Meditations on my mother.
By Russell KingIn the book of Luke, as we’re told a few stories about Jesus as a boy, we’re also told “His mother stored up all these things in her heart.” More than that, we’re told “she treasured all these thingsand pondered them in her heart.”When I think of my mother, I think of that scripture. She treasuredthe life of our family, she pondered it in her heart. She was thekeeper of our family story, and she kept it as you would keep thething you love most. She knew our joys and our pain, she knewwhere we had been, what we had come through and whom we had become. And she kept the story documented by photos, letters,clippings and little items saved over the years others have longforgotten. People without understanding, without eyes to see, sawit as clutter, but in fact it was treasure. Our treasure. Our lives.One of her favorite stories, and one of mine, happened when I wasabout 6. We had an especially hard winter that year, and to burnoff some of the pent-up childhood energy, Mom would chase mearound our unfinished basement. I’d run around and weave between the metal support beams, laughing hysterically andcheerfully calling “Catch me, Mommy! Catch me!”She chased me around, letting me stay just out of her grasp, thenswept me up into her arms, kissed me, and set me down to runsome more. It is a memory that feels like a metaphor.As I grew, I went my own way, started my own family, left mychildhood behind – but never too far behind. Mom and I, over theyears, made certain that she was always just one step away, alwayswithin reach. Just beneath the surface of my today, there wasalways our yesterday; just beneath the surface of her son, there was