Her last birthday in 2013, age 90, at Lakeside Inn in Mt. Dora, FL
My mom would have been 102 today.
I miss her so much it’s hard to believe it’s been 10 years since she’s been gone.
She missed meeting 9 more great grandchildren as well as her three grandkids’ spouse’s. I may have gotten those numbers wrong, but the point is…
…so much life has happened since her death.
I was telling Elias today how much “Gigi” would have loved him as well as Vito (10), Brielle (10), Phoebe (8). And the same goes for his daddy, whom my Mom never met. Although she prayed for him for years.
My brother joined her and my Dad 2 and a half years ago, which is hard to believe.
I don’t have much to say that hasn’t been said in previous posts. But this I now know:
Grief is a journey that has no destination until one day when those who love Jesus will be reunited together with Christ forever.
While we await that day Mom, this song is my heart’s cry. Happy Birthday!
He was my first boss out of high school. He hired me to take the place of a friend of mine named Mardy who was attending college in TX. But I had no idea what the job was, only that it was Monday thru Friday from 8:00 a.m. to 5:00 p.m.
Having worked as a restaurant hostess for a couple of years, I was ready for a job with a predictable schedule with good pay and benefits. I had no idea of the benefits I would have working at Nass Service Company, Inc.
It was May 1977. This was a month before I graduated from high school, and three months before Elvis would “leave the building”, as was often said about his death.
I remember this so well because Nyla, who worked in the parts department, had an obsession with The King of Rock and Roll. She cried hysterically when his death was announced over the radio. I cried for her and her broken heart.
On the day of his funeral, Bill brought in a little portable black and white TV so Nyla could attend his memorial service and say goodbye to him.
Bill had a compassionate heart.
It was a family business. His wife, Jimmie, was the office manager. Bill was the General Manager. His brother at one point was the Service Manager and his Niece worked in the Parts Dept. He also had one son who was a tech in the Service Dept.
I was hired as the receptionist and I loved being the one to greet customers, technicians, the mailman and our UPS delivery man, Boots.
Once hired you became family; the kind that laughs, cries, celebrates and reprimands you. Even when we would get in trouble for kidding around too much, Bill would always end up joining in the fun one way or another.
Bill had a great sense of humor and let us all call him Uncle Bill.
After Tom and I were married and had our first baby, Tom wanted to quit the retail industry. Bill was looking for a new Service Manager and Tom asked if he could apply.
Bill and Jimmie had us over for dinner to talk about it. Bill said he wanted Tom to come in on his day off to see if he liked it. Tom loved the job and quit his General Manager position at Gordon’s Jewelers the next day.
It wasn’t until years later that Bill told us he was actually considering a couple of others for the job, but when Tom quit his job he didn’t have the heart to turn him away.
We heard later that he had been mistakenly hired by Mr. Nass in Miami too. So he extended to Tom the same grace he had received.
Bill was empathetic and understanding.
When I heard last week that Bill Freeman had breathed his last breath in this life, my heart was a mixture of sadness and gratefulness. Sad that I would no longer be able to see him, but grateful for the memories shared and lessons he taught me.
Uncle Bill practically raised all the young adults he hired. Two even became his daughters-in-law. He taught us a sound work ethic, not an easy job for all our pranking ways. He let us be ourselves all the while leading us into being responsible adults.
Well, we like to think we’re responsible when needed. Uncle Bill might have said otherwise with a huge grin on his face.
Uncle Bill, I will miss you and always love you and your compassionate, humorous, empathetic and understanding heart. What a gift you have given all who knew and loved you. Now that’s a benefit most jobs don’t offer these days.
A small group of us from our church packed up in our bus and headed North for what I thought was a retreat. Our Youth pastor put the trip together for high-schoolers, college students, and young married couples. The plan was to camp out together and take part in a gathering of other like-minded students to worship Jesus. I was 16 about to begin my Junior year of high school. My brother, Billy, was 21 and about to go to University of Florida for his Junior year in Pharmacy school. My sister, age 22 and her husband had been married for almost 2 years and came with all their newly married friends. It was a fun group, especially for me because I loved hanging out with my big brother and sister. I was finally at the age when they liked my company.
I was raised Southern Baptist. My idea of retreats as a teen was fun, games, boys, swimming, crafts and singing.
This was far from the format of Ichthus. God was about to introduce me to His presence in a way I didn’t know was possible.
When we arrived we set up camp and headed to our first session on the huge outdoor stage with the banner “ICHTHUS 75” waving overhead. First to perform was a talented man, Andrae’ Crouch and his twin sister, Sandra. They were called Andrae’ Crouch and the Disciples. Their story is worth reading, but I’ll let you Google it yourself. This is one of his first songs that I heard live. Take a moment and listen if you’re not familiar with his work.
I was surprised to see all around me lifting their hands as they worshiped God. This was a new experience that made me uncomfortable. But the way these people loved Jesus was inescapable. I wanted to know Jesus the way they did. The rain that came later couldn’t dampen the passion that God was stirring in our hearts for Him.
I discovered I’m not the only one who remembers this soaked weekend in the rain and in the Spirit…
“Ichthus influenced people from all different parts of the country and from different walks of life. Tanya Goodman Sykes (of the Happy Goodman Family) wrote at Andraé Crouch’s passing in 2015,
“I can still remember how the rain felt on my skin that day. I was 15 years old, and my friends and I had driven to Wilmore, Kentucky, to attend the Ichthus Festival at Asbury College. We were beyond thrilled because Andraé Crouch and the Disciples were headlining that year. There was a steady drizzle the entire drive up, and just before Andraé took the stage, it gave way to heavy rain, but it didn’t dampen my enthusiasm. There was a palpable sense of excitement in the air that day as an entire hillside of dripping wet, mostly teenagers sang along- “Jesus is the answer for the world today…” Truly, I have never experienced anything quite like it before or since. And I certainly have never stood in the pouring rain to hear anyone else.
“Rev. Jack Harnish, also remembered the passing of Andraé Crouch in 2015 writing,
“The highlight of the weekend was a performance by Andraé Crouch and the Disciples. If the whole notion of a folk-rock festival was a bit shocking for the town of Wilmore, the fact that the headliner was an African American was even more controversial. But once he took the stage, no one could question his spirit and his gift… I remember him closing the festival that weekend with, “It won’t be long, soon we’ll be leavin’ here; it won’t be long, we’ll be goin’ home.” “
After this weekend I returned home to Orlando with a fresh passion to know God. I realized that at 16 years of age there was no way I had learned all there was to know about Him. I started taking notes and reading the Bible as I never had before. God was real and I couldn’t wait to learn more about Him and to love and serve Him for the rest of my life.
I tell you all this because last week on February 8th a fresh outpouring of the Holy Spirit began on the same grounds where I experienced a similar awakening 48 years ago. During what seemed an ordinary chapel for the college students, the Lord decided it was time to pour out His love afresh on all who asked. And ask they did. Hours turned into days and days into over a week. And they’re still going. The administration at Asbury College said they won’t stop what the Lord is doing. Lives are being touched by a Holy God and word has spread far and wide.
Last night I listened to the message given during chapel. It was a good message that obviously hit a chord in the hearts of those in attendance. It’s based on Romans 12, but that’s all I’m saying. I encourage you to take 30 minutes and listen. Then pray that God will move in our hearts, our cities and towns in like manner.
As Andrae’ wrote, “It won’t be long…we’ll be goin’ home.”
Yesterday finally happened. We’ve waited for over two years to honor her the way she deserved.
Julienne L. Walter born 6/30/39, died 3/20/20.
Right at the start of the pandemic she breathed her last in this life. We were sad at the distance (CA) and our inability to gather as a family to celebrate her life.
Grandma Jill, as our kids called her, loved life and laughter. She loved to shop and find little gifts to bless those she loved. She loved being a Mom and a Grandma, and she did them all well. We lovingly called her our “Bonus Mom” because she added so much joy to our lives.
I’d be remiss to not mention her dog, Genna. She was her pride and joy. She also loved good music—Andrea Bocelli and Sara Brightman were two of her absolute favorites.
We moved Tom’s Dad, her loving and devoted husband of 40+ years, to FL 6 months after she died. But it wasn’t until yesterday, the week of her 83rd birthday that we finally had our moment as a family to gather.
A long-time family friend and retired Bishop, Lou Campese, led the service under the pavilion at Florida National Cemetery in Bushnell. If you’ve never been there, it is a version of Arlington in Washington DC. Only approved veterans are honored there in memoriam, and since Tom’s Dad is retired from the US Army Reserves, he and his wife were accepted to be buried there.
A side note, when they were living in CA, Dad was honored to be accepted with burial privileges at Miramar National Cemetery in San Diego. This is where the original Top Gun movie was filmed.
It took some time to get approved to move his burial privileges from California to Florida. But as soon as he was approved, the plans for yesterday we’re made.
What an honor bestowed on all who have served our country heroically. You can feel the hushed reverence as you drive through the cemetery, passing row upon row of marble grave markers standing at attention to honor the ground where these heroic men and women lay.
Jill, we are happy you are at rest. We love you and thank God for the blessing you were to all of us. May you be remembered in the hearts of all who knew you and loved you. Until we meet again…
We are blessed to have a week at the beach. It’s been a long time since we’ve had this kind of down time together. Time to think. Time to reflect. Time to remember.
Whenever I come to the beach I’m reminded of a story I heard as a teenager back in the 70’s.
My friends and I had fallen in love with Jesus. We would often drive the 45 minutes to the beach in my little yellow VW bug, Sunny. He may not have had air conditioning, but I had installed a great stereo with huge speakers. I added long enough wire so I could set them on top of Sunny while we laid on blankets soaking in the sunshine. What a memory.
Barry McGuire had recently come to love Jesus too. He shares a simple story about dolphins, and today I want to share it with you. Take some time and listen.
Then follow this by listening to the song, Callin Me Home. The video photos are captivating and the lyrics beautiful. Happy Monday
I was born in Orlando 12 years before Mickey literally came and welcomed the world to us. I’ve seen changes and met many people from other countries who love coming here because of him.
One of the most popular rides at Walt Disney World is called, It’s A Small World, where little wooden dolls, that are dressed in customary clothing for their country, dance, twirl and sing along with the ride’s theme song. If you’ve been here you’re most likely singing it now and will be for the rest of the day. Sorry.
But seriously I’m not sorry. Our world has become smaller to us personally.
We have had two pastors staying with us for this past week attending the International Grace Partnership Conference that happens every February at our church. One, has been a dear friend since 2016 when we first met him and his beautiful wife. Their home is far away, but our hearts are bound together like family.
Their home is Ukraine. The invasion of Russia began while they were asleep in our guest rooms. Each morning since, we awake to hear if their families made it safely through the night. We thank God over coffee for another safe night for them.
We have laughed together when we heard of how a gypsy band managed to steal a Russian tank by towing it away with their tractor.
We have cried together seeing his wife in a bomb shelter with a smile on her face as she sorts warm clothes and blankets for refugees passing by their town on the way to Poland.
Such a strong community, people and nation who have grown to love freedom these last 30 years, as I have all of my life.
We don’t know what the future holds for them. But My husband and I are grateful to have been able to offer them comfort, prayers and hearty meals at such a time as this.
If you would like to help you can donate through Grace Partnership and designate it’s for Ukraine. All money will go to Hosanna church in Rivne supplying food, clothing and shelter to the refugees passing through their town in western Ukraine. Every little bit helps.
All our pastors praying for our dear brothers who lead and serve the church in Rivne, Ukraine
Most of all, pray for an end to this evil attack on Ukraine. They love their freedom as we do. They have families and jobs as we do. They are like we are, but facing insurmountable odds to stay so. I pray we will all come together to help in their time of need.
Realizing more than ever…it is a small world after all.
Crickets are insects that sing at night by rubbing their wings together to make the familiar sound.
Cricket is also a game played using bats and balls.
Finally crickets are what is heard when someone isn’t answering your texts.
But crickets to me are a trigger back to my childhood days.
My grandparents lived on 12 acres of orange groves in the small town west of Orlando called Clermont. The trees blossomed in the winter filling the air with the sweetest scent of orange blossoms. At night this was accompanied by the sound of crickets—a symphony to my young ears.
My grandfather died when I was only 5. My grandmother when I was 19. But crickets transport me back to the 1960’s every January evening.
I’m not one to love bugs. But crickets are a reminder of days gone by. I can still smell my grandmother’s creamed corn simmering on her stove; my grandfather’s freshly refilled pipe billowing in the air as he puffs on it long and slow.
As a kid I didn’t realize how these ordinary moments were carving an indelible memory in my mind.
I’m 62 and just went for a walk after dinner. The crickets joined me and took me back in time. I miss those days, but I’m so grateful for the memories.
Crickets – they represent silence to some, but to me they echo memories loud and clear.
It has been a season of loss for many, including myself. When I got the following article from Desiring God Ministries, it hit a chord in my heart that has resonated ever since. I pray it will do the same for you, but you must read it to the end. Otherwise, the article will leave you in a place of sadness, and I never want to do this for someone who is grieving.
Merry Christmas to all of you! May this serve as a gift from our table to yours. 🎄
Christmas With An Empty Chair
By Greg Morse
My grandfather is no longer here for Christmas.
I scarcely remember one without him, and yet now his absence is becoming the new normal. We no longer gather in his living room to read Luke’s account of Jesus’s birth, sing “Joy to the World,” open presents together, or eat the Christmas dinner he prepared. His chair, once so full of fondness, infectious laughter, and gentlemanly repose, now sits silent, full of memories.
A new sensation now dines with me during my favorite time of year. As the dining table crowds with new faces, new grins, and new babies, nostalgias of past Christmases unfold in the background. Here, more than at any other place or time, days past and days present meet. Here I behold fresh holiday scenes with old eyes. So much is the same, and so much is different.
Loss has made me older.
I look around the table at the bright eyes of the children, and see a joy unburdened. The Christmas they have known is the same today. They can’t see what their parents see. They cannot detect the soft-glowing faces or hear the unspeaking voices. To them, chairs aren’t empty, they’re yet to be filled. They don’t know the ache in our celebration, the wounds that never fully heal.
I now know Christmas as my grandfather had for years — as a mixture of gladness and grief, gratitude and regret, Christmas now and Christmas then. I could not discern the others who dined with us around the table from another life ago — parents, friends, his beloved wife. I never realized his Christmases filled with more than just that single Christmas. I now see the unspoken dimension. I better understand that weathered smile, brimming fuller, yet sadder than once before.
Suffice it to say, Christmases these days aren’t quite the same.
Out with the Old?
With this new experience of Christmas with an empty chair, comes certain threats and temptations.
Jesus once warned about sewing a piece of new cloth onto an old garment; or putting new wine into old wineskins. The wineskins might burst, he taught; the cloth might tear. But here we are. In the mind of the man or woman who has lost, the new is patched with the old; new wine pours into old family wineskins.
Perhaps you can relate. The pressure of sitting and eating and singing where he or she once sat and ate and sang can tear at the heart. You may have lost more than a grandfather. The strain of grief you feel around the holidays nearly concusses. The spouse whose name inscribed upon the ornament is no longer here. One stocking is missing. The beloved child you watched run down the stairs Christmas morning has not made it down for some years now. Christmas, this side of heaven, will never be the same.
I do not pretend to know such depths of despair. But I do know twin temptations that greet those of us who have lost someone. I hope that naming them might help you this Christmas.
Past Swallows Present
The first temptation is to the variety of grief that kidnaps us from life today. This bottomless ache comes when we begin to stare and stare at the empty chair. The grief overwhelms all gladness; the past swallows the present. The good that arrives is not the good that once was, so all current cause for happiness becomes spoiled or forgotten.
This is to step beyond the healthy grief and remembrance of our losses. It poisons the heart by entertaining the question the wise man bids us not to: “Say not,” he warns, “‘Why were the former days better than these?” For, he continues, “it is not from wisdom that you ask this” (Ecclesiastes 7:10). This grief poisons the what is with the what used to be. It hinders the ability to go on.
Grief threatens to lock us in dark cellars of the past, keeping us from enjoying the child playing on the floor or the new faces around the table.
Over-the-Shoulder Guilt
Second is the temptation to bow to the over-the-shoulder guilt bearing down on us. Lewis captures this in A Grief Observed:
There’s no denying that in some sense I “feel better,” and with that comes at once a sort of shame, and a feeling that one is under a sort of obligation to cherish and foment and prolong one’s unhappiness. (53)
“The empty chair can threaten to overwhelm all joy in this Christmas or shame us for feeling any joy this Christmas.”
This temptation sees the empty chair frowning at us. “Why aren’t you sadder? How can Christmas still be merry? Didn’t you love him?” The memory, not remaining in its proper place, looms over our shoulder, patrolling our happiness in the present. This shame is a sickness that tempts us to hate wellness.
So, the empty chair can threaten to overwhelm all joy in this Christmas or shame us for feeling any joy this Christmas — both must be resisted.
Melt the Clouds of Sadness
So what do we do? There the empty chair sits.
Fighting both temptations, I need to remind myself: Christmas is not about family around a dinner table, but about Jesus. And Jesus has promised that for his people — for my grandfather — to be absent from the Christmas table is to be present with him.
I ask myself, Should I wish my grandfather back?Would I, if it stood within my power, recall him from that feast, reunite his soul with his ailing body — reclaim him to sickness, loneliness, sin — summon him from the heaven of Christ himself to a shadowy celebration of Christ on earth?
Somedays I half-consider it.
But I know that if I could speak to him now, he wishes me there. The empty chair heaven longs to see filled is not around our Christmas dinner, but the empty chairs still surrounding Christ. Our places are set already. Better life, real life, true life, lasting life lies in that world. That empty chair of our loved ones departed is not merely a reminder of loss, but a pointer to coming gain.
“That empty chair of our loved ones departed is not merely a reminder of loss, but a pointer to coming gain.”
This place of shadows and darkness, sin and Satan, grief and death, is no place yet for that Happy Reunion. The dull Christmas stab reminds me that life is not what it should be, but it can also remind me life is not what it will soon be for all who believe.
Jesus will come in a Second Advent. He will make all things new. Christmases with empty chairs are numbered; these too shall soon pass. And the greatest chair that shall be occupied, the one that shall restore all things, and bring real joy to the world, is Jesus Christ, the baby once born in Bethlehem, now King that rules the universe. He shall sit and eat with us at his eternal supper of the Lamb.
And until then, while we travel through Christmases present and future, I pray for myself and for you,
Melt the clouds of sin and sadness; Drive the dark of doubt away; Giver of immortal gladness, Fill us with the light of day!
Greg Morse is a staff writer for desiringGod.org and graduate of Bethlehem College & Seminary. He and his wife, Abigail, live in St. Paul with their son and daughter.
Our blogging prompt was to share a song lyric that means something to me.
There are too many to even begin to share, so I decided on a twist. I’m sharing the song lyrics I misunderstood as a kid and only recently discovered the correct words. I must admit this is embarrassing, but it’s understandable. I was attached to my record player as a pre-teen. I listened faithfully to Casey Kasem’s Top 40 list every Saturday. Once I heard the #1 song for that week I would get on my bike and ride it to the Five and Dime store (T.G. & Y.) to buy the 45 rpm before it sold out.
Music was my companion and my 10 year old friend’s companion too.
I remember us turning around in circles to the EP version of In-A-Gadda-Da-Vida by Iron Butterfly. Why? Because we were kids and we had nothing better to do. I had a crush on Davy Jones of The Monkees and loved his British accent. My BFF loved Mike Nesmith and his beanie hat. Life was simple for us.
You have to realize we didn’t have Google in the 70’s. If we misunderstood a song lyric, the only way to find out the correct words was to buy the album where the lyrics were printed on the paper sleeve inside the cover. I didn’t have that kind of money, so I improvised, often at the top of my lungs I’m afraid to admit.
I gave my older brother, (who was a huge tease and my biggest nemesis), lots of material to mock me. And mock he did! I can laugh about it now, but as a ten year old I was humiliated more times that I can count.
Songs with lyrics I misunderstood:
“Hold me close I’m tired of dancin…” by Elton John is actually titled, Tiny Dancer, and was released in 1971. The line really says, “Hold me close, tiny dancer.”
“Blinded by the light. Wrapped up like a douche…” by Bruce Springsteen originally, but this version of Blinded By The Light was recorded by Manfred Mann in 1976. The line actually says, “…revved up like a deuce…” A deuce coupe more specifically. A fancy way to describe a sports car.
“I’ll light the fire. You place the flowers in the bras that you bought today.” by Crosby, Stills, Nash & Young. Our House was released in 1970. The song has nothing to do with putting flowers in a bra. Haha! As a pre-teen I had never heard the word vase pronounced with an “ahh” sound. The song makes more sense as written, “I’ll light the fire. You place the flowers in the vase that you bought today.” And finally one more…
“Had a F-___ing nightmare, and a little thunder.” I almost didn’t share this one, but this will probably garner the most laughter from you. I know it would have from my brother. Yeah, I really thought that’s what this line said from Steppenwolf’s, Born To Be Wild released in 1968. I have never been one to cuss, so I would always skip this line. I could never understand how the radio station back then was allowed to broadcast such language. It never occurred to me I might have misunderstood the lyrics. The song actually says, “I like smoke and lighting, heavy metal thunder, Racing with the wind, And the feeling that I’m under.” How in the world I came up with those lyrics instead I’ll never know. But I’m grateful to be able to sing the entire song now if I so choose. And with a clear conscience.
I’m curious. Did you ever misunderstand the lyrics to a song? I’d love to hear your embarrassing story–I promise not to mock you. But I might laugh. We can all use some laughter these days.
I remember walking into her disheveled room not sure if she was any good at what she advertised. Her name was Marie Broadmeyer and she was to be my new vocal coach. Although in the 70’s the term was called “voice teacher”.
My Mom had signed both my sister and me up for lessons. We are six years apart; at the time she was 20 and an alto–I was 14 and a soprano. Together we had the sweet harmony that happens when sisters sing together.
Music comes naturally in our family; my Dad’s father had a beautiful baritone voice I’d only heard on a 45 rpm record made of one of his church solos at Roger Williams Baptist Church in Rhode Island. It was rich and soothing as he sang. He always said he loved singing so much he hoped he would die in the church choir. Prophetic, that’s exactly what happened. He gave his final solo performance, sat down in his seat and had a massive heart attack. I barely knew him, but I understood his love of music.
Back to Mrs Broadmeyer.
She was a large, old woman from Germany. Her strong facial features supported her rich contralto voice. We learned she was lauded all over Europe by reading the hundreds of newspaper clippings taped to the faded wallpaper surrounding her baby grand piano.
We had only 30 minutes with her per lesson, so there was no time to hear her story. She had us warm up with vocal stretches that always made me feel self-conscious, but what 14 year old isn’t self-conscious? After she was confident our vocal cords were ready, she would have us sing, O Danny Boy. Her baggy eyes watered as our voices filled the musty room. I used to believe our voices are what brought the emotion, but now I wonder if it wasn’t memories this song brought to mind.
I’ll never know.
Last night I went on-line to see if I could find any information about her life. Was she married? Did she have children? How did she end up in America? Was she born here or did she immigrate? How did this famous soloist end up in a dilapidated row house in downtown Orlando having to squeak out a living by giving voice lessons?
Once again, my immaturity didn’t lend me to ask such questions.
I did find out that she died in 1977 here in Orlando only four years after our time in her living room. She had 4 children, as far as I can tell, the last one dying in 2015. She was born in Germany in 1908 and died in 1977 at the age of only 69. I guess she wasn’t as old as I assumed.
Her husband who was 16 years older, proceeded her in death in 1969. She was widowed only 4 years when we started our weekly visits. I also found several arrival and departure dates of when she sailed to New York Harbor from Europe and vice versa. All in the 50’s confirming her frequent tours to Europe to perform.
This memory was vague as I started to write. But with a little research I was able to piece together quite a story.
Revisiting the lyrics of her beloved song, it seems appropriate to honor her memory with this final verse…
“But when ye come, and all the flowers are dying, If I am dead, as dead I well may be, You’ll come and find the place where I am lying, And kneel and say an Ave there for me. And I shall hear, though soft you tread above me, And all my grave will warmer, sweeter be, For you will bend and tell me that you love me, And I shall sleep in peace until you come to me!” – – O Danny Boy
I’m grateful to have known Mrs. Broadmeyer. This ave is for her. May she Rest In Peace.
This is post #12 in The Ultimate Blog Challenge to post everyday in November.
Write from the heart 