In the pink

The dogwood—pink, of course--glows each spring in what used to be my mother-in-law's backyard. Planted as she reached her mid-eighties, the little sapling managed to get about as tall as Doris, my husband's mother, before we had to move her to a care home for her last year of life. Catching a glimpse of its profusion of pink, I remember her love—no, obsession—with the color pink. Except for one navy dress kept for funerals (“to be respectful,” she reasoned) her closet had every “pink” hue imaginable. Her towels, sheets, blanket, bedspread, couch and recliner were pink. So were her bedroom walls! This Mother's Day, I remember how my pink-loving mother-in-law stepped up to help her son’s bride (me), whose own mother had died years earlier. When my first baby came, she was there to help in practical ways. In birthing classes, they taught us how to breathe through labor, but nothing about some essential infant-care skills, like an at-home "bath" in a plastic dishwashing tub in the kitchen sink.  She took it in stride, calling it "baby's first swim."

Two decades later, I would become her cheerleader as she went through the death of her husband, cancer, a heart attack and finally the onset of Alzheimer’s. It was in those years of “fading” that we learned how to honor a parent figure, serving as both friend and helper. In special remembrance of her, I have kept this photo on the hutch in our eat-in kitchen. Yes, she’s wearing pink (a pale pink shirt and pink pants). But there’s an obvious look of love at her son (my husband) who took such good care of his parents, and especially of his mother when she was widowed.  I found this photo after her death, and it was a sacred moment when I turned it over and read what she had written:

This year, Easter came the day before her birthday, so my thoughts again went to her and our supportive role in her decline in her eighties. Many times she remarked to me, “I don’t know what I’d do without you.” We all knew she needed increasing help. "Families”--typically children taking care of ailing, aging parents--are the Lord’s plan on this side of Heaven. I think of how Jesus, in excruciating pain as He died on the cross, arranged for His earthly mother’s care.  His ministry took Him away from home, but at the end, as the oldest, He provided a role model of “taking care of details.”  He saw Mary with his disciple John (“the disciple whom He loved”) and said, “Dear woman, here is your son.”  To John, “Here is your mother.”  From that time, we’re told, John took Mary into his home (John 19:26-27).  

Care of one’s parents didn't always happen, even in Bible times. When the prophet Micah described a nation with upside-down values, he told of families where members despise each other:
"For a son dishonors his father, a daughter rises up against her mother, a daughter-in-law against her mother-in-law--a man's enemies are the members of his own household." (Micah 7:6)
Sad--and sadder, I see it happening today. No parent is perfect. Neither are sons or daughters. But God’s plan is that the family unit be the practice room for love and consideration that comes from a growing walk with Christ.
There’s a phrase, “in the pink,” meaning “in good health and spirits.” But my pink-loving mother-in-law's lifestyle has prompted me to add a new slant, of healthy spiritual living. It's serving others, trusting God, and being grateful in little things. Or, as the next verse in Micah says, "But as for me, I watch in hope for the LORD, I wait for God my Savior; my God will hear me."

One more splash of springtime pink, in Doris's honor: