Repeated Lessons

My mother came from a line of Polish immigrants. They were farmers and hard workers. Life was difficult but simple. We often spoke about this rich heritage after we moved in together in early 2014. Mom's advancing years had graciously spared her any loss of memory so the accounts of life she relived through our numerous conversations were precious to me. I only wish I'd recorded them for posterity. Now, I must rely on my own shoddy memory--not nearly as good as mom's.

One of those accounts was about her own mother, Mary Rose Redmond Muroski. I have little recollection of this imposing woman. One of eleven children raised on a farm in the small town of Johnsonburg, Pennsylvania, my memories are only of a frail woman no longer able to speak due to cancer of the larynx-- on a death bed in the dining room of my parents home. She died when I was five years old.

Mary was only allowed to attend school until the 6th grade because her chores were essential to keeping the farm productive and her duties were prescribed at her birth just as those of her remaining siblings. Mom told the story countless times about how Grandma Muroski excelled in her classes at the small grade school on Dill Hill. She was a model student who loved learning. On the last day of class in that 6th grade year, Mary cried and cried. Her grades were excellent and she knew that she would not be returning to school the next year. The incessant crying and almost hysterical behavior concerned the teacher so she personally visited "Babci"--the Polish name of endearment given to my Great-Grandmother. Her concern for the child's well-being convinced the farmer's wife to allow Mary to attend another year of sixth grade, despite her good grades. Mary's tears of sadness quickly changed to tears of joy as she now had an additional year to learn.

This is perhaps one of my favorite stories from mom. It was one I heard as a child whenever I complained about school. What a wonderful line of strong women.

"Babci" (second from left) and Mary Rose (fourth from left) of the Redmonds.

Thomas Boylan · Repeatedlessons.WAV

Mom And God Calling

"May we make God's merciful love ever more

evident in our world through dialogue,

mutual acceptance and fraternal cooperation."

~Pope Francis

"God Calling" is a well-known book of spiritual guidance written by two anonymous women in the early part of the 20th Century. The only thing I know about these ladies is what little is available in the introduction to the book--they were anything but wealthy, they lived together, were both deeply spiritual and resided in England. From the brief introduction, written by one of the "two listeners" as they called themselves, the writer states, "...we were not in any way psychic or advanced in spiritual growth, but just very ordinary human beings, who had had more suffering and worry than the majority and who had known tragedy after tragedy." Sometime in the early 1980s, my mom's best friend, a dear lady named Pat, gave her a copy of this book. She started reading from it faithfully each day--making of it a regular part of her daily "prayer time." I caught sight of the book in her stack of daily devotionals once on a visit to Pennsylvania to visit and was intrigued. The beauty of the book is that it began with a partnership. This partnership was expressed again by mom and her dear friend reading and reflecting on the book each day. I purchased a copy in Texas and began reading it myself, feeling a certain connection with mom across the miles. Years later, when her dear friend Pat died, I continued to read and share with her insights about the readings. In 2011, I bought a bound leather version of the book which was designed with additional space for journaling and sent it to mom for her birthday that year. My inscription read: "April, 2011 Dear Mom:  I want you to use this book--please write your thoughts and feelings and share your wisdom. I love you. I am so lucky to have you as a parent. You are a treasure! Love, Tom" Obviously, she took my words to heart and immediately began recording her own thoughts and feelings about what she read each day. At that time, she was visiting my father daily in a neighboring town where he would die in less than two years. They were extremely difficult years for her. Today, my most cherished possession is that very book in which she wrote so many lovely words. Day after day, they comfort me and let me know she is with me. I can't contain the tears even as I type these words but one day I will follow her to that place of peace and contentment that she's written so beautifully about. Until then, I have her words. I have her words.

"Yesterday I turned 94! How good God has been to me allowing me to experience all these years with much joy and happiness but also His Presence in times of sorrow and regret when He's so close to us. I am so grateful for all the calls and well wishes and equally thankful for the wonderful celebration and dinner and all the gifts. Eduardo and Tom worked so hard to make this a memorable occasion. God bless them all."  ~Marjorie Marion Boylan, 4/9/2017