Her Signature...

Mom had passion. She had passion for her family: her husband and children. Mom had passion for the Lord, Jesus Christ. Mom had passion for the church and for her friends. Mom had passion for music: playing piano, singing in the choir and teaching children about music. Mom also had passion for painting with watercolors.

Mom painted so many things, she painted portraits of family, portraits of interesting photos of people she saw in magazines. Mom painted churches, and painted barns. Mom painted vases, flowers, trees, sea shells, mountains, lakes and landscapes.

So many of her family members have several, if not many, of her lovely paintings. Some are tucked away to be displayed at a later date, while some are hung on the walls of homes. Kitchens, dining rooms, bedrooms and even sometimes bathrooms display the beauty of her work!

As with most artists, Mom had a painting style all her own. Her family came to treasure that Willis Watercolor style.

Mom's gone now - she's showering her love on Dad and other family members in Heaven and she's singing in the choir, singing praises to Jesus! Along with all the memories of Mom, her paintings also still remain.

One small detail of these paintings, but one big statement is her signature on each and every one. All pieces of art by Mom are signed "Bev Willis".

Upon closing the pantry door the other day, where the beautiful magnolia painting has hung for over 10 years, suddenly, this signature, "Bev Willis" filled my vision like never before. It was as if all of the sudden the signature became the dominant portion of the beautiful picture.

It was as if Mom spoke out loud, "I am here, Sweetie. I am still with you in spirit and in love." Seeing this signature brought back to my heart and my soul all that Mom ever was to us, her family and to her friends and all acquaintances. Mom was graceful, funny, loving, patient, kind, giving, She was faithful, smart, creative, talented and ever so much more.

Mom's Signature hit hard. It was a statement - It was Mom that penned her name, and it was that signature that breathed Mom's life into that picture. It was like hearing a recording of a loved one's voice after they have passed on. The signature is a symbol of Mom's life and her love. It's her life that created that signature, her love and her passion went into that signature. And because of that signature and because of so many other things that Mom touched, Mom still lives today. She lives in our hearts, in our souls, in our memories and she lives in our futures. Mom, we will see you again, and will rejoice when we join you and all of our loved ones in Heaven, Praising His Holy Name!

Aromatic Echoes - Cowboys, Indians and Peanut Butter Cookies

The aroma of a preheating oven; well maybe not so much the aroma, as the presence in the air of the almost indiscernible radiant heat that subtly greets one as they enter a kitchen can bring an onslaught of memories of days long past.

It was summer, in an age where children ran free from sunrise to sunset in their local neighborhoods. Barefoot, through the grass, running hastily across blazing sidewalks and rural streets, children rushed to find their neighborhood friends. Softball, dodge ball, tag, hide and seek, cowboys and Indians were all the agendas of the day, only interrupted when hunger pangs set in, causing the children to hasten home for a lunch of peanut butter and jelly or a family dinner such as baked chicken, green beans and mashed potatoes followed by home-made apple pie.

It was one such day when the little girl came in looking for that PBJ or possibly bologna with Miracle Whip on white bread. She broke out in a glowing smile as she felt that radiant heat wafting in the air. The little girl knew what that meant during the mid-day; only that Mom was about to bake something sweetly delicious and often enhanced by a cold, cold glass of milk!

That day's lunch fare was indeed the PBJ accompanied by potato chips and apple slices. The little girl sat at the table and watched as her mom worked at the counter with her yellow Pyrex mixing bowl that contained the fixings of what were soon-to-become peanut butter cookies! Mom was mixing as the little girl sat at the table, swinging her legs and consuming her lunch. The dough was ready at almost the same time as lunch disappeared. The little girl knew the time was drawing near! She quickly took her empty dishes to the sink, opened the silverware drawer and armed herself with a fork! Their timing was almost perfection! Mom rolled the dough into balls and placed them on the cookie sheet. The little girl then delighted in smashing the dough balls by pressing twice with her fork!

The time was special - between the little girl and her mom - they were partners, they were two intricate pieces of an assembly line that would produce those delectable peanut butter cookies! The first tray went into the oven as Mom and daughter worked as a team to ready the second and third trays of cookie dough. When the final tray went into the oven, Mom and daughter both chose two, still- warm peanut butter cookies from tray number one. Mom poured two glasses of ice cold milk and they sat side by side at the kitchen table. They enjoyed the cookies they had made while basking in the silent partnership that comes between mother and daughter at special times like these.

It wasn't but a few minutes later that the little girl rushed out the back door, ready to reconnect with her compadres for yet more imaginative games and mischief to carry them until the next hunger pang reminded them of home.

The sight of any fork pressed peanut butter cookie today can whisk that daughter back 50+ years - to another place and time. The heart then surges with Soft, Silent Echoes of love, joy, sadness and longing to cross back in time, and once again experience that special love between mom and little girl - a very special moment of love that can never be replicated. We hold close in our hearts, our Soft, Silent Echoes of our most Special Memories of Glorious Life.

The Lawn

Lawnmower going on Sat am and the fresh smell of cut grass, as Dad pushes the lawnmower in his cut off jeans