When I was a child my mother and I seldom saw eye to eye on anything.

Granted, it was a challenge to have me as her daughter. In kindergarten I would climb out the window with a fellow student. We would slide, swing and play while the others took a nap. My mother was very embarrassed when the teacher reported my behavior to her.

I decided I knew everything and my mother knew nothing and it was my life’s purpose to make sure she learned from me. This led to many conflicts between us as I grew from childhood into adolescence. Mom and I never really talked “with” each other; we seemed to always talk “at” each other. No real bond of friendship grew out of our encounters. I was delighted when it was time for me to leave home and head for college.

After I married and my children were born, the same conflicts arose between them and their grandmother. I felt somewhat justified that they viewed her as somewhat of a tyrant. It wasn’t until my father passed away that I came to know my mother for the woman she was. We found a common bond between us as we both lost the one person that linked us together.

It was through this bond that my mother began sharing stories of her life with me. I always knew she came from humble beginnings of a poor dirt farm family and that she was only 6 years old when her mother passed away. But, it wasn’t until I discovered the old quilt that she really opened up her heart to me.

I discovered the quilt in a closet after my Dad passed away in 1982. When I asked Mom where it came from she told me she made it when she was 12 years old and that it needed to be thrown away. The simplistic design of the old nine-patch pattern along with the muted colors of the old cloth scraps now grace the bannister of my home in Colorado. She told me she thought she would never finish it; that she was forced to work on it each day after school, but would rather have been out playing ball or climbing trees with the boys. She vowed if she ever finished it she would never make another one. True to her word, she never did.

I suppose if there is one word that sums up my Mother it would be perseverance. She taught my brother and me many things including Christian ethics. Do unto others as you would have them do to you. Be kind, considerate and patient. She taught us hard work ethics. Give your employer the best of your skills. Provide the best product and service possible for customers. And, she taught us perseverance; make sure you’re right, then go for it; but be sure you finish the task.

After she passed away I was reading through her Bible and noticed several highlighted verses concerning affliction and conflict. I thought this was odd and a bit sad until I realized these passages were encouraging to her during her times of grief, despair and disappointment, saying persevere, Christian, God is in charge.

I’ve concluded that perseverance is the legacy of the “old quilt’. What was required of her? To make a quilt. She was required to work on it every day until it was finished; but she never made another one. Often God requires a task of us.

One we may never be asked to do again. He gives us the task and expects us to persevere and complete that task, but He also gives us the tools with which to do the task. And, He never gives His rod without also giving his staff.

Mom persevered throughout the struggles of her last few years on earth as she grew tired. One bright Wednesday afternoon in May there was a big homecoming parade in Heaven as my mother danced down Hallelujah Boulevard…Home at last!

Email Betty Heath at begeheath690@aol.com.