Mother’s Day


In 1933, June Kirby, my mother-in-law, lost her father – drowned in a duck-hunting accident. June’s mother went from being a house-wife in her own home to having to board the children on their grandparent’s farm, back up in the woods, and scrubbing floors for wealthy people in the city – only seeing her children on weekends. June, only ten years old, memorized this prayer and prayed it every night for her mother:

“Dear Father, Keep my mother in the stillness of the night. And let her sleep refreshingly until the morning’s light. Please help her as she goes about her loving work each day – just doing things for all of us in her own precious way. And make her happy as she makes us time and time again. And bless her always – please dear God – for Jesus sake, Amen.”

June, on the farm, 2nd from right.

My own excellent mother died in 2009. She was smart, quite beautiful, and wise. She taught me right from wrong and to look to the Lord in every situation. She was the life of every party, and hotter than a pistol when confronted by injustice. She was no one to mess with and she always knew where she was going. After her death, my father found a note she’d left him. “Eastern Gate, Golden Gate, I want to see you there.” Even in death, she knew where she was going.

Virginia Eastvold

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