Xanna's Web

“One generation commends your works to another;
they tell of your mighty acts.” (Psalm 145:4)

This will be the first Mother’s Day I’ll be celebrating without any living grandmothers. I know that’s the way of the world, but it does cause you to think about where you’ve been and where you’re going.

Each of my grandmothers and great-grandmothers had special ways of serving (I was blessed with wonderfully diverse experiences, from very traditional homemakers to very non-traditional career women). But beyond all the practical things they did, each woman served as the family hub for her generation. They were the ones who drew us together, negotiated truces behind the scenes when there was a tiff, told stories of our ancestors, bounced the new generation of babies, prayed us through crises, encouraged us to keep close to God and to each other.  And when one of those hubs passes from this earthly life, the mantle must be passed to the next generation.

Five generations: My great-grandmother, Valeria Jackson; my grandparents, Vernon and Ruthe Jackson; my mother, Xanna Young; and baby Katie. Taken in 1988.

I’m blessed to have a mother who takes these things seriously, along with many other members of our family.  They are connectors, hubs in their own right, determined to keep our family intact regardless of how the winds blow.  My mother’s been showing me all along how it’s done, just as her mother and grandmothers showed her.

One of the most beautiful things about my mom is to see how she sustains the web of relationships she has woven over the years.  When I was five, we moved to Brenham, a place where Mom knew very few people – but she marched in there with her gravity-defying beehive and began her magic. I remember being outside with kids from the neighborhood as she, the former cheerleader, taught us to do cartwheels. Those kids had mothers, too, and coffee was shared and friendships begun that would be important in the years ahead. 

Many of those same cartwheeling girls became members of the Girl Scout troop that Mom led for twelve years. Over campfires and cook-out food and a living room full of cookie boxes, she blessed each one with a listening ear and a ready laugh.  

As my brother got older and started playing baseball, my dad was the coach … but that was just another place where relationships were built. She knew all those boys’ names and still sees them around town, where she’s greeted by a “Miz Young” and a smile.

Mom built similar webs at church, Washington County Electric, Brenham High School, Mt. Vernon Mills, State Farm, Faith Mission – a host of people who freely exchange love and friendship, kids kept up with, deaths mourned, encouraging words spoken. Those Girl Scouts and band kids and baseball players and  grocery sackers and co-workers still feel the connection to her after all these years. She was recently honored for 20 years as a volunteer reader at the elementary school – it’s hard to imagine how many lives she has touched. And I can’t even fathom the size of her birthday card list! If you’re celebrating, struggling, or ill, count on a card from her and a prayer behind it. 

This same love for deep connection has carried through to her grandchildren.  Mom and Dad made a commitment early on to be part of each birthday celebration for their grandkids – and I can only think of a time or two when they didn’t make it.  Six grandkids … that’s over a hundred road trips to Abilene or Missouri or Grand Prairie or Houston or Dallas, not including graduations and concerts and plays!  And just like Boo Boo did, she's still sending birthday cards to all of the great-nieces and great-nephews, aunts and uncles and cousins, showing that you can still stay connected, even if separated by location or age.

If you measure wealth by relationships, Mom is a millionaire! And those of us who have been touched by her are grateful recipients of that wealth, entrusted with passing it on, just as it was passed on to her. So, happy Mother’s Day, Mom! I’m so glad to be part of your wonderful web.

 * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

 “You have been my friend," replied Charlotte. "That in itself is a tremendous thing...after all, what's a life anyway? We're born, we live a little while, we die...By helping you, perhaps I was trying to lift up my life a trifle. Heaven knows anyone's life can stand a little of that.” – E. B. White, Charlotte’s Web

A southern wind

A southern wind has stretched the clouds as thin as filament,
threads intricately woven into the stark blue fabric of the winter sky.

A swaying tree lifts her branches
in thankfulness and expectation that change is near,
even now budding within her branches,
pressing to escape the bonds of dormancy.

Hints of the tropics are borne on the stiff breeze,
reminders of a sloop setting a tack across the wind
with the melody of laughing voices as the backdrop,
the smells of summer and sun and the sea
calling us from winter into spring.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Summer and winter, and springtime and harvest,

Sun, moon and stars in their courses above,

Join with all nature in manifold witness,
To Thy great faithfulness, mercy and love.

Great is Thy faithfulness!  Great is Thy faithfulness!

Morning by morning new mercies I see.

All I have needed Thy hand hath provided;

Great is Thy faithfulness, Lord, unto me.

 

Born for adversity

Nineteen months after I was born, my brother, Jay, came into the world. It’s safe to say that our relationship had its ups and downs. We spent many happy hours swimming, playing, and concocting mischief (it’s a wonder we didn’t burn the house down). On the flip side, my parents endured endless squabbling (He’s on my side!  She’s breathing my air! He’s looking at me! He touched me!), pranks (Jay loved loved loved to scare me), and physical poundings on our way to adulthood.

However, no matter our differences, there was an intrinsic desire to protect each other from whatever threats the world might throw at us. My grandparents told of a time where Jay got in trouble for something and they were reprimanding him.  I apparently told them to “stop talking to my brother that way!” I also remember mutual plots to overcome the evil empire of babysitters – the wig incident comes to mind (sorry, Miss Harbert).

As we grew older and didn’t have the physical proximity needed to continue our sibling feuds, things smoothed out between us, and I was glad. It was the start of getting to know each other all over again. Who knew there was so much to learn?

I’ve watched Jay live a full and beautiful life. It has not always been easy. As with many of us, he has fully experienced “the thrill of victory and the agony of defeat.” Through it all, I’ve seen a man clinging to God, growing with God, loving his family, serving his church, doing his best to be a man of integrity in his workplace. Jay has a lovely creative streak that he shares in art, music, and craftsmanship – you haven’t lived until you’ve received a hand-drawn birthday card from him or seen his hand-crafted woodwork.

So today, as Jay celebrates 50 years of God’s goodness, I am thankful. Thankful that he has refused to let hardship define him forever, but is instead taking the lessons learned and looking forward with hope. Thankful that he is pouring the best of himself into Caleb, Sidney, Ethan and Katelyne. Thankful that we survived our fractious youth and made it to this time of friendship. Thankful that I can always know he has my back, and he can always know I have his.

Happy birthday, Jay! I love you.

A friend loves at all times, and a brother is born for a time of adversity. (Proverbs 17:17)