MOM director remembers mom

Ever walk among tombstones, reading names and dates? Of course you have. In my favorite cemetery, there’s Mary Gruen, 1918—2005. That humble statement is all that fittingly adorns my mom’s tombstone. Most tombstones say that much—no more, no less.

Ever wonder what lies behind that little “em dash” between the dates? I have. Never underestimate that tiny punctuation mark, for it fills in the long gap between birth and death. What one does to flesh out that little “—” makes all the difference.

By the way, that same packed-with-meaning punctuation mark is also evident in a resumé, where it indicates tenure, as in “1997—present” (my tenure at Middleton Outreach Ministry). With two staff turnovers at MOM, while I’ve been away on sabbatical, the Personnel Committee has been busy reading many resumés punctuated with “em dashes.” Their task is to find out what people have done in their respective tenures. Like most employers, MOM will hire the one with the most promising “dash”!

Allow me, as a Mother’s Day tribute, to flesh out the dash that simply and humbly defines my mother’s life and death—and service in between. Four vignettes shall help you think along similar lines regarding your own mom.

Mary Gruen first celebrated Mothers’ Day as a new mom in 1950, the year she gave birth to me. That, of course, was her first legacy to me—life, but she also passed along the legacy of faith. I came to faith in college February 27, 1971, when I experienced a “second birth” at the height of the Jesus Movement, amidst the Vietnam War protest era. When calling home to say, “I found Christ,” my mom had a testimony of her own to share with me, then added, “I have been praying for you, for this moment, six years now.” So it is my mom who preceded me and interceded for me in matters of faith.

Mary Gruen is also the one who gifted me and led me into a life of serving others with the love of God. She was a throwback to that era of stay-at-home moms who were fulltime volunteers—in the school (president of the PTA), in scouts (den mother), in her church (treasurer, newsletter editor, quilter), in the neighborhood (community organizer).

A divorce from Dad late in life forced her into fulltime personnel and paralegal work for ten years. But in 1984, when Mom retired to Cape Cod, she again became a fulltime volunteer. She served many years as treasurer at her adopted church, treasurer to the Alzheimer’s Association, and to the Lower Cape Outreach (a nonprofit very much like Middleton Outreach Ministry). She also worked in a walk-in medical clinic and drove the elderly on appointments—much like a POP volunteer with MOM! Mom also volunteered extensively for the historical society and various arts, education and philanthropic groups.

In 1994 Mary Gruen retired (again), this time to the Kendal Retirement Community outside Philadelphia, where she volunteered for another 11 years—giving hospice care, childcare and neighbor care to many, and making quilts for the homeless in Philly.

When I asked Mom on more than one occasion, “What makes you keep on going and giving as much as you do?” she harkened back to a life-changing meeting with Mother Teresa in Calcutta. Mother Teresa, upon greeting her guests, took Mary’s hand in both of hers, saying, “I don’t want your money. When you return home, I want you to look about you. When you look, I want you to see. And what you see, I want you to do something about.”

Of course, Mary Gruen did just that. She adopted the poor as her life’s calling. I am merely following in her footsteps—even on sabbatical. My ‘vacation-with-a-purpose’ and ‘faith journey’ to New Orleans (gutting out flood-damaged homes, February 12-20), to Nicaragua (building onto a free health clinic and bearing witness to the displaced poor, March 10-21), and to an undisclosed location in Michigan (where Sue and I renewed our life together and life with God, April 17-21)—all of that has been life-changing.

You’ve read about some of those changes in this column. Little did I know at the time, but such journeys outward have also prepared me for the journey inward—that is, the hard work of grief that has preoccupied me the last few weeks. Memorial services still lie ahead: Dad on May 28 in Dayton (Ohio), and Mom on June 25 on Cape Cod. Both gravesite services will be with extended family gathered from all over this country and beyond, and both tributes are meant to focus on legacy issues—what one generation passes on to the next.

Mary Gruen’s legacy will be the loving example she set for her family to make a positive, lasting difference in our neighbor’s lives. But there is also her legacy of hope, which came to me on “9/11” of 2005—at the tail end of Mom’s little em dash.

When you’re little, your parents seem immortal. They’re not. Sooner or later, most of us get the kind of call I got on 9/11 last year. In my case, I was told that my mom had 48 hours to live. As it turned out, she lived out the whole week, and I was able to “enjoy,” if that is the right word, a very meaningful and tearful 5-day vigil.

No matter what the circumstances, the death of someone you love always shocks your system. Suddenly, a mind-numbing list of arrangements must be made. Thankfully, that was not the case with my mom. Her funeral arrangements had been made well in advance and paid for years ago, including her tombstone.

What a blessing. But Mom had made much more important pre-arrangements for the day she died, and those arrangements were the greatest blessing of all. Years ago, as a young mom of two teenagers, she made a decision to repent of her sins and place her life in the hands of a faithful Creator and Redeemer. That meant abundance of life, here and now, as well as assurance of an eternal life in heaven with her beloved Lord. What a blessed hope!

These are the most important arrangements any of us will ever make—or fail to make.
God knows we’re so busy living that we don’t give much thought to dying. In fact, we generally try to avoid thinking about death as much as possible. My wife Suzanne, for one, has yet to make a will and has put this off for the fifteen years of our marriage. Next week, finally, we are taking care of that.

I’m not trying to be morbid. There is no greater peace, no greater security or hope, than to know your arrangements for eternity and a legacy for your heirs have all been made. This was my mom’s final legacy to me—a courageous and peaceful way to embrace death.

This Mother’s Day I invite you to reflect on whatever legacy your mom has passed along to you. Then ask yourself, How has the next generation learned from or benefited from that legacy?

Next month, closer to Father’s Day, I share my “like father-like son” reflections upon Dad’s death in March 2006, enjoining you to do the same regarding your dad.

© 2005 Middleton Outreach Ministry

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