Living in Full Color

My mother lived her life in full color. Her life palette embraced them all, mixing and blending until her masterpiece was finished.

Red, my daddy's favorite color, was deep and never wavered. Mom's love for him was always evident and expressed. She kept the red bright with little honeymoons scattered throughout their 60 years. I don't think anyone ever heard her criticize Daddy, even covered with humor. Her example lives on in the marriages of her three children.

Mom was the pink of caring and tenderness. "Bless your baby heart" is one phrase we all miss. Somehow things always seemed better after we heard those words. She had a tender heart towards everyone.

The joy of yellow was apparent in her. "Sometimes you have to make your own sunshine." She saw no reason to grumble and complain. Through the years I've been thankful she taught me joy was not synonymous with happiness.

Blue's peace was her banner. When someone was upset with her she did whatever she could to bring peace between them. Many times if I was present when someone was unkind to her, she came back and said, "Now they asked forgiveness for saying what they did, so we should forgive them." Even when the apology was, "I meant what I said, but I shouldn't have said it in that way." And when we didn't understand why the same person acted ugly repeatedly, she'd say, "We'll just have to put that in the mystery bag." When I told her my mystery bag was full, she said, "Oh, no. The mystery bag is made from elastic."

Mom's robes of purple were well deserved. She may not have come from royalty, but you'd never know it by her rearing. The purple mixed with lavender's femininity, grace and elegance. She was a lady through and through. Her despair for making a lady out of me was often expressed.

Orange's enthusiasm for all my projects is one of the things I miss most. She was always interested in every word I wrote, and in all my craft projects. If I was trying it, she wanted to also. We laughed, and said we had more fun shopping for materials for our projects than actually making them. We wove baskets, macramed plant hangers, cross stitched, embroidered, quilled, even tried the paints for liquid embroidery, scrapbooked and made cards by the dozen. I'd make a royal mess on the craft table, while my mother's spot was as neat as mine was messy. 

Her green generosity reached everyone. She was happiest when tying a bow around a tiny gift, baking a pie for an adult special needs man, writing a letter or card to her friends or someone from her church and conference. She was pen pals with children. She kept a drawer filled with small gifts, so when God prompted her to give she would have something available. Both my sister and I have our own "drawer." 

The brown of hearth and home was at the top of her list. She never went to Tupperware or Home Interior parties in the evening. If it wasn't a daytime party, she ordered something but wouldn't attend. In the years she didn't have to provide transportation for us to get to school, I remember only one time she wasn't home when we got home from school, and that was the day Daddy cut the top of his finger off and she had to race him to the hospital. Our little house in Glen Campbell was turned into a home with her decorating and warm touches.

Modesty's gray was evident in her outward appearance. She believed in stylish but modest. She didn't think you had to be sloppy and out-of-style to be modest.

Mom loved white. It was a blank canvas to add color to. Yet, in her spiritual life, white was reverence to God and kept pristine. She was active in her church, yet when she was elsewhere Jesus shined through her life.

Although black is not a color we like to think about, it touches all our lives. Mom lost her mother while still a young mother herself. Her first grandbaby lived only a short while, and our Sarah only 8 months. She lost her best friend to an aneurysm and a son-in-law to a massive heart-attack. Yet in all these times she mourned through the words of Job, "The Lord giveth and the taketh away, blessed be the name of the Lord."

My mother's beautiful artwork was amazing, but the colors of her soul painted a much brighter canvas. I can only hope to use her paintbrush.

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