This is a tribute to my mother, Rose Richert Quiring.

How can I write about a person who had so much influence on my life and lived to age ninety-three? Mom was pretty. Positive. Inventive. Creative. Energetic. Artistic. Brave. Spiritual.

She was pretty and as the years passed, I believe she grew more beautiful.

She was positive. Although often a humble place, it shined with cleanliness. I don’t remember negative remarks when I brought home my not-so-perfect report card. A classroom teacher, (she had a Lifetime Washington State Teachers Certificate), her first grade students loved her, the classroom calm and orderly.

She was inventive. We lived on a pastor’s salary and it wasn’t much. But Mom creatively made the money stretch. She had a small coin purse. In it was the grocery money for the week. Twenty dollars. It wasn’t just for groceries–any household expense came out of that twenty.

We didn’t live in fancy houses, but she made them homey and inviting, sewing drapes from fabric bought in a bargain basement. She made clothing for us. Coats, dresses, “pedal pushers”–now called capris. We were always smartly dressed. Mom often sewed matching outfits for my younger sister and I. When a teenager, one Saturday morning, I asked Mom if she would make me a new dress for me since I was performing at an event that evening. Right away, we drove to downtown Penny’s in Vancouver, picked out a pattern and fabric and it she made it! I can still see that dress–it could have been on the front of Vogue magazine. The fabric was pale green/silver brocade. A sheath dress with a bateau neckline and a cummerbund that wrapped around the waist, with two large covered buttons of the same fabric on the front of the cummerbund. In late summer, we would go to the Oregon Woolen Mills and purchase fine wool fabric for our skirts for school. She made all four of her daughters’ wedding gowns. Each a different, distinctive style.

After retirement, she took the time to write about she and my father’s life. Her stories of her childhood intriguing. One day, I hope it will be published.

She was energetic. If there wasn’t enough household money, she’d pick strawberries at a local berry farm to earn extra money. She was a fast picker and soon had enough to buy needed items for the household. One summer, she picked enough berries to purchase a much-needed clothes dryer for our family where hanging clothing outdoors in our rainy climate didn’t work.

She was an artist. Oil scenery was her specialty. She was well known for her chalk talks. She would draw in front of a group of people, usually in a church or school chapel, a scene on a 4 by 6 foot paper placed on an easel. As she drew, there would be music or story-telling that had been recorded and played while she drew. When she was finished, the lights were turned off, and then she turned on black lights. The scene she’d drawn now glowed with bright neon colors. The audience would ooh and ahh at the scene.

When we set the table for dinner, Mom insisted it was set correctly, nothing slapdash. Forks on the left. Knives and spoons on the right, with cloth napkins. Most of the time, there was a bouquet of flowers in the center of the table.

She was brave. After being widowed twice, she lived alone for a few years, but then realized she couldn’t live alone any longer. Macular degeneration was taking away her sight. She–not anyone else–decided it was time to sell her car–and really her independence–and move into a retirement home.

Most of all, she was spiritual. She loved her God. She prayed and poured over the Bible and taught it to people of all ages. She was a good story-teller. Children sat with rapt attention as she told a story with a moral application.  After she moved into the retirement home, she taught a weekly Bible study while nearly blind. She knew her Bible so well, she could do it without seeing the words.

She prayed…

Our family had moved her thirteen days earlier from an assisted living/retirement home to a group home where she could receive more care. She didn’t complain, but I know it was not easy for her. She was very social and mostly, the people who lived there were quiet and sat in their recliners while the TV blared noisy sit-coms.

I’ll not forget the last time I was with her before she died. When I came in to the room, she asked me to push her in her wheel chair to her room where it was more quiet and we could talk. While there, I read my step-son’s latest sermon (he was a pastor and sent his weekly sermons to me). It was based on John 14: Do not let your hearts be troubled. You believe in God; believe also in me. 2 My Father’s house has many rooms; if that were not so, would I have told you that I am going there to prepare a place for you? 3 And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come back and take you to be with me that you also may be where I am. 4 You know the way to the place where I am going…(John 14:1-4 NIV). As I read the Scripture verses and the written sermon to her, she would affirm with an occasional “yes,” or an “amen.” The words had meaning to her. Somehow, I sensed this might be the last time I’d see her this side of heaven and I was right. Four days later, I received the call from her caregivers that she wasn’t doing well. I rushed to the home, but when I arrived, she had slipped away into eternity.

One of her favorite hymns was “And Can it Be?” by Charles Wesley. The refrain goes like this:

Amazing love! how can it be
That Thou, my God, should die for me!

My mother believed those words and lived them the best she could. She wasn’t perfect. She would get frustrated with us as children and sometimes raise her voice. She was very competitive when playing games and didn’t like to lose. But she was also loving and kind. And my father loved her madly. She was the one I’d want to go to when I was hurt–physically, or heart sore.

There’s absolutely so much more I could write–and perhaps one day, I will. I’m reminded of the passage in the gospel, Jesus did many other things as well. If every one of them were written down, I suppose that even the whole world would not have room for the books that would be written (John 21:25). That’s my mom. There’s not enough room to tell all about her.

“Thank you, Heavenly Father, for giving me my mother. I am so blessed by her and I know she’s with You right now. Tell her I’ll see her soon! In Jesus’ name, Amen.”

What about you? What are your memories of your mother? Although you may not have the happy, good memories of your mother as I do, is there someone who loved you and treated you as a mother? In the comments below, write one thing you remember about your mother that makes you laugh–or makes you cry.

Enjoy one of my mom’s favorite hymns below.

Get these Blog posts emailed directly to you.