Tribute to my Pink Texas Rose (by Bruce Blowers)

Written to the four Blowers kids Nov 24, 1997 on the occasion of mom and dad’s 45^th wedding anniversary.

Preface:

This week of Thanksgiving I am preparing to teach a Sunday school lesson on “Being a Thankful People” and sharing in our Village Thanksgiving Day Service. I am absorbed by three gifts of God, for which I am most thankful: health, a wonderful wife, and God’s amazing grace.

So this Sunday afternoon I biked to the Hospitality House at the edge of our village. I sought stillness, to meditate and be grateful for God’s blessings. I ambled slowly and thoughtfully through the rose garden as this idea flashed in my heart. Write an “Ode to the Mother of Four Under Four”. You are no longer even “Four Under Forty”.

“Ode to the Mother of Four under Four”

Leaning close and wide-eyed I savored the beauty of the yellow, white, red, pink,

       mauve and variegated pastels.

I breathed deeply the perfumed fragrance of these beauties and thought of Mom.

Ruth’s romantic nature enticed me to catch in my memory the lilting tunes and 

       nostalgic lyrics of “My Wild Irish Rose” and “The Yellow Rose of Texas”.

     

 There were fresh, perfect, rosebuds drawing new life from those bushes

        like the girl I married 45 years ago.

Other blooms were fully matured and open, their golden centers

        bursting with sunlight;

                their mellowed fragrance pungent and sweetly appealing.

Daily I feel the warmth of Mom’s sincere, golden heart of love for her Lord,

         her man, and her children.

Your Mother today is still my greatest treasure, 

         and continually adds laughter, freshness, joy, 

                 and the aroma of happiness to our home.

Though many years have flitted by, she’s not pale and frail, but,

         as always, rosy cheeked and hale.

I could sing, “Silver threads among the gold, darling…” 

         and change the colour to “Silver threads among the brown, 

                  you look the youngest girl in town.”

                            (unfortunately, a retirement village).

Amazingly, while in the rose garden fondling these splashes of colour and beauty, 

           I made a fresh discovery.

Hidden in the curved silken petals of a mature pink flower 

           was a tiny emerald frog, 

                   with black beady eyes staring out at me.

To my surprise there was another, and in still a different rose 

           two glistening amphibians peeking our of their petal pads--- 

                   four all together.

Were the roses mothering the frogs?

These green lively creatures spoke to me of surprises, 

         and those wide open eyes, of curiosity.

Mom brings these qualities to life.

         The days are not dull and humdrum.

Life is learning, asking questions, wondering.

Even if answers are not always found, 

          the curiosity is exciting.

I cherish the Lady who made those vows to me nearly a half century ago, 

          for better or for worse, richer or poorer, 

                  in sickness or in health, through thick or thin.

A loving, faithful, loyal help-meet and friend is an invaluable treasure. 

          Your Mom has been that.

Mom is the Queen of this house.

I like to present her with a flower a day to express my love and gratitude.

In Papua New Guinea the flower was a gardenia, 

         picked from the bush in the front yard 

                   as I returned from my morning jog.

Here, it is a hibiscus or rose, plucked from bushes in our house border.

She is special.

She likes to tell people that she has the same number of children 

          as Queen Elizabeth.

Here the comparison breaks down.

For largely through her prayers and teaching 

          you are all following Jesus, 

                 loving Him, and serving Him.

We’d rather you all be doing that, “than to be the king of a vast domain, 

                 and be held in sin’s dread sway.

We’d rather you have Jesus, than anything this world affords today.”

Her radiance, colourful personality and fragrant influence

         lives on to bless us all.

Thank God for your Mother, 

         my pink Texas rose!

                                    From your Father, forever in love with your Mom

Tribute From a Cousin (by Diane Westmoreland Graves)

Diane Graves  
(Howard Westmoreland’s daughter).  Your mom was my first cousin. 

 

When I was in late elementary or early junior high school, Bruce and Ruth were on furlough and spoke at our church, First Church of the Nazarene in Houston TX.  After church, they came home with us.  My father was Howard Westmoreland and my mother was Marine.  I think that Uncle Clyde and Aunt Juanita may have come over to our house also.  After lunch, my brother Steve and I were playing in the yard and the windows to the house were open.  I heard Bruce, who had been resting in my parents’ bedroom, praying for the evening service where he would preach again.  As a very young person, his prayer and the lives that I saw Bruce and Ruth living made a lifelong impression on me.   I can also remember a few of the “missionary” stories that they told.

A number of years ago, Bruce, Ruth, and Bruce’s sister, Merna, were driving through Houston.  They called Uncle Clyde to let us know they were coming.  I picked up Uncle Clyde and Aunt Juanita and drove to a restaurant where we had agreed to meet.  We had a great time visiting and catching up. 

In October of 2002, Bruce and Ruth attended a Westmoreland reunion on Jekyll Island off the coast of Georgia.  It was good to be with lots of cousins from the clan of Uncle Sam and Aunt Nora.  Bruce and Ruth, Neva, Steve, and I from Granddaddy’s (Albert) family attended the reunion even though it was planned by Uncle Sam’s descendants.  It was so nice to have a couple of days to visit with Bruce and Ruth.  My picture of Ruth while we were there is watching her talk to Halcyone Westmoreland Howard.  Halcyone (Penny) was the oldest family member there and Ruth was picking her brain for family memories.

Ruth was sweet, kind, and diligent about serving our Lord.  Although I wasn’t around her very many times in my life, I have only pleasant thoughts about her.  I really admired the loving relationship that Bruce and Ruth had with each other.  Ruth was good about emailing me and writing me an occasional letter.  She was a woman of God.  I am glad we are in the same earthly family and the same heavenly family. 

My Missionary Colleague (by Carol Anne Eby)

Ruth Blowers was certainly unique and one of the most interesting individuals I have ever met. She was my neighbor in Papua New Guinea, my colleague in ministry, and a dear sister in the Lord. I have so many wonderful memories of her.

She was funny, had such a big heart, and her walk with the Lord was an inspiration. I remember her pouring a pitcher of pink Kool-Aid over my 2-year old Tim's head when his fever went to dangerous levels from a Malaria attack. We were going up the Tun Mountain heading home from William Bromley's funeral. Poor Tim had pink tears but he survived from Aunt Ruth's quick action. She was like a second Mom to my kids loving them like her own.

I smile to myself when I think how she orchestrated her departure to Heaven. To have all her family near and having such good family time before it was time to say goodbye would be the way she wanted it. I know it was in God's hands, but I can see Ruth saying a special thank you to Jesus when she met Him. When we all meet her in Heaven, we can learn the real scoop!
Carol Anne Eby

MY HELPFUL SISTER/TUTOR (by Sara Mitchell Gerig)

 

As unbelievable as it may seem, my first memory of our big sister Ruth (hereinafter referred to as Sister, because that's the way we affectionately thought of her and called her) is when we lived on the McLaughlin farm near Stamford, Texas.  I know I should remember her from farther back, but for some reason those days were not deeply etched in my brain.

I have a vague image of Sister and me sitting cross-legged on the ground at that Texas farm, while Sister taught me all I ever learned about embroidering.  Likewise, all I learned about crocheting was from Sister, during the short time she was home with us "on the hill" in Grants Pass, Oregon.  That was following her return from China.

Sister inherently took the time and effort to impart to others whatever craft or skill she possessed.  I believe that as a child I took for granted her God-given teacherly attribute.  But now in retrospect, I admire her for those handicraft lessons!  She also patiently taught me the rudiments of guitar-playing and piano-playing when she was with us for a very brief hiatus during our one-year "sojourn" at the Beacon Drive home in Grants Pass.

The only other memory of Sister at the McLaughlin farm was when she took me aside and told me that we were going to have a little brother or sister.  I don't know at what point of Mother's pregnancy that was, but I think it was not very long after that joyous revelation, that the baby-of-the-family badge passed from me to Lyneva Joy (Neva) Mitchell.  I was over 9½.

I cherish these early memories, as well as the later ones when Sister and Bruce (aka Bruth and Ruce) were on furlough from New Guinea (now Papua New Guinea, or PNG).  It seems as if there were never segments of time long enough to really develop a growing, reminiscent relationship with Sister; but I loved her deeply and "looked up" to her from a geographical distance during my teen years and my married years, until her Home-going this past August.  That perspective has not changed, and I can only hope to emulate Sister's eagerness to do God's bidding and to be about His business.

Her children arise up, and call her blessed; her husband also [and siblings], and he praiseth her.  (Amen! to Proverbs 31:28.)

SARA ELLEN (MITCHELL) GERIG (age 75)

MY SISTER RUTH (by Eugene Mitchell)

My earliest recollection of Ruth (Sister) was when we lived on Johanna Street in Austin, TX in 1934. 

At that time I was four years old and Sister was eight years old.  She took it upon herself to teach me how to tie my shoes, not an easy task, since I was naturally left-handed and she was right handed.  But she persevered until I could do a passable job.

As adults we would reminisce occasionally about our shared childhood.  One incident that she recalled on more than one occasion occurred at the Johanna Street home.  As she related it, I was near the sidewalk in front of the house when a neighbor man came by.  He stopped briefly and asked me my name.  Sister, standing nearby, heard me reply that my name was "Blockhead", a not-so-endearing identity given me by our Daddy.  Sister was sorely saddened and hurt by the insensitive label.  As she recalled the incident in later years she would become almost tearful.  At four years of age I was scarcely aware of her response to the event.  As an adult I came to know her as a truly loving, caring, and sensitive big Sister.

During my adolescent-teen years, Ruth spent considerable time away from home and in Bible School in Colorado Springs, CO.  God was getting her ready for missionary service.  In 1946 or '47 she went to China with our Aunt Ina and Uncle Harry Shreve.  She returned to the USA in '48 or '49 after being run out of the country by Mao and the Communists.  Upon her return to Grants Pass she was asked to give a missionary service at the local Nazarene church.  As a part of that service she asked me to sing a missionary song entitled "So Send I You".  With younger sister Dera at the piano, I sang the song. I was pleased with her request, because I was so proud of her and what she was doing for the Lord.  Little did we know that her missionary service was just beginning.

In 1951 Ruth worked as a nurse's aide in Grants Pass.  At some point in time she traveled in states back East.  She met a young man (I believe it was in Allentown, PA) that met her high qualifications as husband material.  But it is many miles between Grants Pass, OR and Allentown, PA.  However, Bruce Blowers was a resourceful fellow who wasn't going to let a few thousand miles prevent their courtship.  He climbed on a bus and came West!

Arriving in Grants Pass without a set of wheels made courtship a bit awkward and they really did want to go to Crater Lake.  So, little brother Eugene to the rescue!  I loaned them my car and they went to the lake.  As Cupid's helper I take a smidgen of credit for helping this romance to blossom.  But more than that, I feel that I partially repaid my dear Sister for teaching me to tie my shoes at four years of age.

Our six children, Glenna, and myself, believe that Ruth's judgment of good marriage material was remarkable.  We all love and admire Bruce Blowers, her dear husband and life mate.

Eugene Mitchell

Memorial Service Program - 8th Sept 2010

Ruth Evelyn Mitchell Blowers

May 26 1926 - August 14 2010

Mom's favorite flowers

'Busy Lizzie' (Impatiens)

Memorial Service

Bradenton Missionary Village

September 8th 2010

Prelude -

Welcome, Reading of Obituary -                      Mike Underwood

                                       (Manager of  Bradenton Missionary Village)

Scripture Reading -                                        Ruth Roesler

                         (Mom's dear friend and prayer partner at the village.)

Song "There is a Fountain" -                           Congregation

Song "We Have This Moment Today" -              Fern Larson

Family Tributes -                                           David Blowers

                                                                  Darlene Blowers Brooks

                                                                  Larry Blowers

                                                                  James Blowers
                                                  (Read a tribute from Mike Blowers
                            - grandson of Ruth and son of James and Cynthia)

                                                                  Mindy Brooks

                                                                  Emily Brooks

                                                                  Kaylee Brooks
                                                                  (grand-daughters of Ruth
                                        - and daughters of Darlene and Mike Brooks)

Message -                                                     James Blowers 

                                                                  (Hope vs Expectation)

Solo "Family Reunion in Gloryland"              James Blowers on guitar

(Mom had specially requested it be sung at our family reunion in Cascade Idaho)

Closing Prayer -                                            David Nixon 

             (Florida District Superintendent for the Church of the Nazarene)

Pianist: Miriam Brammer

(Retired fellow missionary to Papua New Guinea)

Song Leader: Cliff Truman

Ushers: Al Wilson, Paul Say

Memorial gifts in Ruth's memory may be made to: 

Missionary Aviation Fellowship, PO Box 47, Nampa, ID 83653

Note: In lieu of flowers, Ruth requested that friends buy a pot of New Guinea impatiens as a reminder to pray for Papua New Guinea.

- Ruth's Obituary -

Ruth Evelyn Mitchell Blowers  was born in Kansas City, Kansas, on May 26 1926. Though the family kept moving from town to country and from pillar to post, Jesus found 11 year old Ruth in Austin, Texas. She gave her heart to Him at a Nazarene Church alter. When Ruth was 15 years old in the 9th grade at Grants Pass, Oregon, she heard God's call to the mission field.

After her father, C.W. Mitchell's conversion, Ruth's schooling was basically in small Christian schools. At Immanuel Missionary School in Colorado Springs, Colorado, and at Faith Bible School in Mitchell, South Dakota, she was rooted and grounded in the faith, resulting in a zeal to serve God.

Mid-way through Bible College at 20 years of age, the door opened for her to go to China to tutor a missionary couple's child. For two and a half years Ruth worked with China Wesleyan Mission-until communism ousted all missionaries in  1949.

Ruth returned to the USA to get further Bible training at Southern Wesleyan Bible College in Intercession City, Florida, where she met the godly, young Bruce Blowers. Three years later Ruth agreed to follow him to the ends of the earth for Jesus' sake. They were married in 1952 at the time of his two years as a Free Methodist pastor in Allentown, Pennsylvania. 

In 1955, Rev, and Mrs Bruce Blowers sailed for New Guinea with six month old boy-girl twins who helped break the superstitions that multiple births were a bad omen. Two more sons were born in New Guinea. The four Blowers children graduated from the high school for children of Wycliffe Bible Translators (SIL).

For 10 years the Blowers were missionaries with Evangelical Bible Mission at which time Bruce reduced the unwritten Kagol language to writing and translated scripture. Meanwhile, Ruth's ministries, other than mothering their four children, assisted Bruce's literacy program, clinic work and women's Bible classes.

For the next 28 years with the Nazarene Mission, while Bruce filled various administrative roles and translated the New Testament in the Wahgi language, Ruth taught the women to follow Jesus and be submissive to their husbands.

Upon retirement at Bradenton Missionary Village in 1996, Ruth wrote their missionary memories for the 16 grandchildren and two great grandchildren, anticipating that they, too, find the rewards of serving Christ.

In addition to her parents, Ruth was preceded in death by an infant brother, Bice Glynn (at 13 months old), and sister Dera Keen (July 4th 1999).

Ruth leaves her beloved husband, Bruce and four precious children; 

- David Ray (Carisa) of Nampa, Idaho and twin sister

- Darlene Kay Brooks (Mike) of Bethany, Oklahoma

- Larry Dean (Iris) of Auckland, New Zealand

- James Bruce (Cynthia) of Middleton, Idaho; wonderful siblings

- Charles (Maxine) Mitchell of Hicksville, Ohio

- Eugene (Glenna) Mitchell of Grants Pass, Oregon

- Sara (Norman) Gerig of Albany, Oregon; and 

- Lyneva (Ed) Grauberger of Longmont, Colorado.

Present at Ruth's memorial service were:

all of Ruth's immediate family, Darlene and Mike's daughters Mindy, Emily, and Kaylee; sister Lyneva Grauberger; and Karen Mitchell Casey eldest daughter of Charles and Maxine Mitchell.

Ruth's life verse: Romans 1:16

"For we are not ashamed of the gospel of Christ; for it is the power of God unto Salvation to everyone who believes." 

NOTE: Interested in viewing recent and old photos of Mom?
You can click on this public link to my (&/or Darlene's) Facebook albums.

Album of Grandma/Mom:
http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=23520&id=1755420794&l=bb97d0a063

Album of Grandma Closeups:

http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=23523&id=1755420794&l=dce017c4e5

Album of Mom's Favorites:
http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=23728&id=1755420794&l=2fb3ff0de8

Album of Mom's Memorial Service:
http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=229388&id=753486023&l=4d4ac3cdb4

Album of Blowers Family Reunion 2010:
http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=196227&id=753486023&l=e17354d143

My Tribute to Mom (by Darlene Brooks Blowers)

From my earliest recollections I've had people tell me, "You look just
like your mother!"   I take this as a compliment, but in addition to
physical similarities I hope and pray that I can be more like Mom was.
 I'd like to share with you some of the attibutes of Mom that I loved
so dearly and made her the special person she was.

No one ever doubted that her heart, mind and soul belonged to God. She
was unwavering in her devotion and commitment to Him.  Truly her life
verse...."For I am not ashamed of the Gospel of Christ..." was exactly
that.

Wherever it was that God led her, she followed in obedience and with
JOY.  Many people would say that her service to God in Papua New
Guinea was one of tremendous sacrifice.  Not in her book!  As she said
to us, her children, many times, "Following Jesus will take you to the
happiest place you can be."  Never once did I hear her complain.  We
may have been without many conveniences, but she always made do with
whatever we had or improvised in creative ways so that the differences
didn't matter so much.

I loved her ability to write and verbally illustrate her thoughts and
musings.  For instance, I want to read a portion of a letter she sent
to all her children in 2001 after informing us of their death and
burial plans, a topic that is sometimes difficult, but necessary.  It
went like this:  "I don't have any premonition that death is near.  In
fact I'm afraid I'm going to live until 2026, which will make me 100
years old.  Sigh!  I am doing nothing to prolong life.  Not even doing
water aerobics any more or taking vitamins.  No medication at all!
Oh, I am bike riding about two miles a day but that's just to kepp me
from getting stiff legged!  Worse than age though, it's weight.  If I
gain a pound a year, by that time I will have gained 25 more pounds.
Shriek!  i do want to get in through the Pearly Gates!  Love and
laughter from your mother, who else would act like this in such
serious moments?  Love, Mom".

Her colorful and animated descriptions have given us a picture of her
heart for God, her devotion to Dad, her delight in her children and
her burden for the souls of the people of PNG.  I'll miss her short
and sweet emails that were always signed "Mom tasol", which in Pidgin
English means, "Just Mom."

She found such delight and pleasure in simple things.  She would go
into raptures over the morning gardenia picked by Dad for the dining
room table, Dad's blue eyes, a warm fireplace on a cold night, the
song of a bird, a call from one of her children.  Whenever one of us
telephoned, she made us feel like she had been waiting by the phone
with bated breath, "just thinking of you", or "I KNEW it was you!"
This seemed to be the highlight of her day, and if she was busy, she
never let on, and for those few moments nothing else mattered....

I loved her laughter and her giggles.  Laughter is an external
expression of joy, which can be heard around the room.  A giggle,
however, reflects something more personal, a special secret of message
between one person to another, a funny little joke, meant for just the
two of you.  She had a habit of this, sometimes in church, too!  I
loved seeing her giggle with her grandchildren.  Sometimes her giggles
were in reponse to her imagination and sometimes for pure excitement,
but any case her laughter and giggles infected us all.  Our home was a
happy one and she was certainly the reason for it.

Mom forgave freely and lovingly.  She was never easily offended.  She
kept no record of wrongs.  I want to be like that.

She was a champion for our hopes and dreams.  Always encouraging, she
prayed for us, supported us, cheered for us, and most of all
admonished us to follow God in our dreams.

For these reasons and countless more, I am truly grateful and blessed
to have had such a remarkable mother, a truly priceless and precious
gift.  I pray I can be the same reflection of a loving and tender
heavenly Father to the people God places in my life, as you, Mom, were
to me.

Mom's Tribute VISITORS 'Book'

Hello Friends and Family of Ruth Evelyn Mitchell Blowers.

Please sign our 'visitors' book.

Our family has been blessed greatly by those who have recorded their memories and tributes here. REMEMBER! It need not be anything lengthy or elaborate.

We know many of you are visiting and enjoying the tributes. So, just as we had a register at mom's memorial, could we ask you to 'sign in' so we can see who has 'visited'.

To do so simply click on the 'comments' link and leave your name and any contact details you don't mind leaving for us should we wish to reply.


Thank-you from the Blowers Family!

My thoughts on Grandma B (by Mike Blowers)

My thoughts on Grandma B:

When I think of Grandma B, many fond memories flood my mind. From a young age I had the opportunity to visit my Grandparents in Florida multiple times, as well as see them in between those visits, off and on. In each visit I was able to observe a person that was always loving, always caring, always thoughtful, and always doing it in her own way. I do not mean this in a generic, broad, "I don't know what else to say" sense, I truly mean these are just a few of the the things I observed of Grandma

While as a younger boy, I may not have acknowledged or appreciated these attributes to the fullest extent, I grew to greatly appreciate the peace I felt when I was visiting her and Grandpa in the summers. Never a raised voice, always a good story to hear, and forever loving to my Grandpa. As I sit here, I reflect with great fondness, in fact, one of my favorite things to think about, which is those summer mornings on the back porch, sitting quietly enjoying the nature of Florida while Grandma prepared one of her infamous meals, with Grandpa sitting patiently as he always does, observing it all as well. It would be on that back patio where Grandma would share stories of "her man [Grandpa]," raise questions of my well being, or inquire on life's stories. A great listener, beyond her even greater story telling. These memorable mornings will always provide solitude for me and forever be one of my fondest memories in any instance.

Whether this feeling is misplaced, I believe one attribute many overlook of Grandma is her humor. While it was to her own tone, Grandma was indeed one of the funnier people I knew, given the context and her demeanor. I will always regret not saving every email I have received between Grandma and I, but the ones I still have left explain this attribute. I believe Grandma B is one of the originators of that "bone" in my body. It saddens me I will never again open my email at work to see fifteen emails from Grandma detailing her original thoughts in the first two, explaining what she missed in the next five, accidentally pressing send to early in the next four, and apologizing for it all in the remaining four. All in which were only to inquire about how I am doing, or to inspire me with scripture.

Something I had expressed to Grandma in corespondance on a couple of occassions was my lack of spirituality in response to her spiritual insight she enjoyed sending to me. Differences aside in that light, I can only HOPE to someday in my life be as passionate, resolute, dedicated, and steadfast with something as she was with God.

Grandma, I love you so much and will miss you and our talks.

Dear Grandma (by Emily Brooks)

Dear Grandma,

I write this in full appreciation of you, my English teacher, who instilled in me at an early age how to spell, pronounce, read, and structure a sentence. Now you are hearing the fruits of your labor.

I just wanted to voice a few things that I will remember about you, and the fingerprints you left.

Your love for the Lord was pure, it was full, and overflowing. I never knew someone who was so childlike, no matter their age. It was clear that your one desire was to serve and love the Lord.

You were quirky. I will always remember your silly habits, your sense of humor. You let yourself enjoy life in it’s simplest, most ordinary state.

You were boy crazy, Grandma…your love for your blue-eyed boy seeped from you, oozing from your being—you could not contain your love for him.

Grandma, I want you to know that even though you praised blue eyes so much, I have never seen dark brown eyes shine with so much brightness, so much color and life, in any other person. Your eyes were brighter than any color out there.

Thank you for not containing your love for the Lord. Thank you for not containing your love for your husband, your family, your grand-kids. Thank you for not containing your love for life, letting it spill out into the lives of others. I know what pure love is because of you.

Tribute to Gramma (by Mindy Brooks)

Tribute to Gramma

August 30, 2010

By definition Gramma was never a “typical” grandparent  – she lived thousands of miles away for most of my life; wrote quippy emails instead of sending birthday cards; would mail newspaper clippings to me with no note attached, just her circles and side notes and check marks that indicated she had thoroughly checked the article for spelling and grammatical errors; often suggested we diagram sentences after school rather than play outside or watch tv; and frequently remind me that she did not understand sports and felt no desire to attend my games because “Mindy, baseballs are squares to me.” But that’s what made my Gramma special – because she was one of a kind. I loved how she would answer my morning phone calls, what she termed our “popcorn chats” because I’d “pop” in and “pop” out after I completed my 15 minute walk to work each morning, with the most exuberant, “Why Mindy! I was just waiting for your call,” as if I hadn’t talked to her in weeks. It was that atypical response that made me love her so much more, not to mention made me feel loved that much more.

Today, I received a sympathy card today that read, “We’re given many gifts as we go through life. Some we’re allowed to enjoy for a long time, others only briefly. But each gift has the power to change us, enrich us, to make us better people. In your sadness, may there also be joy that you had such a person to love.” It wasn’t until these past four years did I realize what an incredible gift I had in Gramma – she was not only my grandmother, she became a dear friend. She walked with me through many joys, fears, loneliness, and excitement. She prayed for me, cried with me, dreamed with me, laughed with me, and loved me. Today, I am a better person, enriched, changed, and more whole because of my Gramma. In the midst of my sadness, I know that there is joy because I had such an amazing person to love. I know this joy because I was loved by Gramma. Thank you, Gramma, for being my friend, a confidante, my Gramma. I love you.

Thoughts About Sister (by Lyneva Grauberger)

                                           Ruth Mitchell kissing scarecrow, Grants Pass, OR

Sister (Ruth) was nineteen years old and gone from home at the time I (her baby sister, as she liked to call me) was born. I was about six months old when we first met. I will always be grateful that she took it upon herself to see that a studio photo was taken of me at age six months, in addition to taking a number of pictures of me on her own camera.

She was soon gone to China and out of my life and didn't re-appear until I was about four, and as she told it, I did not want much to do with "this stranger" until I had a chance to get acquainted with her.

I still have a few of the little cards that she sent in letters from China, which were about the size of a business card, and were very colorful. When she returned from China, she brought her three sisters graduated sizes of camphor wood chests. Dera was recipient of the larger one, Sara received the medium-sized one, and being the youngest, I got the smallest one. I remember how it smelled of camphor wood, and I was thrilled with it. To this day, I have some childhood treasures stored in that little chest.

I dont remember being around Sister much until she, Bruce, and six-month old twins came to visit us in Grants Pass in the summer of 1955 (when I was 10) before they sailed for New Guinea. The ensuing years while the Blowerses were in New Guinea brought only those blue, thin paper air letters which made for excitement in our house when one arrived.

We were reunited with Sister and her family when they came to the States on furlough every five years. By this time I had learned through her letters, mostly, about her flair for writing, and the "romantic" side of her outlook on life.

I don't remember when I ceased calling her Sister and began calling her Ruth. I DO remember that "Sister" was so much a part of our vocabulary that brother-in-law Joe Keen referred to her as "Aunt Sister" after his daughter Molly's birth. I always thought that was hilarious.

I remember how Ruth always made a big fuss about folks sending her greeting cards. She felt that it wasn't money well-spent, and also said how she had the habit of turning the card over, even before reading it, to see how much money folks had wasted on a card for her. But there is no doubt that she truly enjoyed those cards, especially ones with beautiful flowers!

After she and Bruce retired and settled in Florida, she decided that it would be a good thing if she and I would have a phone visit every Saturday morning. We set an appropriate time, and every Saturday morning I could expect my phone to ring at 8:30 Colorado time, and I'd say, "Hello," and she would cheerfully say without fail, "Welll, good morning!!" I am already missing those phone visits, because they enabled us to actually get to know each other better after not having that privilege for a lot of years.

It will be my privilege to continue our conversations some day in the future when God calls me Home. In the meantime, I miss my Sister.

Lyneva Joy Mitchell Grauberger

Tribute to Aunt Ruth (by Darel Grauberger )

We would periodically receive letters from Aunt Ruth and Uncle Bruce while they were overseas. I recall once receiving a package addressed to my brother John and I which contained several small, handmade replicas of weapons, instruments, and tools used by the highland natives of New Guinea. As we looked through the items and the accompanying letter (As I recall Mom read through the letter out loud- not that we couldn't both read, but possibly to bring some semblance of order to the potential bloodshed that can occur when siblings receive packages with exotic postage stamps addressed to both of them) we learned that Aunt Ruth wanted John to look through these items and have first pick of what he liked the best since he was the eldest. This was the first set of instructions in the letter. Mom stopped reading and waited for John to peruse the goods, while I silently questioned the wisdom of my Aunt Ruth.

I need to mention that included in the collection of handmade treasures was the true prize of the set- a miniature bow and arrow. There were other neat things there- a drum, a farm implement of some kind, even a spear. But none of them really held a candle to a young warrior's weapon of choice- now THIS was something a guy could really use. It was obvious that I wasn't alone in my thoughts as I saw John eying the little archery set with the same wide-eyed stare and maybe even a slight facial twitch. This wasn't just some little souvenir to a pair of boys and as John picked up the little bag that held the bow, I saw that the time of choosing had come to an abrupt halt. The bow and arrow would be his.

Mom then read the rest of the letter.

Aunt Ruth now wanted John to take the item that he had chosen as his most favorite, the prize possession, and give it to his brother, whom he loved.

To say that I didn't gloat a bit that day would be a lie. Being the youngest in the family always comes with the feeling of having far too few moments of true justice to savor. Needless to say Aunt Ruth instantly recaptured her sage/genius status and I'd never seen such a wise and impacting application of biblical wisdom applied to everyday life.

I tell this now to say that Aunt Ruth provided for me that day, because of her willingness to share it, something that would stay with me for the rest of my life. I learned that to reserve the best for myself would be a mistake, a missed opportunity. I still have that bow and arrow today and each time I look at it reminds me that unless I learn to give, and give hilariously, I can count myself out of receiving any blessing or insight that may have been set aside for me. It gave me a tool in my drawer of life skills to pull out and pass along to my daughter. It was a true gift from a woman who penned some of the most interesting and witty letters I have ever read and who in person never ceased to entertain and interest me. I’m grateful to have known and loved her while she was here passing through and look forward to future conversations with her- freed from the constraints of time.

God bless you Uncle Bruce. Aunt Ruth- I'll see you sooner than I think, I'm sure.

Darel Grauberger
Nampa, ID

Tribute to my Greatest Hero (by Larry Blowers)

Remembering Mom – 8th of September 2010

There was very little my Mom didn’t do with style (her own unique style). She did it with feeling, romance, and heart and living out her faith. The circumstances of her passing just after the amazing week of our family reunion has left me with little doubt that she knew something we didn’t. I couldn’t help feeling that she knew her time had come and God had heard her heart’s cries to enjoy her whole family together once again (a dream come true for her), and to leave this world quickly.

When I think of my mother…
these are some of the words and images that come to mind:
- Coke a Cola at Christmas
- Zipping off to another women’s Bible class on her Honda 70.
- Sitting in the shade of banana trees with the people she loved and who loved her so.
- Amp Condi, Missus Blaus
- Dorito Corn Chips
- Her love of blue… royal blue, mostly any blue that reminded her of Dad’s perty blue eyes.
- Mission Aviation Fellowship (Mom had this love-trepidation response that initiated many Ju-Yesu exclamations/prayers and a few screams)
- Kerosene operated refrigerators
- Maytag washing machines (operated by a Brigs-n-Straton motor)
- Earthquakes (her reactions almost got her killed on more than one occasion)
- Sunday evening meal – popcorn and milo (hot chocolate)
- Dancing a jig (her response to any good news about her family)
- "My LAND a LIVIN" …
- She loved any kind of arch, especially ones covered with ivy or flowers. (M & D said their wedding vows under one)

Ju-Yesu
(Mom’s own unique flare prayer – Jesus Christ in Chinese. Nothing sacrilegious about it.)
Ju-Yesu - was:
- Mom’s first love.
- on the tip of her tongue
- the her reason for her hope
- Mom’s honor guard
- her anchor, her fortress
- her bridge over troubled waters
- her shelter in the time of storm.


Mom’s opinions have always had a significant influence on my choices and decisions. Mom was an aspiring matchmaker and a romantic in a class all her own. It was her letter of recommendation that prompted me to begin writing a cute blue-eyed Canadian farm girl named Iris Scott. I married her and so we joke about our marriage being ‘arranged’. Mom accepts little personal credit for her introduction and rather says it was divinely arranged.

Regarding our spouses, Mom and Dad's conviction has always been “if you love them, we will too”. Mom and Dad never took sides.

Mom and I shared a deeply emotional love for all things New Guinea. There seemed to be no holds barred if I was discovering, experiencing or exploring the wonders of my country of birth and Mom and Dad’s mission field. I do not recall any motherly exhortation, lectures or limits on my cross-cultural discoveries. I used an untold number of boxes of matches. Lighting fires was a fundamental of being a boy in New Guinea but Mom never seemed concerned because she new my little PNG friends had done their fire safe education and I was a good observer. As long as we had water for bathing available Mom never seemed the least bit concerned when I’d come home smelling of smokey bush fires and my feet muddy and grass stained.
I will always treasure these memories of my mother.

Some of mom’s motherly exhortations: She’d often stop herself after saying something and remark, “Oh dear, I’m doing a mommy again aren’t I ?!.”
- Comb your hair or no girl will ever give you a second look. (I took her very seriously on this point.)
- You better learn to write neater than that or no employer will ever hire you.
- You can play in the rain all you want, after the lightning has stopped.

My mom was a woman of courage, a pioneer, and a teacher. Perhaps most important of all she was a woman known for her deep devotion.

She lived a life of devotion; first to her Lord and savior, second to her man (dad), and thirdly to her 4 children and later to her grand- and great-grands. Of all the mothers I knew growing up I honestly don’t think any other came close to my mom in her level of devotion, support, and commitment to her brood of four.

It was with my mom that I first knelt beside the bottom bunk in the boy’s bedroom at the age of 8 to put my trust in the Lord.

To my knowledge she placed only one condition on what she and where she went. “If Jesus goes with me…”
This was candidly illustrated one day when we were ready to negotiate another particularly scary bridge. Mom, announced I am getting out and walking across because Jesus just got out of the vehicle, and the only reason I would stay in and go across was if Jesus went with me."

Some months after Mom and Dad’s last visit to NZ I sent mom an email telling her that she was my greatest hero. She responded that “That was the greatest complement anybody has ever given me.”

Mom, you are my greatest hero…
You conquered, you overcame, you kept running to the finish, you finished strong! We will always be thankful, be blessed, and always be proud to have had you for our mother!

While mom was well known for her gift and love for writing, and her own dramatic, expressive way of recording her account of happenings, it would be true that any record or account of her own doings and achievements were very much an understatement of the actual.

Over the last several years her email correspondence was often concluded with the phrase “Mom tasol” or (just mom).

To be sure mom’s version of what qualified as being a success in life was quite different than most. In a book I recently read titled “Making Life Rich Without Money” by Phil Gallaway the author’s description of success was as follows: “I will consider myself a success when I have made others home-sick for heaven.”

Well that fits my mother, fearful of a medically protracted painful death it’s true, but totally unafraid of dying. For her death had been conquered, it had no sting for her. She welcomed her promotion to heaven.

Jesus consoled his disciples that… I go to prepare a place (a home) for you. It is my suspicion that as God was putting the finishing touches on our home in heaven, he knew that it would not be complete without mom’s personal touch, so he called her home when he did.

Having had twins herself, Mom was in rapturous expectation when my wife Iris and I discovered we were expecting twins. While I will have to wait to re-unite with mom, it does my heart good to know she is with our identical twin girls Kate and Amber. They would have been 14yrs old this year. I’m sure the three of them, will be giggling and laughing and dancing a jig around God’s throne. Mom has indeed made me and I know many others just that much more home sick for heaven.

I love you mom, we all love you, Iris, Amy, Scott, Ariana and Kent… more than words can tell.

Larry Tasol!!