including Carol Pigford and Missy McWilliams—while Dad played in the tournament. And I loved following him around the course each year that he was in the final round of the championship flight.

I haven’t been back to Meridian since the last trip I made there with my mother about fifteen years ago. We visited the cemetery where my grandparents are buried, and old neighborhoods and homesteads. I look forward to returning in the spring for an event for Tangles and Plaques. Stay tuned for more information. Thanks for reading, and I hope you enjoy the interview.

Journaling Through Advent

My friend Julie Cantrell (who happens to be an award-winning author) has been posting Advent Journal Prompts on Facebook every day since December 1. When I first started trying to participate, I was a bit overwhelmed by the depth of Julie’s words. (She should hang a shingle.) I thought I would write from her daily prompts, but quickly realized it would take an hour or more each day, and I decided not to participate at that level. I have continued to read them every day, though, and even thinking through what I might write has been helpful.

adventjournalslice1

 

Julie leads us through a journey back to our childhoods, to our happy memories, our sad memories, traumatic events, and victories. She asks us to remember who was at our side during all of these times—who cheered us on, but also who might have been jealous or not supportive at times. This might sound negative, but she goes on to encourage us to not only be thankful for the support we have received in our lives, but also to forgive those who haven’t been supportive, or who have hurt us. Although I’ve already worked through many of the “steps” she is suggesting, I did find it helpful to be reminded of my journey.

I love what Julie wrote on Day 1:

I believe every spirit was brought into this life for a reason. Your life is no accident. You are no mistake. Search your soul. Why has God really brought you here? What is your true purpose in this life? …. And then ask, am I on the right path to achieve that missions? If not, what steps can I take today to reach that goal?

I found this to be extremely helpful. Life offers so many options, including choices that can lead us off the best path for our lives. I’ve definitely strayed from that best path many times in my 65 years, and I’m sure I’ll continue to make some bad choices in the future. But focusing on what my “true purpose” in this life might be really helps.

P1010320For some people, their true purpose is revealed to them clearly—through a career, or being a parent, or a caregiver, or living a life that involves helping others. But for those of us who are artists—writers, musicians, painters, etc.—I think it’s harder to be clear about this. Making art can be a solitary pursuit, and it’s easy to feel selfish spending so many hours every week alone with our work. We don’t even have the opportunity to reach out to coworkers and maybe be the light they need in their lives, since we don’t go to an office and we don’t have coworkers. This is probably the thing I miss most about working alone. So I have to consciously reach out to find others with whom to interact. In my younger years I found these people through my children’s parents at school, soccer games, and other activities. As the children grew older and away from me, I found these people more through church activities. In recent years, I’ve found them right outside my door, in my neighbors. And also in my writing community, although we communicate more through emails and Facebook than in person. I am thankful that one of my neighbors is also a writer and has become a close friend. And I am thankful for my writing group that meets monthly, not only to critique one another’s work, but for that interaction we all crave.

In Julie’s Journal Prompt for today (December 7) she asks us to look back at challenges we have survived that we thought we wouldn’t be able to handle. And also:

What accomplishments have you achieved that you once believed were out of your reach?… Write an entry in honor of your beautiful, brave, survivor spirit. Celebrate the fact that you have already endured many of life’s greatest battles….

And then she asks, “What has kept you going through the hard times? When you felt most alone, most unloved, most afraid… what got you through to your next breath? Do you have a name for that? Would you call it God? Why or why not?”

I love that she points us in such a positive direction after a week of pretty heavy soul-searching (Journal Prompts 2-6, which I didn’t write about here). As a survivor of sexual abuse and cancer, and a daily struggler with eating disorders and depression, I can say that although sometimes it is a person—a friend, or my husband, or one of my children—who gets me through each of these hard times, at the end of the day it is God. The God of my childhood, my early adulthood, and now, of this later season of my life.

Thank you, Julie, for guiding us through what can often be a difficult season (Christmas holidays) with your wisdom and kindness. I look forward to continuing the journey.

The Personal Essay at Its Best

Rumpus original art by Liam Golden

Rumpus original art by Liam Golden

In lieu of writing a post today, I’m going to share a personal essay by a friend, the excellent writer and teacher Lee Martin. “This October Sunday,” published in The Rumpus, is the personal essay at its best—filled with intimate truths and universal pathos.

I knew that Lee had a difficult childhood. I had read about it in his wonderful memoir, Such a Life. His personal struggles along with his excellent writing skills led me to ask him to write a blurb for my book, Tangles and Plaques: A Mother and Daughter Face Alzheimer’s, which is coming out in February. Lee’s words were encouraging and humbling:

Susan Cushman writes with clarity and grace about the gnarled pathways between her and her mother, and about the terrible disease that holds a surprising grace within its irrevocable sadness. Tangles and Plaques has the courage to see it all. This is a memoir about caretaking and taking care. It’s a book that will touch your heart.

—Lee Martin, author of From Our House and Such a Life

Thanks for sharing your story with us, Lee. In your memoir. In your novels. And in such a fine personal essay.

 

 

Rumpus original art by Liam Golden.

A Time to Grieve: Part III

51P21tvRLRL._SY344_BO1,204,203,200_It’s been almost six months since my mother’s death on May 24. I wrote about my grief process back in July initially, and then again in August. Both of those posts included reflections on the series of booklets by Kenneth C. Haugk, Journeying through Grief. This week I received the third of the four books in the series, from Mary Lewis, the Stephen Minister and Grief Ministry Coordinator at Covenant Presbyterian Church in Jackson, Mississippi—the church my parents helped establish in the 1950s. The church in which I was confirmed as a communing member when I was twelve. The church in which I was married in 1970.

This third booklet is titled Finding Hope and Healing. I found two sections to be especially helpful. The first is “Talking Is Healing.” Haugk encourages those of us who have lost a loved one to talk about it—to share our feelings:

Talking is healing. Talking helps you locate your pain, bring it to the surface, and let it go. And because your grief doesn’t suddenly go away, the pain recurs, and you need to talk about it again an again and again. That’s why grieving people need to talk about the same feeling or memory over and over.

I remember one night a few weeks ago when I was a bit depressed and my husband asked me what was wrong. I simply answered, “My mother died.” He smiled gently and embraced me, making himself available for my words. Talking helps. And for a writer, that often means writing. It’s almost ironic that just before my mother died I finished writing a book about my years of caregiving with her. Tangles and Plaques: A Mother and Daughter Face Alzheimer’s will be published in February. But this summer I read all the way through the manuscript again, not only proof-reading for errors but also letting my words into places where my heart needed healing. I read parts of it aloud, which felt like sharing those words with a friend, or maybe with the little girl inside who had lost her mother to Alzheimer’s years ago—the little girl who had always been grieving for a different kind of mother, for one who could love her unconditionally.

Another section in the booklet spoke to me—“Letting Go of Guilt.” I’m sure my feelings of guilt are shared by everyone who has ever been the caregiver for an aging parent. It’s that feeling that you can never do enough—that you could have been a better daughter. One thing that I found helpful in this section was this:

View your guilt as someone else might. It may be helpful to look at yourself as if you were a third person. You may see how unrealistic your expectations are. If you wouldn’t blame another person, why are you blaming yourself? If you’d have compassion on another person who is grieving, why wouldn’t you have compassion on yourself?

I actually experienced this from real, living “third persons”—close friends who reminded me not to blame myself. Friends and family who told me that I had been a good daughter. That what I had done was enough. Again, Haugk says:

Remember the good that you did…. Take a fresh look at your relationship with your loved one and recognize the good things you did as well. Commend yourself for those.

EFfieSusanhandsOne of my favorite memories of “good things I did with Mom” is from six years ago. I wrote about it here: “Coloring Violets With Effie.” Mother was very artistic, but I couldn’t get her to draw or paint in her latter years. So I took a coloring book and crayons to the nursing home and we colored together. At first she was shy about it—perhaps she was thinking it was childish. But once she got into it with me, she started remembering things she loved and talking about them—her favorite color (purple); how much she loved flowers and making flower arrangements. It was one of my favorite visits with my mother.

February 2010, around Mother's 82nd birthday

February 2010, around Mother’s 82nd birthday

 

So today I’m again thankful to the folks with the Stephen Ministry at Covenant Presbyterian Church in Jackson for this gift, and I look forward to the fourth and final booklet in the series when they send it. What a blessing for my grieving heart, which is healing.

Why I Don’t Hate Doing Laundry

This morning I did four loads of laundry while reading a wonderful new book of poetry by Jacqueline Allen Trimble, American Happiness. (Watch for a review soon!) I was so inspired that I stopped and wrote a poem myself. I’m not a “real” poet, but sometimes I like to explore the genre. I hope you enjoy it.

 

Jonathan, age 7 months, March 1978

Jonathan, age 7 months, March 1978

Why I Don’t Hate Doing Laundry

by Susan Cushman

 

The laundry sorter stands between bedroom

and bath—its four neat containers

keeping our soiled items in order:

Darks. Whites. Perma-press. And

dress shirts to take to the cleaners.

 

I use a woven basket to transport

one load at a time to the laundry room;

It is the same basket that our first child

played in, almost forty years ago—a

memory captured in a photograph

that fills my heart with love on laundry day.

 

Even the darks will be sorted before

they enter the shiny front-loading machines—the nicest

ones we have ever had—which came with the house;

Sorting the darks? Isn’t that a bit anal?

Not when you consider that some are heavy

and others are light and need a shorter dry time.

 

The perma-press wants the lightest touch—only

fifteen minutes in the dryer and then on to

hangers right away, my hands smoothing collars

and shaking out the tiny wrinkles that remain

before they return to my husband’s closet

for another day, another trip, another meeting.

 

Whites are easy—warm, warm, white I told

our children when they were young;

cold, cold colors for everything else.

And thirty minutes on warm to dry and fluff

before the task of folding—taught to me

by my husband over forty years ago,

when he also showed me how to iron.

Skills he learned in childhood.

 

I do miss the smell of clothes warmed by the sun

on the clothesline I used as a newly wed;

Like the one my mother used—or sometimes

the maid—when I was young.

And so I often smell the white tee shirts and

warm towels as I pull them from the dryer,

hoping for a memory of those sunshiny days.

 

So much chaos in the world and sometimes

in our lives today, leaving me screaming

for order—for something I can control—even

if it’s only clothing and household linens.

I tried to control our children but now they

have their own families, their own chaos,

their own laundry. I wonder if they remember

warm warm white and cold cold colors.

Attic Treasures: “Patsy Ann” and “Cissy”

Patsy Ann

Patsy Ann

I was in the garage Sunday afternoon, staring at the shelves and stacks of boxes I want/need to purge, when a small box labeled “Susan’s dolls” caught my eye. Susan’s dolls? Seriously? This box probably hadn’t been opened in 30-40 years, traveling from house to house, from attic to attic, for several decades. I opened it and there were two dolls:

Effanbee 2First an Effanbee “Patsy Ann” baby doll that I believe belonged to my mother (from the 1930s) and then to me. I think it’s funny that the brand is “Effanbee” and my mother’s name was “Effie.” I found the brand and name across the doll’s upper back. I don’t know if she’s wearing a dress that was hers originally, or one of my grandmother’s creations. I do remember Mamaw (my mother’s mother) teaching me to sew dresses for this doll when I visited her in Meridian, Mississippi, in the late 1950s and early 1960s. Her eyes have faded to a creepy color, and her arms and legs are barely attached to her body. It’s kind of amazing to think that this doll is almost 100 years old!

Christmas 1957, when I got "Cissy," my Madam Alexander doll.

Christmas 1957, when I got “Cissy,” my Madam Alexander doll.

Then there’s a Madam Alexander doll I got for Christmas in 1957, when I was 6 years old. I did a bit of research and determined that this is a “Cissy” doll, wearing a lavender taffeta dress and short jacket, carrying a glass purse and wearing strappy lavender heels. Her hair is intact, and her bright blue eyes are still beautiful. Here’s a description I found online:

Cissy is still beautiful, 59 years after I got her.

Cissy is still beautiful, 59 years after I got her.

Cissy, released in 1955, was the first of the modern fashion dolls. What set Cissy apart as something new and different was her mature figure with high-heeled feet. She was an expensive doll at the time, and today a dressed doll in mint condition commands a very high price.

Patsy Ann 2Cissy was the most prominent doll in Alexander’s catalog from 1955 through 1959. In 1960, however, she took a back seat to the new “Playpal” type dolls, and was missing from the catalog altogether, although she was still available and was also being advertised under other names.

Cissy has been reissued in recent years in many glamorous outfits.

So, I can see this isn’t going to be a quick fix—purging these boxes. I just spent an hour on this one box that only had two dolls inside! There are about 40 large plastic bins and probably that many or more cardboard boxes in the garage and also in an upstairs storage room inside our house. My goal is to go through all of these (and get rid of about 90% of the contents) before we retire to Denver—possibly in five years. I haven’t found the box(es) with photographs yet—the pictures that aren’t in photo albums. Going through old photos and deciding which ones to digitalize, keep, or toss won’t be a quick process.

But at least I’ve made a start. One down. 99-ish to go!

Families Caring for an Aging America

Families Caring report coverMy book, Tangles and Plaques: A Mother and Daughter Face Alzheimer’s, will be out in February. I’ve been researching ideas for marketing, and I’m especially interested in speaking to groups who have a special interest in Alzheimer’s, like caregivers.

My husband, who is a physician, just sent me this link to a report called “Families Caring for an Aging America,” from the National Academies of Science, Engineering, and Medicine (from September 13). The report was written by Richard Schulz and Jill Eden, Editors; Committee on Family Caregiving for Older Adults; Board on Health Care Services; Health and Medicine Division; National Academies of Sciences, Engineering, and Medicine.

You can download a PDF of the full report here.

Here’s a summery of the report from the National Academies:

At least 17.7 million individuals in the United States are providing care and support to an older parent, spouse, friend, or neighbor who needs help because of a limitation in their physical, mental, or cognitive functioning. The circumstances of individual caregivers are extremely varied. They may live with, nearby, or far away from the person receiving care. The care they provide may be episodic, daily, occasional, or of short or long duration. The caregiver may help with household tasks or self-care activities, such as getting in and out of bed, bathing, dressing, eating, or toileting, or may provide complex medical care tasks, such as managing medications and giving injections. The older adult may have dementia and require a caregiver’s constant supervision. Or, the caregiver may be responsible for all of these activities.  With support from 15 sponsors, the National Academies of Sciences, Engineering, and Medicine convened an expert committee to examine what is known about the nation’s family caregivers of older adults and to recommend policies to address their needs and help to minimize the barriers they encounter in acting on behalf of an older adult. The resulting report, Families Caring for an Aging America, provides an overview of the prevalence and nature of family caregiving of older adults as well as its personal impact on caregivers’ health, economic security, and overall well-being. The report also examines the available evidence on the effectiveness of programs and interventions designed to support family caregivers. It concludes with recommendations for developing a national strategy to effectively engage and support them.

On the one hand, it’s sad that we need a national strategy to support caregivers—which speaks to the fact that so many people are living longer and therefore need help, whether they have Alzheimer’s or other issues. On the other hand, I’m glad to see the National Academies focusing on developing the support so many caregivers need now, and will continue to need in the future.

In Appendix G of the report, “Caregiving Stories,” one daughter expresses frustration about issues similar to what I faced when Mom broke her hip:

I am so angry that my head might explode. At about 5:30, I was handed a bunch of papers by the head of the rehab department at the hospital where my mom has started physical therapy. We all thought this was a great idea. But apparently her Medigap policy denied this coverage. I have requested a ‘fast track’ appeal. She has already started the rehab work 2x a day. I hope they keep going with the treatment while this nightmare unfolds. I hate this.

And later, the same daughter deals with her mother’s risk of falling since she ignores the alarm on her bed and wheelchair (which I also went through with my mother):

Mom did well in physical therapy, on her second day. She walked up and down the hall with a walker, according to her roommate, a former home health aide herself. I have one question. She keeps getting up out of bed, even though her bed and wheelchair are alarmed. The alarms don’t phase her. It doesn’t seem to stick when she is told to stay in bed, or not to stand up…. The staff come in to help, but a momentary delay could produce another fall (god forbid) …

I’m so glad this report is coming out, and hope that it will be helpful to many people. My mother’s journey is over (she died in May) but millions of others can benefit, and I can’t help but wonder if I—and other caregivers—will be the on the receiving end of this care one day.

Christmas is Coming!

149168-Keep-Calm-Christmas-Is-ComingChristmas is only three months from this coming Sunday! There’s something about football season that always reminds me that we’ve almost entered the fourth quarter of the year. And although it’s still in the 90s (and humid) here in Memphis, the Halloween and Thanksgiving decorations that are showing up in the stores are harbingers that it’s coming. So what should we be doing NOW to avoid the panic in December? Here’s what I did this weekend:

Designed and ordered Christmas cards. I used Vista Print, which I’ve done many times in the past. Their prices are good, and the templates are fairly easy for uploading photos or art work and text.

 

582044-S0Ordered 100 Christmas stamps from usps.com.

Updated my Christmas card list, which I created as an Excel document several years ago. This is always a bittersweet exercise, as I delete those who have passed away since the previous year, something that happens more often as we get older. But it’s also a joy to add new friends to the list.

Looked over my 2015 Christmas gift list (yes, I keep these in a file) to see what I gave everyone last year. I’ve already ordered (and received and stored in a closet) gifts for several friends and Goddaughters. Watch for sales now—especially for fun personalized items—and don’t wait ’til the last minute.

Made airline reservations for our trip to Denver to be with kids and grandkids for Christmas again this year.

Every year I talk with friends who are stressed as the holidays approach. Usually it’s because they don’t get a head start on the season’s activities. Maybe this post will encourage some folks to start planning and hopefully have a joyous season this year.

And did anyone notice I’m not using “Mental Health Monday” any more? Thanks for the replies to Friday’s post… I’m going to discontinue using themes for now. We’ll see how it goes without the structure. If I get lost I can always reinstate them!

Meanwhile, here’s a little something to help you get into the Christmas spirit.

Faith on Friday: (God’s) Family Matters

Icon of Saints Joachim and Anna at St. John Orthodox Church, Memphis

Icon of Saints Joachim and Anna at St. John Orthodox Church, Memphis

In the Orthodox Church, today is the feast day of Jesus’ grandparents, Saints Joachim and Anna. Being a grandmother (of four little girls, ages one, four, six, and seven) is one of my greatest joys. Although I live over a thousand miles from my granddaughters, I think about them every day. I pray for them. I smile as I look at their pictures all around my office each day and on the refrigerator. I send them letters and gifts. I look forward to Face Time with each of them, and I often wonder what they will be when they grow up. And yes, I imagine spending time with them more often if we retire to Denver in a few years, picking them up from school and taking them to soccer or dance or art classes, having them for sleepovers, taking them shopping, to bookstores and the theater.

Since I couldn’t have biological children, my husband and I adopted our three wonderful “kids” who are now in their thirties. We waited seven years after we got married before an adoption agency would grant us our first child. At the time, those seven years felt like an eternity to me. All our friends were having children, and my empty womb cast a sad shadow over many of those early days of our marriage. And then God’s blessings began to come to us as He gave us Jonathan, Jason, and then Beth. I was only 34 when we adopted our third child, but we had been married fifteen years by then, and I remember feeling a bit old. Couples were getting married and starting families younger back then.

Imagine how Anna must have felt. She and Joachim had been married for fifty years and were barren. They were often ridiculed by the community—many even said it was their sinfulness that caused Anna’s fruitless womb. (I know that feeling.) Joachim was a faithful Jew who went to the temple and offered sacrifices regularly, giving a third of their income to the poor, a third to the temple, and only keeping a third to live on. Finally God blessed them with a child in their old age. And not just any child—their daughter was Mary, the mother of Jesus.

Saints Joachim and Anna with their daughter, Mary, the Mother of Jesus

Saints Joachim and Anna with their daughter, Mary, the Mother of Jesus

The Orthodox Church (and the Catholic Church) venerates Mary, the Theotokos (the “God-bearer”) very highly, as it should. But it also holds her parents in high esteem. At the end of every divine liturgy, we hear the priest say these words:

“May the risen Christ, our true God, with the prayers of his pure and holy Mother, the power of the precious and life-giving Cross, the protection of the spiritual powers of Heaven… the holy and righteous ancestors of God Joachim and Anna, and all the saints whose memory we celebrate have mercy on us and save us.”

As blessed as Joachim and Anna must have felt by this amazing gift, I can’t imagine how difficult it was for them to let Anna go and live in the temple at a young age, where she would remain pure, preparing herself to become the mother of Jesus. They gave up the joys most parents experience in having their children live at home with them. And they both died before experiencing the miraculous joy and incredulous pain they would have known watching their grandson grow up and become the Christ, who would eventually suffer crucifixion before his miraculous resurrection and ascension to Heaven. Their mission as His grandparents was over early, but will forever be a cornerstone in the Church’s history. And so we sing to them on this day:

“As we celebrate the remembrance of thy righteous grand-parents, through them we beseech thee, O Lord, to save our souls.”

© Copyright SusanCushman.com