A BLOG FOR MY ANCESTORS: mothers

Grace

God's Grace has blessed me over and over again throughout my life. Over the past few days I have been pondering one of the many miracles that He performed in my life during the darkest of days.

I had just left the Women and Children in Crisis Center with my daughters. The youngest was just two and half. We had returned to our family home after a judge granted us the house through a protective order. Our lives had imploded and I felt shell-shocked and full of the fear of the unknown. Each day was a challenge as I would rise wearily from a sleepless night and put on a happy face for my children. The dark shadows of anger and rage was now gone within our home and this brought me great relief.

However, I was faced with heaping bills of debt, a house that was in the early stages of foreclosure, legal fees, and consistent threats of and violations of the protective order. I had no idea how I was going to meet all of the financial obligations of the family, including all of the debt left behind for me to assume completely, on just my teacher's salary.

I was fearful of losing my job, especially if my personal problems leaked out and patrons of the school heard of them and were worried about safety issues. I didn't fully understand the social stigmas associated with domestic violence until I was in the midst of trying to escape it. I was beginning to realize that people, hearing stories through the media or having innate fears or misunderstandings of their own, could pull away and back off and not want any part of something that they didn't understand.

This realization came to me like a blow to the face when my daughter's daycare provider came to me and told me she could no longer watch my youngest daughter. This woman felt like I may of over-reacted by filing a protective order and that she couldn't support me in my decision to leave my husband and that I needed to find a new baby-sitter. Apparently, my husband at the time went to her and tearfully told her a story. I don't know exactly what was said, but it was enough to convinced her to pass judgement on me and refuse to watch my daughter.

I was shocked and hurt, but mostly so very worried about who would care for my daughter now while I worked. What if others from my place of employment or parents of the children in my classroom, what if they felt the same way? What if this whole thing (wanting to free my children from witnessing violence at home and wanting my own freedom from humiliating physical and psychological abuse) caused me to lose my job?

How would I support my children? How would I feed them? Where would we live? What if we had to move? The children would lose their friends at school and church. The only support systems they had ever known. I began to panic. What if I was wrong? Doubt filled my mind. I began to doubt myself. Then I could hear the voice of the adversary repeating the words spoken to me often throughout my marriage, “I told you no one would believe you. You are crazy. You always over react. What an idiot. Without me you're nothing.”

I ended up in fetal position on my bed that night. The girls were already asleep. It was a Friday. I remember being grateful to have the weekend to get myself together before the work week started again and I was bombarded with more unknowns. My prayer was just three words at first. Help, Help, Help! I repeated them over and over again in my mind.

Then, I remember calling out to God reminding Him in a childish way. You promised to help me. You led me to the shelter and brought me here. What do I do? These are your daughters too. I know you love them. You loved them first before they ever came to me. Please, help me know how to take care of them. Protect them from all of this. Please Father, just put a bubble around them that can deflate all the negativity, sorrow, and pain. I will take is all for them. Just help me protect them from having to suffer because of the actions of a parent.

Bella's blessing day and McKenna's baptism day!

Finally and from exhaustion, I stopped speaking and slinging words up to heaven. I laid in silence and wept and then very slowly I felt the anxiety slowly dissipate and I heard the sweetest words in my mind, "I am HERE. Wendy, I am here! I have ALWAYS been here and I am waiting for you to give me your burden. Lay it at my feet!" My heart began to overflow with love and soon, I was sobbing with gratitude. Peace entered my soul and I felt calm and protected.

Then, the scripture came to me take my yoke upon you and learn of me; for I am meek and lowly in heart and ye shall find rest unto your souls. I had heard this scripture many times in my life but in that moment it became so real to me. I had been trying to carry this immense burden alone and was buckling under the weight of it. All I had to do was surrender and give it to Him. He who knows all the sorrows of the world and is the only great Healer of hearts. The last impression I remember feeling that night before finally fell fast asleep, was that everything would work out and that I needed to ask for help at church on Sunday.

Throughout the next day as I went about my duties, I had to continually visualize in my mind wrapping up my burden in a bundle or package and literally laying it at the feet of Jesus. Or I would visualize two Oxen yoked to together and then visualize my Savior standing next to me helping me carry my burden. If I didn't do this I would fill myself slipping back into that fearful, anxious state I had found myself the day earlier.

The next day was Sunday and I was craving the peace that I would find there as I worshipped with others. I was nervous about asking for help. Some of my close friends knew about the details of my marriage ending but I had done a very good job of keeping everything a secret for many years. So, many people were shocked and I expected there was confusion and talking, but I didn't care. I was mostly worried that some would misjudge me. However, if I began to feel fearful of that or of the future I would remember those sweetly and simple words, I am here!

I asked the Relief Society President to announce for me in the Sunday meeting for the adult women, that I needed a new babysitter for my youngest child immediately and that I wouldn't be able to pay much, if anything for a while. I felt slightly humiliated asking for a handout but was desperate for help and then I went to sit in the Young Women's class (youth class) where I served at the time.

After church was over and people were exiting the building, one of the ladies walked right up to me in the hallway. She grabbed me smiling and said, "I want to watch Bella!" I couldn't believe it! I was on the verge of tears, I tried to explain, but I can't pay you much, if hardly anything." I started crying then and her eyes filled with tears. She said, "Wendy, I want to take care of Bella! I am not doing it for money. I want to care for Bella." I was overcome with gratitude.

How do you thank a woman who is willing to step into your place as a mother, when you can't be there yourself? How I ached to be with my daughter all day, but that was not a possibility for me and so the Lord provided a way for my daughter to still be loved and nurtured and He soothed my aching heart in the process.

This sweet sister had two older sons the same ages as my two older daughters. She had not been blessed with anymore children after that and I know her heart ached for more. Bella would help fill a void in her life too.

This Christ-like sister was a surrogate mother to my daughter for over two years. She loved, taught, and nurtured her in her home. Bella received her undivided and loving attention during a very difficult time in our lives. This situation ended up being so much better than the daycare Bella had originally been attending. The Lord was well aware of Bella's needs and He knew both of our motherly hearts as well. He had lovingly orchestrated the entire thing.

To others it may seem like a simple story full of coincidences. I know different. Through the Grace of God it was one of many miracles that occurred during those dark days of my life. Those miracles were like beacons of light that illuminated my path helping me see how and what I needed to do to help my children.

I never felt truly alone as a single mother during those years. I felt God's hand in my life constantly and whenever I turned to Him, He helped show me the way. He put others in my path who were earthly angels, inspired to administer to the needs of my daughters. He was always actively helping me raise my precious daughters. All I had to do was ask and for this I will be eternally grateful. Our Father in Heaven is the Father of us all. He knew and loved our own children first. He knows and loves them still and He will always help us in our divine role as a mother. All we need to do is call upon Him and His Grace and He will lead us lovingly home.

My daughters and I together at Sariah's wedding in 2012

5:42 PM
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The Privilege of Motherhood

adoption

Our children don't always come to us the traditional way. My mother became an insta-mom when she married my father. My dad and my older sister Angela were a packaged deal. My sister has always appreciated our mother in a very special way, because she had to live six of her youngest years without her.

My parents, Jim and Penney Griffith with their oldest daughter, Angela (front-right)
as the flower girl at their wedding reception. Penney, adopted Angie when she was 6 years old.

As I was organizing my mother's papers I found the following talk she had written about Angela, me, and the blessing of being a mother. It touched my heart and helped me remember how blessed I am to be her daughter and what it means to be a mother.

Heavenly Father blessed me right away with motherhood as Angela (our little 6 year old) came with her daddy to our marriage. As our wedding day approached she would always say, "our wedding", meaning the three of us or "we're getting married". Then as many of you know, the 3 of us were blessed very soon with a little angel from heaven, our Wendy Joy.

Six year old Angela is on the far left. She is standing in the receiving line of our parents wedding. She was so excited for this special day- the day that she was getting a mama. She appreciates our mother in a special way, probably because she had to live her six youngest years without her.

Our children bring much joy into our lives. Even when the days are stormy as just last Friday when Angie took sick. After the bad night, she was feeling fine the next morning and her little "I love my mama", sent a ray of sunlight through the clouds. As I was preparing this talk, she said, "Isn't it nice to be a mama?!" Yes, it is!

Jim and I marvel at this wonderful miracle called birth which you especially think about when you have a new little one in the house. She can't talk, and yet looking into those baby eyes, there is a true testimony of the existence of a Divine Creator. How privileged and grateful I feel to have been given a small measure of His creative power in my role as a mother. to know that you have been a part of this creation is the greatest blessing given to man and woman.

My older sister Angie and me. She was so happy to be a 'big sister'.

There is an old proverb which states, "Since God could not be everywhere at once, He created mothers." Along with the joy and happiness associated with motherhood, there comes much responsibility.

Our responsibility as women starts ever before our marriage. It is important to keep high standards, for each child born into the world has the right to be well born of goodly parents. Then as our children are born to us, we acquire the responsibility of rearing them, shaping their character, molding their thoughts, planting in them high ideals, righteous purposes, and faith in God.

Jim and Penney Griffith on their wedding day 3/31/67

Orson Pratt said, "Let each mother commence with her children when young, not only to teach and instruct them, but to chasten and bring them into the most co-operation. For then is the time when they are most easily trained and their tender minds are the most susceptible of influence and government."

My sister Angie sporting a swimming cap and hugging me

When you have a child of your own, you come to truly think of the great principle of pre-existence and how just a short time ago this little one was in the presence of our Heavenly Father, so very pure and innocent as to the ways of this mortal life. This makes me so aware of the complete dependence they have on us to supply their very need. A child's greatest security comes from a pure and unselfish motherly love.

A little word, a simple word and yet it means so much. Love is the strongest force, and underneath it's magic touch a heart unfolds. Just like a flower that opens to the sun. This is the sweetest thing in life, when all is said and done.

"The mother's image is the first that stamps itself on the unwritten page on a young child's mind. It is her caress that first awakens a sense of security: her kiss, the first realization of affection; her sympathy and tenderness, the first assurance that there is love in the world..." -David O. McKay

Mama and Me

In my short experience of motherhood, I find one of the great blessings is all that we learn from our children. Ora Pate Stewart expresses this in her poem, Lullaby,

We have come to the end of a busy,

You have come for a good-night song,

And although you think I am singing for you,

You have sung for me all along.

Your dear little lips, when you kiss me good-night,

Are as sweet as an angel caress;

And your soft little arms, when you hold me

so tight,

Are the total of happiness.

Then folding your hands in a dimpled clasp,

And climbing upon my knee-

With your head half bowed

And your eyes half closed-

"Bless Daddy and Mama and me."

Today's been a day of correction for you,

I've mingled my tears with your own.

And tonight I am wondering who has taught best,

For I've not been teaching alone.
_______________________________________________

My mother, Penney Louise Smith Griffith wrote and shared this message on her first Mother's Day, after my birth in 1968. She was speaking to a congregation of members of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints in Laguna Beach, California. I know that because of her loving and righteous influence her posterity has been and will be blessed.

My mother taught me what it means to be a mother. I have learned that being a good mother doesn't mean I have to be perfect at the art of mothering. Part of being a good mother means that I should be perfect in knowing that I am not and that I should forgive myself for that fact. Teaching forgiveness should be Number 1 on The List of Things to Teach Children First (even before potty training). It's essential to good mothering, to be good at both forgiving and asking for forgiveness.

My children will be better prepared for their own role as a parent if they know how to forgive well. So when they have that thunder-crashing moment - the moment when a young parent first realizes that they aren't and never will be the ideal parent that they imagined because that ideal doesn't exist, anywhere (including Instagram) - I hope they will forgive themselves quickly for that and then move on.

When my adult children reflect on how I parented them, I think that what they'll remember first is that I loved them something fiercely and consistently through both my actions and words, however imperfect it might have been at times. And that this devotion and love, mingled with forgiveness, humility, and constant learning, is what it takes to be a good parent. I anticipate that they will learn quickly (as I did) that the key to successful parenting is to never stop trying to be the best parent you can be while accepting and learning from your flaws.

And so there will be stormy days, but mostly sunny and that's OK, because isn't it nice to be a mama.

Me and Mama 1986

Me and Mama on my wedding day January 2013

I am so grateful for my beautiful daughters, all that they have taught me,
and all that I have learned being their mama.
Here we are together on Sariah's wedding day.

My mother, Penney had 4 daughters (no sons) and each of her daughters had only daughters. Penney has 10 granddaughters and no grandsons. Her first great-grandson came through my oldest sister Angie. Angie's daughter Bryn has two sons, the oldest is Tristyn and he gets the title of being the first boy born into the family in 3 generations.

12:50 AM
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Healing Through Family History

adversity

I am fortunate to have many strong women in my family. These women are my grandmothers, sisters, mothers, aunts, cousins, daughters and nieces. They come in all ages and generations. There is one aunt in particular whom I feel extremely grateful to in this moment of my life. Her name is Zera Diane. She was named after her father. He was a rough, sheep-herding, Idaho bred cowboy who had a heart of gold. It is fitting that she would be named after him since in my opinion, she is so much like him - a tough cowgirl with a heart of gold.

My Grandpa Zera Griffith hugging his mother, Mary Jane Sharp Griffith Lyons

My Aunt Zera Diane.
She was named after her father Zera.

My Grandfather, Zera Griffith .

I remember that as a child I would hear stories about her from my father or see pictures and I was mesmerized. She was like a female super hero to me. My dad was her younger brother. He often told us about the times that he was being bullied at school and that is how he learned to be a high school track star. He learned the Forest Gump way, by out-running the bullies.

One day a group of ruffians had finally caught and cornered him and were taking turns at kicking and hitting him. When all of a sudden a screeching noise accompanied by a flash of a dark hair catapulted over the fence behind my father. My aunt landed between the bullies and her little brother. She began taking each one down quickly with her fists flying. A few boys ran away terrified before she finished off the pack of bullies. This story blew me away. I couldn't even imagine a girl taking down a gang of boys. She was a fearless, tough young woman. I tried to imagine what it would feel like to be that brave.

L-R Siblings - Jaci, Zera Diane (my aunt and hero), and James (my father).

Zera Diane is still as intelligent, and beautiful, as she is brave. She knows how to ride, rope, train, and show a horse. I remember visiting her at her ranch in California where she successfully raised and trained pedigree poodles and also taught belly dancing lessons. Yes, she was an exotic beauty and when she danced the ancient dance of the Middle East, I felt like I was in the pages of Arabian Nights. She was Jasmine before Disney even had a Jasmine.

As a child I didn't have many individual interactions with her. I knew her as Aunt Diane. We lived in Utah and she lived in California. When we did have family get-togethers I was always with the rest of the children playing, or observing her from the sidelines with my mouth agape while she did something spectacular. There was one time when I was about 10 and I had her to myself in the kitchen of her ranch house in California. We were visiting and I had served myself a much too large heap of potato chip casserole which I was refusing to finish. Everyone else was long gone and I was sitting stoic and stubborn at the table. She looked me in the face and sternly said, "You will finish this before you get down from this table!" Well, that settled it. I slowly started chewing the soggy chips as I watched her finish cleaning dishes at the sink. There was no way I was going to cross her. I knew what she was capable of and I highly respected her strength. I felt strangely proud that no one but my Aunt could get me to eat that casserole because that was pretty much the same as winning.

My aunt is an incredible mother of three. Her children are her life. As a young mother, she included them in all she did. My cousins knew how to ride horses, train and show poodles, and they even danced with their mother. They were an integral part of her everyday life: A life rich with talent, success, and sorrow.

There are chapters of great loss and sorrow throughout my Aunt's life story, which are her own moments containing details too sacred and personal for anyone else to share but her. However, I need to mention only that they occurred in order to explain my deep respect and admiration for this woman. This respect for her became fuller and more profound when I learned and watched her deal with great adversity. She was a widow at 27 with two young children. She lost two of her children in tragic car accidents just 4 years apart from one another. Codi Ann Ekins was only 20 when she passed away and Dean Griffith Ekins was 29 at the time of his death. She has experienced betrayal and divorce. She is a true survivor!

Diane and Paul Ekins (Paul passed away leaving Diane a widow
at 27 years with 2 young children)

Recently I had the opportunity to visit my Aunt Diane in her little island home off the coast of Washington State. She is a proud grandmother now and even though she recently turned 76, she is just as beautiful as ever. Despite painful and debilitating arthritis, my aunt always has a kind word for someone and a smile on her face. I loved every moment we spent together talking, as she shared story upon story about our family history. She is our family historian and has assembled documents and photos during countless hours of research throughout the last two decades. She turned her sorrow and loss into a quest for knowledge and information about our ancestors and inadvertently healed herself by doing family history.

Me and my Aunt Zera Diane during my trip to Washington State 2015

She told me many stories on that trip, but there is one in particular that I cannot stop thinking about. It is a story about a mother and her daughters. The mother in the story is my great, great-grandmother Ella Belle Peck. Ella was the wife of a wealthy surgeon in Michigan. She was known in social circles and her comings and goings were often mentioned in the local paper. Despite wealth, education, and the best medical care available in the late 1800’s. Ella and her husband Walter were only blessed with one child for many years. Her name was Flora and she was named after her mother's sister.

Dr. Walter Scott Jones, Flora Jones, and Ella Belle Peck

In 1894 and at the age of 16, Flora unexpectedly died of a stomach ailment (which we now know was probably appendicitis). Her parents were devastated. Her mother beyond consolation and in her grief, built a mausoleum to house the body of her beloved daughter which she entombed in a glass casket. Ella would visit daily her daughter's body at the cemetery. She would take the horse and buggy and read the bible sometimes by candlelight to her daughter.

This is the mausoleum in Michigan that Dr. Walter Scott Jones and his wife Ella Belle built to house the body of their beloved Flora. Her name is etched in the large, white, rectangular slab of cement above the arch. This is where Ella came and read her bible daily after the death of her daughter.

Two years after Flora's passing, Ella and Walter were blessed and surprised to find they were expecting. In 1896, Ella gave birth to another little girl, whom they named Evah Belle. This little girl was my great-grandmother. She was a miracle baby born to her aging parents and brought them joy once again.

Ella Belle Peck Jones and Evah Belle Jones

Little Evah would soon come to know sorrow herself and at a very young age. Her father Walter died when she was just eight years old and her mother Ella passed away just three years later from consumption, which she most likely contracted from the damp cold hours she spent in the mausoleum. My great-grandmother Evah was an orphan at eleven and shipped off to live in an orphanage in California. She married very young and then struggled to raise four children (Eva Veatis, Mary Lou Anno, Pearl Loraine Anno, and Charles Edward Anno) on her own during the Great Depression. She lived a much different life than I am sure her wealthy and educated parents had envisioned for her.

While my Aunt related these stories to me in detail and how she uncovered them bit by bit through newspaper clippings and family documents, she became extremely emotional. She explained, with tears streaming down her face, how connected she felt to her maternal great-grandmother Ella Belle. She said, “I knew exactly the pain that she was feeling when she sat by her daughter's body and felt that great loss that only a mother that has lost a child can understand. I knew the questions and concerns that she was searching to find answers for in the bible."

She went on to explain the connection, empathy, and love she felt for this woman and as she spoke, I felt it too.

I also felt this extreme sense of strength, respect, and responsibility. I felt strong knowing that I come from a long line women who can rise above devastating sorrow and pain. I revered them for their strength and tenacity and I felt extremely responsible to somehow tell their stories. I knew I needed to document my Aunt's words and stories and share them with my family. I wanted my daughters and nieces and sisters to know. I wanted my entire family to know these stories and so that is why I am starting this blog, A Blog for My Ancestors. This blog will be a place where their voices may be heard and their faces seen and their lives celebrated!

Evah's Daughters and Ella Belle's Grand-daughters
- Eva Veatis, Mary Lou Anno, Pearl Loraine Anno (My grandmother)

11:59 PM
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Grace

The Privilege of Motherhood

Healing Through Family History

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