Monday, May 11, 2015

The Day After Mother's Day


   There are those who say that most of our holidays were invented by the greeting card industry. I say that some people should be celebrated, even if we are told when to do it. Yesterday was Mother's Day- a day set apart to remember and honor our mother. 

   My Mom died twenty five years ago. As I think about her, I remember things... her laugh, the way she played The Tennessee Waltz on the piano, her chess pies and Sunday roast. I remember watching her read her Bible as she planned her Sunday School lesson. And I remember her job. My Mom worked for our church. One of her many tasks was designing and printing the church bulletin. As I remember I realize- I am doing a similar job today, except I use a computer. Mom used her hands. She typeset on a typewriter, cut and pasted (with scissors and rubber cement) clip art and text columns, shot a negative, burned offset plates with an arc light, operated an offset press and hand-fed the printed sheets through a folding machine. Today I typeset on a Mac using Indesign, select images from my digital camera or download them from Shutterstock, manipulate images using Photoshop, import the images into Indesign, layout the cover in Illustrator, export the finished document as a pdf, attach the pdf to email, push a button, and the 80-page digital ministry magazine is sent worldwide... without leaving my chair. I smile at the wonder of it all and ask myself, "What would Mom think about all this?" No more rubber cement, no more ink under fingernails or cleaning rollers or smelly solvents. Just a computer and coffee.

   I remember going by the church to see my Mom one day after school. She had just finished printing the bulletin- The Voice of Appeal. As she showed it to me, I remember the look on her face, the look that says, "I did that."
   Thank you Mom. Your gentle spirit imparted a picture of humility to your little boy, a picture of what it means to be a friend of God.

1 comment:

  1. This post brings back so many memories from my own childhood. I did not help fold bulletins on a regular basis, but I helped on occasion. However, ours were not nearly as detailed as the ones that your mother produced.
    Roast was the standard Sunday fare for us as well. My mother would serve her roast with rice, gravy, and peas. I had no idea how spoiled I was during those Sunday feast.