Reflections on our mother, Hazel Shores
April 2, 2010
Steve Shores
One of my lasting memories of childhood involves my mother’s father, Fred Dale. Our family would go to Longview to visit Papa, as we called him; and somehow, on some of these visits, I’d find myself facing my grandfather while he handed me a cake on a plate and said, “Take this cake over to Mrs. Crump.” The natural question to me seemed to be, “Who’s Mrs. Crump?” I’d never met her, couldn’t picture her, didn’t know where she lived. But in my grandfather’s opinion, I should know and DID know, so I was sent out the door with the cake, and I dare not come back unless I’d delivered it. “Where does she live?” I asked desperately as he shooed me out the door onto 27th Street. “You know,” he’d say, “up the street.” And he shut the door. I didn’t know if up the street meant right or left. I was maybe nine years old, roaming the neighborhood, trying to figure out where Mrs. Crump lived, who she was, what she looked like, why I was supposed to know her. It was a big mystery, but I had to figure it out. So, I’m roaming that part of Longview asking people on the street, “Do you know where Mrs. Crump lives?” I feel as if this happened 25 times in my childhood but it was probably more like three times. I think twice I delivered the cake. I remember asking a man on a bicycle the whereabouts of the Crumps. And I think I left one cake under a hedge.
I tell you this to give you a sense of how my mother was raised. For all I know, Mrs. Crump was getting cakes when MY mom was nine, and she had to deliver them. Why the Crumps needed all these cakes is still a mystery to me, but my mother was raised to figure out how to deliver that cake. At Fred Dale’s house, you had to figure it out. You had to be resourceful; you had to be responsible. You had to figure it out.
When I was nineteen, my father left our family without warning. He didn’t want to work things out, and he was gone. I’m not throwing him under the bus, I’m just saying how hard it was for my mother and four sons. It was as though life walked up to my mom and said, “Now it’s time to deliver the ‘cake’ of helping your four sons survive this nightmare.” Devastated herself, she cried out, “How? I don’t know the street. I don’t have a map. I don’t know how to do this!” Life shrugged and said, “Figure it out.” So, my mom did two things: she persevered in roaming this derelict neighborhood called “abandonment.” She kept going up and down streets like, “loneliness” and “rejection.” And finally, she met a neighbor, a good neighbor who was willing to take her questions. That is, she ran into Jesus Christ. She cried out to Him, “How do I deliver this responsibility? How do I come through for these four sons?” And Jesus said, “Trust Me, and pray.” And did she ever. Did she ever trust Him with her life and ours. And did she ever pray! She walked the floors at her house for miles and miles. Some people write books like A Walk Across America. My mom walked across America in her house while praying. And somehow, slowly, painfully, the neighborhood smoothed out.
Jesus was faithful to her. She was faithful to Him and to us. We honor her today. We celebrate her life. We honor Jesus for being the kind of servant who wanders broken neighborhoods to answer the brokenhearted, the lost, the afflicted. Our mother would want Jesus to be central today and with Him, the Father and the Spirit. Dietrich Bonhoeffer said, “Only the suffering God can help.” And my mother learned that. And she prayed it into us by the grace of God.
I also honor today my wife, my brothers, and their wives. I think of the eight of us and see a bond God has forged, a bond of love and perseverance. God faithfully brought us together as if to be mom’s stretcher-bearers for the last nine and a half years. So many times, I’d be tired, and one of you would help me step aside and rest. You’d carry the load for awhile. Psalm 26:12 says, “My foot stands on a level place;/In the congregations I shall bless the Lord.” That’s what I’m doing today. I bless the Lord for his faithfulness to us and to Hazel.
Bruce Shores
Of all the myriad memories that I have of my mother one that stands out to me is how she always made room for creativity. This showed up in the way she allowed for my brothers and me to fine our own way of imaginative expression. She delighted in the inventiveness we had in our childhoods.
I remember when Steve and Dave were about ten or eleven and they came home from roaming about the woods near our home carrying an old paint can with a live fish in it that they and their buddies had caught bare handed down at the “mountain stream”, a nearby stream that we still visit even today. They all decided to name the fish “Flipper” after the dolphin star of the popular sixties TV series of the same name.
The great thing was that my mother’s response was not one of dread or disapproval but a willingness to embrace her children’s delight and their enthusiasm at the thought of having Flipper as a pet and the elaborate plans they were hatching about a grand Dr. Suese type aquarium they were somehow going to build. I could just imagine all of them trying to figure out how to create little rivers that ran from house to house. Even though my mother knew full well that and old paint can could not provide a lasting home for poor Flipper she as a good mother allowed both the wonderment and the inevitable disappointment to follow.
She honored that creativity all throughout our lives. In the last days of her time in Hospice she responded to my question “What do you think of my painting?” the most recent I had brought for her to see, barely able to speak she whispered “beautiful”.
Though she claimed to have no creativity I remember well basking in her wonderful singing voice as she joyously sang in church on Sunday morning. As a boy it even stopped my squirming for just a few minutes. And this wonderful talent for singing was passed down to my brother Jim. On the trip back from attending the opening of my most recent art show, an amazing feat considering her state of health celebrating my creativity in spite of it, Jim sang hymns to her for the last part of the trip and she told him as long as your keep singing I can continue on home. Even to the last she honored his creativity. What a great gift Jim was able to give back to her.
Just like my mother opened the door to Flipper, she welcomed and made a home in her heart for everyone she knew and met. Her gift was to love them and pray for them. She was genuine, hospitable and she cherished the rich friendships she had with so many of you.
The most important thing she ever did for me was to pray me into the kingdom of Christ. When I had taken the wrong path in my early adulthood she fervently prayed every night for me over years of time standing in strong faith that I would return and submit myself to Christ’s lordship. I did finally submit-the best decision I ever made-and my mother’s joy could not have been greater.
Now as she has entered into her rest in the purest creativity, the very presence of God, I can just hear her saying as she so often did “praise you Jesus, thank you Lord!” That’s how I will remember her, praising and thanking the Lord.
Jim Shores
My Mom was a follower of Christ – one of her favorite passages of scripture, which you’ll find listed on her footstone is Psalm 63: 6-8 which says: “I lie awake at night thinking of you, meditating on you through the watches of the night. Because you have been my help I sing in the shadow of your wings. I follow close behind you; your strong right hand holds me securely.”
That’s what my Mom did. She followed close behind God and depended on his strong right hand to hold her securely. She taught me to depend on God - that that was not a position of weakness, but a position of strength. And more than anything I think that is her legacy – teaching others to depend on Him.
My Mom had the gift of hospitality. She encouraged people and welcomed them into her home. There was a constant stream of visitors in and out of my Mom’s house all of her life. At any moment, someone would drop by for a visit, day or night. I remember Lois Rowe coming over in her pajamas one time. Nancy Wilfong bustling in with all her wonderful, loving energy at ten at night. When I was young the neighborhood women gathered in my Mom’s house for coffee after the breakfast dishes were washed. After my Dad left home and my Mom had really recommitted her life to Christ, our house became a veritable way station for the wounded and healing. Women came by to encourage and be encouraged. She taught school at Oakwood and Jenkins. As a teacher she was known for being an encourager – a teacher who believed in and empowered her students. She sold real estate with the Floyd Company and Coldwell Banker. As a business woman, she was known for being kind, honest, straightforward, and wise. The number of cards and gifts she got a Christmas from someone she had taught 20 years ago or sold a house to 10 years prior was testimony to the impact she made on others.
My Mom was flexible and accommodating at times. We used to joke with her and tell her we were going to put the single word, “Whatever” on her tombstone – don’t worry we didn’t. She could also be exacting, particular and as a child she could drive me nuts with getting a job just right. But I learned how to do something well. She taught me that if a job is worth doing it’s worth doing well.
My Mom had style. She was a beautiful woman. She carried herself with an ease and an open grace. She always looked like a million bucks. And yet somehow down to earth and real.
My Mom was committed to family and open to adventure. Last spring, Carol and I were performing at the Great Vigil service at All Souls Episcopal Church in Biltmore Village. I’m sitting, waiting for the service to start, in a room off the sanctuary that has a side entrance door. People in the congregation and choir members are coming in and out, when I look up to see a pair of feet pointed straight out coming through the door, followed by legs in a wheelchair – and there was my Mom – with advanced cancer – determined not to miss anything. Steve and Susan brought her, and they couldn’t find the footrest for the wheelchair, so Mom just had to hold her feet straight out while they navigated the hills and valleys of the old sidewalk outside the church. Steve said they looked like the Oakies going to church.
She was herself wherever she went. When Sarah and Tommy Shores were getting married in Goldsboro in the 1950s, my Mom confessed to her grandmother that she was intimidated about rubbing elbows with a prominent family and she felt unsure of how to interact. My great-grandmother, Mother Dale, a wise old country women simply said, “Oh honey, you just be yourself. And be interested in them. And they’ll love you.” And my Mom came back and told her she was right. My Mom lived by that maxim. Just be yourself. Wherever she went she was just her sweet Southern self, putting others at ease.
My Mom had friends. And boy oh boy did she have friends. Because she knew how to be a friend to others. She would stick by you. If you were in need, my Mom would never abandon you. When she asked, “How are you?” She really wanted to know! And if you told her how you were doing, she would listen. And listen with great compassion.
A few years back she joined us in Concord, Massachusetts to see the leaves change. And we were amazed at how she would walk out of an elevator and be able to introduce us to everyone she had met from the fifth to the first floor and the operations they were about to have or the divorces they were going through. In Boston we stopped in the lobby of the Ritz-Carlton. I let the boys have a plastic glass of lemonade intended for the guests, which my son, then age 7, instantly dropped and it splattered all over the marble floor. Attendants came rushing to help, I was mortified, Hazel wisely disappeared. She later said, “I just thought I’d let you handle that.” But she emerged moments later from the gift shop with the life history of the Guatemalan cashier intact, who had become her instant friend.
Mom would take my wife to lunch at the Snack Bar, and my wife soon realized that that meant lunch would be at least two hours long, because every five minutes someone would come up and say, “Hazel! Hazel! Hey!” And soon would ensue stories of the latest kidney operation, how their kids were doing, where they were, the latest change, the latest challenge. My wife from Boston thought this was just being Southern, but she soon came to realize that no this was just being Hazel. My family used to call it running for mayor.
I want to thank her friends who were so faithful to her as she struggled with cancer: Nancy Wilfong for faithfully bringing a bouquet of flowers to her every week. Diane Powell for bringing delicious food every few days for over a year, Emilie Huffman, her faithful compatriot, her buddy; Rosemary Dietrich and Carolyn Glass, her dear prayer warriors; Barbara Coffey, who sometimes called ten times a day to check on her; Evelyn Terri; Hilda Simmons; Wilma Neill; Sarah Shores; and so many more. Then there were her “adopted” sons: Bob Flack, John Boone & Dennis Clark; there are so many through the years. If I missed any and I’m sure I did, it’s not that that my heart isn’t grateful, it’s because my memory is lapsing.
Last night, the viewing at Bass-Smith was a four and a half hour celebration of all the community that Hazel’s touch had fostered. Bass-Smith said it was one of the largest gatherings they had had in a long, long time. It’s simply testimony to how many lives she touched, and touched in a meaningful way.
My Mom was a community builder; a connection maker between people; she lived for family and friends and was the anchor that held our family together – and taught us how to pass that legacy on to our children so that they too can have strong families. And she was an important anchor in the community of Hickory – binding together many people whom she loved dearly. As we remember her I hope we will celebrate those connections. And I hope those connections continue.
Dave Shores
A typical reaction to the news of Mom’s passing has been, “Oh, no, I’m so sorry; what can we do? How can we help?” Wonderful, heartfelt responses. Our family has been blessed over and over from kind and caring people, including many of you right here.
But I want to tell you — We’re here today b/c the news is good. Isn’t that what “gospel” means—good news? This is why we can stand here and talk about Mom’s death with perfect confidence. Her death took place under a great umbrella of good news—Christ died for her sins and rose again. In His death, Christ had paid for her sins; in His resurrection, He had given her a new life to live. She believed that like a child. B/c of her hopeful confidence in Christ, God placed her under that great umbrella of good news.
The news is good. >>When Mom was about twenty, she won the Miss Hickory pageant. We still have the picture of her, twenty and glorious in her evening gown. Striking beauty. But I want you to know that my Mom is better off now than when she was twenty. You think that was beauty? You should see her now!
The news is good! Today is Good Friday. In two days, many of us will be with our church families, celebrating Christ’s resurrection. Yet again, we’ll affirm, “Christ is alive!” This is what makes the umbrella invincible. Due to His resurrection, Jesus’ messengers could boldly say things like this:
· “Death is swallowed up in victory!”
· “What is mortal will be swallowed up by life!”
Until it’s seen in the light of resurrection, death looks like a shadowy monster. But once the light’s on, the shadow flees the room. You see it every time you flip on a light switch: Light always drives out darkness.
By God’s grace, Mom had found the switch. Way, way back, some faithful witness told her the good news and said, “Trust Jesus!” Eventually, she did—she threw in her lot with Christ. And once she did, Mom clung to that trust thru thick and thin—divorce, betrayal, deaths of much-loved parents and family members, wayward children whom she prayed back home, career loss, starting over in her mid-forties, decades of single-ness—the “slings and arrows of outrageous fortune” Shakespeare’s famous line; the slings and arrows we all suffer. But she kept coming back to true North—trust God—the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit.
So, as she battled cancer, the light of Christ kept driving away the shadow. As David put it, “even tho’ I walk thru the death’s dark valley, I fear no harm.” How could he say that? “B/c You are with me.” God’s presence makes all the difference. Light drives away darkness.
Janet and I saw this so clearly in the last earthly prayer we heard Mom pray. It was the night before she went into Hospice, her last night in her bed at home. We helped her get into the bed, a process as hard as birth—she was so worn and wracked by pain. Janet and I knelt down and I took her hand. I prayed, and then Mom prayed. I can’t quote her prayer verbatim, but I here’s what I remember as clear as a bell: she kept saying, “Father.” Two or three times she said, “thanks.” Two or three times she said, “I trust You.”
“Father.” “Thanks.” “I trust You.” Now, she said these things in pain. As I said, just getting into bed was hard as a birth. She was physically whipped and hurting. Yet, “Father, thanks, I trust You.”
Even in the shadow, she saw Christ’s light. She trusted Him. She knew the enormously comforting truth Christ proclaimed in this short, sweet sentence, “Because I live, you will live also.” (Jn. 14.19) For Mom, these weren’t just words; they represented certainty you could take to the bank. This is true, not only for her, but for many of her family and friends. “B/c I live, you will live also.”
When Steve called me to say that Mom had passed away, after the first storm of emotions, I realized that my settled response was relief—just so thankful that she had passed on into the light of glorious Day, no longer struggling, no longer in pain. I take those words to the bank. My Mom is alive and I just have to wait awhile to be with her again.
I wonder –would you like to have Mom’s confidence – confidence that Christ’s resurrection drives out death’s shadow? If you lack that confidence but would like to have it, then do what she did: trust Jesus. Now, that doesn’t just mean, “hear about Jesus,” or “give Jesus a mental tip of the hat every now and then;” it means take the whole weight of your life and rest it on Him in confident hope. “B/c I live, you will live also. Trust Me.” So, do that. If you’d like that confidence in the face of death, trust Him.
Now, Mom’s dad, whom we called “Papa,” had a saying. When something was finished, say, a TV show, or some event, he would say, “That’s all she wrote.” He meant, “That’s it. It’s all been said.” So as I wind up, one more time I want to say, “Trust Jesus.” That’s it. Put your confidence in Him. His resurrection drives out death’s shadow. Mom knew that. I know that. I hope you’ll come to know that. As Papa would say, “That’s all she wrote.”