Marcus Aurelius, Emperor of Rome and one of the only five “good emperors” praised by historians, used to keep a journal. In it, he reminds himself of what kind of leader and man he wants to be, what sorts of failures he wants to avoid or cease committing, what virtues and qualities he wants to develop or continue living out. (The Hays translation, linked above, is a punchy and poetic read, worth the purchase.)
We have a collection of his writings that comes from twelve notebooks. (The Annotated Edition by Waterfield is phenomenal at illuminating Marcus’s philosophy and perspective.)
He’s not writing to an audience; he probably never would have assumed anyone would read it. He’s writing to himself, for himself, to become a better version of himself.
And yet he spends a whole notebook thanking various people in his life for the qualities and lessons he learned from their example.
This was on my mind as I had some time for solitude and contemplation on Saturday, hours after hearing the news that my mother Leatha had passed away suddenly due to an unexpected illness.
“I owe my Mom and Dad such thanks,” I wrote in my own journal, “for the foundation of faith they laid in Peter and I –”
Broken as they each were in their own ways, weathered by the rough waves and winds of life, the trials and troubles they each suffered, and yet they tried to love us well, to raise us right, to set us on a solid path, to loose our ‘arrows’ into the world to make a positive impact.
I had hours with Mom giving attention, support, and prayer to the gift of music in me — she would sit in the living room while I practiced at the piano, enjoying the music or putting up with my learning process, praying and asking God that I would be a David, a man after God’s own heart, a worshiper and psalmist, a kingly man… and yet I can see how many of David’s flaws and failures I’ve duplicated.
Still, I had support, encouragement, and praise.
I had wisdom spoken into my life, and the worth of relationships reinforced. I learned from my mother the value of being a listener, the value of valuing others. So many friends of hers, names I cannot connect to a face or memory, have come alive for me with only the sound of her voice on the phone to relay anything about these people. I know how much they meant to her, how much they impacted her life in profound and positive ways, because they mattered to her.
From my mother I learned that even a bowl of Maruchan packet ramen can be a magical delight, when shared with a brother and a mother who takes time to read bedtime stories to her children, filling their stomachs with a little snack, their heads with fanciful tales, and their hearts with a fresh reminder of love.
I learned from my Mom the value of keeping peace and finding common ground even if she didn’t always do that with everyone. Family and strong connections between all of us mattered to her.
From my mother I learned the value of careful, clear, patient communication, and the power of language, and the thoughtful intentionality behind honoring people even if you didn’t really know them.
I learned from my Mom the value of a good laugh at all times, and perhaps most of all in the hardest times. She loved to hear the jokes, even the groaners and eye-rollers (which were my Dad’s forte), knowing laughter is good medicine for the soul. She delighted at the times she guessed the answer or punchline correctly, and she delighted us with some of her answers when she’d given up guessing.
Grandchild: Grandma, what do you call a cow with two legs? (The correct answer is ‘lean beef.’)
Grandma: I don’t know… Dead.
More than anything, I learned a strong, unyielding faith — which doesn’t mean that one never doubts,
never questions, never wonders why,
never looks up at the storm clouds with a sigh,
or at the silence of the stars with a shaking fist raised high…
…But it always, always comes back to trusting in the sometimes mysterious and incomprehensible but ever merciful and faithful ultimate goodness and provision of God in our lives. The Giver of all good things indeed, and the One whose hands hold onto us when we are flailing and scrambling in the chaos and darkness that sometimes fill the moments between our mountaintops.
Thank you, Mom, for always having a loving but firm, proud but praying hand and heart at my back. I will keep playing those songs and praising God, chasing after His heart like you taught me.
