What a Wedding Means . . .

by Lillian Ewert*

To a Bride?                                  

Photo by Katie Fisher

• a lovely dress
• never saying "good-bye" again to her lover
• being overwhelmed by the kindnesses of so many
• sadness at leaving her home town
• excitement about having her own home
• thankfulness that God made the choice
• cherished memories of a happy day

To her Father?

Photo by Rayan Anaster

• walking down the aisle with the loveliest girl in town
• being nervous about his lines (and dance steps)
• a balance of 45 cents in the checking account
• moving boxes and furniture to an apartment three hours away
• glad to have a son and his friends to help with the moving
• after everyone leaves, adjusting to "just the three of us" once again

To her Mother?

• experiencing a strange mix of emotions 
• the fear of crying in front of everyone
• happiness at seeing relatives who live so far away
• sharing the joy as each gift if lovingly handled and admired
• gaining a wonderful son
• using shared memories of places and events as reminders to pray

To her Sisters?

• wanting to help make it a special day for her
• fighting back tears
• a brother!
• memories of growing up and hanging out together 

To a Family?

• becoming closer than ever: planning, praying, worrying, working, and laughing
• thankfulness to God for His faithfulness 
• added responsibility to pray for and support one another
• adjustments to new locations and situations
• greater faith in God, knowing He does all things well.
• gratefulness for family and friends who have shared this joy with us and upheld us in prayer.

Photo by Jenn Dodd - Used with permission

*This was written 33 years ago by my mom after my wedding on July 14, 1979. I adapted it slightly to fit the occasion of Brad and Sharon's wedding July 14, 2012. My parents, David and Lillian Ewert, celebrated 55 years of marriage on May 11.

David and Lillian Ewert

With Daddy

July 14, 2012

                     

                     

           

                        

                                             With Daddy

  

 I watch them leave.

  Together, they hold the colorful golf umbrella,

           Stopping to check a few plants gracing the brick patio

     On the way to the car.

She portrays delicate features and long light hair

With the sides swept up

In the silver barrette we bought yesterday.

He stands tall and proud, assuming a silent protection.

Walking side by side,

Comfortable laughter harmonizes the with rain’s song.

Their eyes meet in friendly camaraderie.

Someday they will walk side by side once more.

Instead of shorts and T shirts

On the way to McDonald’s,

She will wear white

To match the angel spirit she carries inside.

He will lead her on his arm

As, together, they slowly stride to music and flowers.

My cheeks will feel the rain fall again.

But this time the sun will be shining, too.

Sarah Lynn Phillips

July 2001

Book Review: One Thousand Gifts

Sometimes I read a paragraph over and over. It's a mystery to me how the author takes my very thoughts and feelings and captures them with expressions that reflect my soul, sing its depths, and leave me satisfied in a strange sort of way.

Ann Voskamp is one of those authors. She's written a book titled One Thousand Gifts: A Dare to Live Fully Right Where You Are. I reread the pages slow, savoring her warmth, her refreshing honesty, her quest to find a grateful heart.

On a melancholy day, I run across these words:

"Love's a deep wound and what is a mother without a child and why can't I hold on to now forever and her here and me here and why does time snatch away a heart I don't think mine can beat without? Why do we all have to grow old? Why do we have to keep saying good-bye?" (page 160). 

Tears drip salty. How can I feel this way and yet find myself proud on the sidelines cheering them all on? Run well, my girls! Fulfill your dreams . . .

On another day, I read:

"God reveals Himself in rearview mirrors.

"And I've an inkling that there are times when we need to drive a long, long distance before we can look back and we see God's back in the rearview mirror.

"Maybe sometimes about as far as heaven - that kind of distance.

"Then to turn and see His face" (page 157).

I smile to discover some perspective in my story. Hope. Remembrance. And a quest for contentment: "I accept the gift of now as it is . . ." (page 181).

Ann Voskamp. One Thousand Gifts. A thoughtful read.

Fly the Flag Proud!

May 24, 2012 will always be an important date in Andy’s life story. Born and raised in Germany, this is the day our son-in-law added United States citizenship to his German citizenship. To do so, he worked his way through the required paperwork, passed a test, and took the Oath of Allegiance.* Our family celebrated over lunch around the backyard picnic table last Sunday. His gift? An American flag – a symbol of “the land of the free and the home of the brave!”

The American flag has always intrigued me—its symbolism, its history, its unique design. The pride I feel on Memorial Day when the veterans march by carrying the Stars and Stripes shows itself when I get that familiar choked-up feeling and blink back patriotic tears. Maybe the reason I experience so much emotion is because my dad served in the United States Navy and we toured Washington, D.C. when I was a kid. Perhaps listening to concerts given by the U. S. Army Band on the steps of the Capitol and the fact that my ancestors passed through Ellis Island has something to do with it, too.

I loved to sing in the school chorus in elementary school in the 1960's. Our concert itinerary included “Let There be Peace on Earth,” along with “The New Colossus,” words engraved on the Statue of Liberty written by Emma Lazarus in 1883. I still remember the lyrics (along with the melody):

"Give me your tired, your poor,

Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,

The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.

Send these, the homeless, tempest-tossed to me,

I lift my lamp beside the golden door!"

Times have changed since these words were penned. America has been the land of golden opportunity for some but not for all. Yet, I’m grateful for this country—my country. I’ll always bring tissues to the parade. I’ll always enjoy the music that represents the Red, White, and Blue. And I’ll always (as I said to Andy) “fly the flag proud!”

*Naturalization Oath of Allegiance to the United States of America:

"I hereby declare, on oath, that I absolutely and entirely renounce and abjure all allegiance and fidelity to any foreign prince, potentate, state or sovereignty, of whom or which I have heretofore been a subject or citizen; that I will support and defend the Constitution and laws of the United States of America against all enemies, foreign and domestic; that I will bear true faith and allegiance to the same; that I will bear arms on behalf of the United States when required by the law; that I will perform noncombatant service in the armed forces of the United States when required by the law; that I will perform work of national importance under civilian direction when required by the law; and that I take this obligation freely without any mental reservation or purpose of evasion; so help me God."

Book Review: Harriet Beamer Takes the Bus

I keep a stack of books propped up against the wall by my side of the bed. There's something "nice" about finally climbing in after a long day--and reaching for a book. I give a long contented sigh and snuggle in to read until I can't focus any more. Ah-h-h . . . such a sweet ending...

My latest book kept me turning the pages later than usual. A delightful read, Harriet Beamer Takes the Bus, is light yet thought-provoking, fun yet relevant, taking the reader on a journey of real-life issues and dilemmas. The author, Joyce Magnin, weaves together a great story. I recommend it!

On Gratitude: It Seems to Me . . .

 . . . that we don’t (or can’t) truly appreciate what we have until it’s gone. Said another way, we often realize how much we value people, abilities, and even things after we lose them. And sometimes the seeming littlest losses bring a grief that surprises us.

As a child, I could run—fast. I loved to hike in the woods. In my forties, I took early morning walks with my husband and jogged with our daughter, Sharon. I enjoyed those times, but now my hip complains when I walk—slow. I never thought about the blessing of being able to run and walk at a brisk pace until I couldn’t do it anymore.

I am more-than-proud of our children, their maturity, their work ethic, but I miss the “little girl” era. When I see their past photos, I remember the long busy days and interrupted nights. But sometimes I wish I could go back and pull them onto my lap for a story just one more time.

 After a car accident nine years ago, the significance of health, routine, and predictability increased. Why? We no longer had their security. We lost the normal hum-drum of traditional roles, family suppers, and even the ability to walk unaided, drive, and independently care for ourselves. When some of these things returned, I felt blessed beyond measure—and still do.

My sweet mom has cancer. Watching her go through the chemo treatments has made me appreciate the blessings of an appetite, a bad-hair day, feeling half-way decent, and the ability to do my work.

  

It seems to me . . . that we don’t truly appreciate what we have until it’s gone. We take running water and electricity for granted until a pipe leaks or the lights go out. We underestimate the efficiency of working with two hands until one is injured. We may not fully realize the comfort of a friend until circumstances take him or her away from us. When we find our lives altered, in big matters and small, we see everything from an entirely different perspective. Today I want to savor the blessings in my story just a little bit more.

How does it seem to you?

A Great-Great Uncle and a Nutty Idea

My grandma called him "Uncle Mario." He was her father's brother, the same brother who made it possible for my great-grandparents to keep their home on Edison Street in Buffalo during the Great Depression. The same man who, along with Amedeo Obici, began Planters Nut and Chocolate Company in Wilkes-Barre in 1906. His full name? Mario Peruzzi.

For those who live in Scranton, PA, the Times-Tribune featured the story on Friday, March 30, 2012 with a headline that read "An Empire Built on Nutty Idea." The Luzerne County Historical Society Museum in Wilkes-Barre is currently featuring an exhibit on the "Wonderful Story of Planters Peanuts." I plan to go. After all, this story is part of my heritage.

The son of a Baptist minister, Mario Peruzzi was born in Trevisa, Italy in 1875. From age 12 to 18, he worked in a department store in Rome in various roles. The next year (1894) he and his mother sailed to the United States from Naples, Italy to join his father (my Great-Great Grandpa Angelo) who had sailed some 17 months prior. As Uncle Mario felt the waves roll under his feet on the deck of the Kronprinz Frederick Wilheim,did he dream and plan and hope? Did fear play around the edges of his mind? Would America show him kindness? Perhaps he felt his heart beat faster when they finally sailed past the recently dedicated Statue of Liberty in New York Harbor.

His working experience in the Old Country paid off. Uncle Mario worked as a janitor, a wholesale importer, and a department manager in Hazelton and Scranton. He met Mr. Obici in about 1898, and the two immigrants started Planters Peanuts in 1906. Uncle Mario married and had two children. His wife died, and he later married his partner's sister, Elizabeth. By 1946 Planters was selling $60 million worth of nuts per year, world-wide. When Mr. Obici died in 1947, Uncle Mario took over as president until his death in 1955.

My grandma used to tell us about her visits to Uncle Mario's home when she was young. She and her sister took the train from Buffalo to Wilkes-Barre. Later, my Aunt Anita repaid their uncle for his kindness to their parents during the Depression.

Mario Peruzzi's story intrigues me. There are so many unanswered questions. When I grew up in the Buffalo, New York area, I never dreamed I'd someday live so close to where my relatives began their lives in America, so close to where my great-great uncle teamed up with another Italian immigrant with a nutty idea.

There's a reason my grandma insisted on Planters Peanuts for an after dinner snack when the whole clan gathered. Uncle Mario!

(Information gathered from family conversations and "Pennsylvania Profiles" by Patrick M. Reynolds, Warren Times Observer, July 1990)