Fond memories of my Oma (grandmother) stir my mind today as Mother’s Day approaches. She loved to tell me stories, and greatly influenced my love of storytelling (writing). There was always a book or magazine nearby, for she loved reading.
My Oma’s character would make a great heroine in any novel. Her life was filled with hardship, but she always looked for ways to bring joy to those around her, while holding tight to her faith in God. She was a survivor, a helper, an encourager, who refused to allow herself to be defeated. Instead, she emotionally rolled up her sleeves and faced her battles head on. A wonderful blend of strength and delicacy was my sweet Oma. And I was the granddaughter who was blessed to sit beside her and learn from her.
Oma, I still can’t pass by wildflowers without hearing your words, “Anne, you must take time to see the flowers along the path. God planted them there for your enjoyment.” On my walk this week, I saw violets displaying their purple blooms in the forest and I thought of you, my precious Oma.