WELCOMING LILLIAN BELL LIPSETT

  She is tiny, beautiful, an adorable baby. Lillian Bell Lipsett was born on September 3  at 10:28 on a Saturday evening and captivated us from the moment we met her. She is our second granddaughter but I can tell already that she will certainly not be second best to anyone. Just as each child is special, each grandchild has her own unique hold on our hearts.

Lilly has a determined spirit that has already manifested itself. She is the first child of two first children. I expect she will be strong-willed and assertive in the kind and gentle manner of a Southern lady.

We met her when she was one week old and home with her parents in Arlington, Virginia. It was a hot September day and her parents and grandparents thought it would be nice to take try out the new pram and Lilly for a short walk. Lilly, at her early age, knew it was too hot for an outing. She protested for all of the Fairlington community to hear. It was a very short walk with a happy baby quickly back inside. Her mother captured the moment perfectly for all of us when she told Lilly: “You must forgive us; we’re first time parents and we make mistakes.”

They may be first time parents but they are doing an excellent job already. Lilly's parents, our son Peter and our daughter-in-law, Ann-Bailey Lynn Lipsett, are remarkable parents already, meeting her demands with a calmness and patience that even many experienced parents lack.

Lilly is surrounded by love from her parents and her two sets of grandparents. Her maternal grandparents, Beth and Jon Lynn, of Warrenton, VA, live closer to her Arlington home than we do and are a wonderful support for her and her parents. As for us, her Lipsett grandparents, I see in our future many more trips to Arlington with a stop in Charlotte to visit her cousin Addie

FALLING IN LOVE WITH ADDIE

FALLING IN LOVE WITH ADDIE

            All it took was meeting her, holding her in our arms and our first granddaughter captured our hearts. She is not only a beautiful baby; she is a good baby, allowing herself to be passed from loving arms to loving arms without a cry or complaint.

            Addilee Ruth Long was born on August 6 at 10:15 on a beautiful Saturday morning. We almost made it in time for her birth, arriving at Presbyterian Hospital in Charlotte at 2 in the afternoon. We walked into the room and our daughter, Katie, asked if we would like to hold our granddaughter. As she placed Addilee in my arms, it was love at first sight; at first holding. Addie, as she will be called, snuggled into my arms, bonding quickly with her grandma.

            She was born on a day when the headlines screamed of historic economic decline in America. Enough doom and gloom to make us wonder what kind of world this precious child had entered and what kind of future she will have. But she was also born into a family with love for her and for each other; with parents to protect her and teach her and guide her. She comes into an extended family with a long history of strong spiritual roots and faith that will be a part of her upbringing and support.

            Addie was calm on the day of her birth, not troubled by the headlines. She seemed to feel the love that surrounded her. What will the future hold for Addilee? We can’t pretend to know. But I do know that her mother and father and her grandparents will always love her and protect her. No matter what the financial chaos of the world, she will be rich in the things that matter; the things that money can not buy.

Happy Mother's Day

Motherhood is one of those things we can define both by our actions and our emotions.

Motherhood: It’s about pacing the floor at 2 a.m. with a crying child, trying to soothe both of you. It’s about pacing the floor just before midnight when your child is out on his first solo date – and driving. It’s about pacing the floor while your child is in surgery, because you need something to do and can’t sit still and time is moving so slowly.

Motherhood: It’s about praying when your child is crying and you don’t know why and nothing you do seems to offer comfort. It’s about praying when your child is away from home that he will return safely. It’s about praying when your child is in surgery that she will be healed.

Motherhood: it’s about praising your child for sleeping through the night. It’s about praising your child for acting responsibly when she’s driving. It’s about praising your child for being brave when facing sickness or adversity.

Motherhood is one of life’s greatest blessings and one of its greatest challenges. It’s the one full-time job we accept having no real training. We are able to learn some of the basic life skills, like cooking and diaper changing and chauffeuring. But most of the special things mothers do come through on the job training. You learn to accept sticky hugs without a wash cloth, lopsided clay vases without art criticism, and words spoken in anger without retaliation. You learn the value of each precious minute of time spent with a child, teaching them, playing with them, and most of all loving them.

I am thankful that I had a wonderful mother to teach me that motherhood is one of life's greatest privileges and joys. I am so very thankful that I have been blessed with the wonder of being a mother; that I have been able to watch our two children grow from tiny babies into fabulous, self-sufficient, intelligent adults.

My message to the two in our family who are about to be mothers: I wish you much joy and happiness and wonder as you spend the rest of your life pacing, praying and praising as part of the glory of motherhood.

REMEMBERING A FAMILY WWII VETERAN

Several years ago the Marietta Daily Journal ran a story about the Sons of the Confederacy wanting to honor a Confederate Soldier who had saved the lives of his fellow soldiers during the Battle of Kennesaw Mountain. The event happened near what is today the intersection of Burnt Hickory Road and Old Mountain Road. When I read the story, I realized that the hero was my great-great grandfather, Isaac Petersen Collier. He was a part of the regiment from his home county of Upson, down in middle Georgia.

I had heard versions of this story during my childhood. But it was the work of my uncle, Joel Shattles, who brought the story to life for the family. This was not the only story that he brought to life and shared with our family members.

My Uncle Joel died recently at the age of 86. He was an amazing person. After his wife of 55 years died, he found a way to work through his grief, filling his days with writing stories for his grandchildren and great grand children. He also discovered a talent and passion for family history. After moving in with his son and his family the two of them teamed up to research our family tree.

At an age when many would not want to learn something new, he went online, connecting with relatives throughout the country. Through emails and phone calls he began connecting our various family lines. As my cousin Dick wrote in Uncle Joel’s obituary, “for 12 years he worked tirelessly trying to discover Shattles family members around the country, increasing the known family count from 75 to over 4000.”

Military service is a proud tradition in our family, going back in this country to the Revolutionary War. On Monday, November 8, my Uncle Joel was buried at Arlington National Cemetery, an honor he well deserves. During WWII, he was a part of the 15th Cavalry Division and earned the Purple Heart and many other medals. Joel Richard Shattles was the ninth of 13 children, 12 of whom grew to adulthood. Of the six adult sons, including my father, five served in the military during WWII, representing all the major branches of the armed services. The youngest son, not of age for WWII, served during the Korean War. Thankfully, all returned safely.

We are all missing Uncle Joel; but his legacy will be a vital part of our family for generations to come.

HE WAS A GENTLE SPIRIT

My father had a gentle spirit. Does that sound like a trite phrase? In today’s world I don’t think we have enough masculine gentle spirits for the phrase to be trite. Father’s Day, and any day, is a good time for me to remember my own dad and his kind and gentle spirit.

(My grandmother with my Dad, right, and his twin brother, Dan)

He was loving and kind, protective and encouraging, the perfect father to me and my sister. My father, David Collier Shattles, had Parkinson’s disease from the time I was in elementary school until his death in 1986, yet, as long as possible, he continued to work and to play golf. He didn’t complain about the Parkinson’s. I never heard him use it as an excuse for not doing the things he needed to do.

He was never rich, nor famous, yet he was an inspiration to all who knew him. He worked for Eastern Air Lines for over 25 years. The employee passes allowed him to take his golf clubs for impromptu visits to his brother, Joel, in Jacksonville or other family members elsewhere and I was often his traveling buddy. My mother and sister didn’t like to fly, so, despite the passes, we never traveled to exotic beaches or the renowned golf courses. He played on the courses in the Atlanta area, enjoying the pleasures of a sport at which he excelled.

If marriage, fatherhood, golf and his work defined his later life, his early adult years were defined by his service in the Army Air Corps. He was a hero honored with many medals and knew many close brushes with death. He was a part of the crew of the Vagabond King in 1943 as part of the raid on the Ploesti Oil Fields. Later in 1943, stationed in England with the 8th Air Force, the Vagabond King was set for another mission, when my dad developed tonsillitis. It was an ill-fated mission, with my father, the only crew survivor, having been left behind in a base hospital in England to have his tonsils removed. His faith and that of his parents was very strong, and I know that their prayers were constant for the safe return of my father, his four brothers and his brothers-in-law serving our country during World War II.

His was a kind and gentle spirit, full of love for God, family, and country. I have been blessed that the men in my life, my father, my husband, and my son, all been endowed with this spirit of love toward others.

HONORING THE JOYS OF MOTHERHOOD

Our daughter called recently - called just to share some news and chat while she was out walking her dog. We talked, laughed, caught up on things going on, and then each went back to our day. But it was a brighter day because of her call.

The night before her call, a similar one from her brother brightened my evening. They are both grown-up now, living their own married lives, but we are connected by that mother-child bond that links us to one another for life. Each contact with them, every memory, reminds me of how much I love being a mother – of being their mother.

As a child, growing up in the South, Mother’s Day was always a very special holiday. One special memory is of the Mother’s Day flower, usually a rose, although a carnation would also be acceptable. In our family, we always wore a rose on Mother’s Day. The tradition is that you wore a white rose if your mother was no longer living and a red rose if she was. I can remember my mother stopping at the florist across the street from our church to pick up flowers for us. Most years, however, we found a rose bush with blooms that we could pick from. My grandmother, who went to church with us, always wore a white rose, sometimes in a corsage. It was from her that I learned what the white rose symbolized. I don’t know when the tradition faded away, but I know I seldom see anyone wearing a rose for mother’s day.

Since 1981, I have been blessed with the joy of motherhood for myself. I wish my own mother had been with us longer to enjoy more time to with her grandchildren. She would have been impressed with the individuals they have become. Each year since 1987, I have missed by own mother on Mother’s Day. I miss the conversations; the sharing of traditions; just knowing she was there.

I have to admit, when Peter was first placed in my arms, I was overjoyed but also frightened. Would I be able to keep him safe, healthy, help him grow into his potential. Having a strong help-mate in their father made it less frightening; but still, I have to admit to being an overly cautious mother. When Katie was born two years later, I was still the cautious mother. With the second child, I have heard, mothers are supposed to be far less worried about germs and bumps and bruises. But, truth be told, I still worry about them, just not as much.

Being further away from our children’s day-to-day lives, and knowing they are responsible adults, I don’t stress like I did when they were young. I still tell them to drive carefully, however, when they are going on a car trip and other such motherly advice. They are polite and take my advice in stride. We’ve also reached the point where they tell us to have a safe trip, and other such cautions. It’s nice that they are concerned about us as we are about them.

Mother’s Day has a proud history as a holiday set aside to honor each individual mother. Personally, it is not only a day for remembering my own mother, it is a day for honoring the joys that motherhood has brought to me.

THE HALLELUJAH CHORUS AND CHRISTMAS EVE

We sit in our pews, carefully holding our candles and singing Silent Night. Emotions of the evening are private as each of us brings our own thoughts of Christmas pasts prayerfully into the present. After the prayer the choir begins the Hallelujah Chorus, joined by those in the congregation who wish to do so. Everyone else stands in silent celebration as the sanctuary is overwhelmed with the joy of the birth of the new born king.

It’s the night before Christmas and all through Cobb County, as it is at the First Presbyterian Church Marietta service described above, there are voices joined in resounding joy. The secular traditions of the holiday, the frazzled days of shopping and decorating, are secondary to those of the religious celebration.

One of my Face Book friends recently asked folks to tell her about their Christmas traditions that they shared with their children. Along with several others, I began by talking about our tradition of going to the Christmas Eve service at our church. I have an idea that Christmas, more than most holidays, is one in which the traditions of our childhoods play a major role in how we celebrate as adults.

I grew up as a member of a small Southern Baptist church that didn’t have a Christmas Eve service. After I married a Presbyterian, the Eve service became a part of our own family tradition. Before children and when they were very young, we were members of the First Presbyterian Church in St. Marys, Georgia, a small historic church near the intercoastal waterway. The first Christmas after our daughter Katie was born, we set out for the church in freezing cold weather. Looking back, I am amazed that, the overprotective mother that I was, I agreed to take our little baby and her toddler-aged brother out in record setting cold – minus three or so. But it was a beautiful service and the tradition has continued no matter what the weather.

Now we are members of First Presbyterian Marietta, a much larger historic church near the Square. But the size of the church doesn’t determine the experience of the Christmas Eve service. It is the worship experience; the celebration of the birth of Christ that repeats the message of the season.

This year, making the service extra special, I will be joined in the congregation by our son, Peter, and his wife Ann-Bailey and our daughter, Katie, and her husband Drew. Allan will be in the tenor section of the choir. We will join folks all over the world participating in the celebration of Christmas, our one truly international holiday.