For 66 years one woman has been my inspiration. She was strong. She was a hard worker. She loved fiercely. She was ambitious. She was creative. She could create something out of nothing. She was a healer. She was a reader. She was a doer. She was not perfect. She sometimes had a sharp tongue. She was my mother.

I have had others throughout my life who I have admired. CORRIE TEN BOOM is one. Cornelia “Corrie” ten Boom was a Dutch watchmaker who, along with her family, harbored hundreds of Jews amid the Nazi Holocaust to protect them from arrest during World War II. It’s believed their efforts saved nearly 800 lives. Eventually betrayed by a fellow Dutch citizen, the entire family was imprisoned. However, Corrie survived and told her story in an autobiographical 1971 memoir The Hiding Place. Having grown up in a Christian family, ten Boom also started a worldwide ministry and traveled around the world as a public speaker. She died in April 1983 on her 91st birthday. I read the Hiding Place when I was in college and remember being amazed and humbled by her faith and strength. She tells the story of being imprisoned in a nazi prison camp, along with her sister and other women. Many women were raped and beaten by the guards but none in their bunk house were. Why? Corrie prayed for protection over these women and the answer to her prayer was evident! The women became infested with fleas and lice. None of the guards wanted to “catch” these bugs so left the bunkhouse of women alone. I only wonder if I could have been so brave? I consider whether my prayers would have been so bold? When we visited the Netherlands a few years ago I had hoped to visit her childhood home but it didn’t work out.

I am also inspired by the life of ERIC LIDDELL. The son of Scottish missionaries, Eric was born in China. His family returned to Scotland when he was five years old. Eric was a gifted athlete and he excelled at rugby as well as running. He gained national recognition by winning the 100- and 200-metre runs at the Amateur Athletic Association championships in 1923. At the 1924 Olympics, Liddell, a devout Christian, dropped out of the 100-metre run—his strongest event—because the final was scheduled for a Sunday. Instead, he trained for the 200- and 400-metre runs. At the Games, he finished third in the 200-metre run and turned in a remarkable performance to win the 400 metres. A year after the Olympic Games, Liddell returned to China to do missionary work with his father. He died of a brain tumour while interred in a Japanese camp during World War II, five months before it was liberated. I have long admired his convictions to keep the Sabbath a holy day. I have long admired his commitment to training and honing the craft of running - fast. When we visited Scotland a few years ago - I ran on the same beach Eric ran on - almost 100 years before me.

Now, back to my very best inspiration.

My Mom (Alice Lula Fetterly) was born on July 10, 1920. Her father came back from the first world war in 1918 and her parents were married the next year. After my mom’s birth in 1920, my aunt was born in 1921. My grandmother died the next year at the age of 24. My mom said she had the scrap of paper for many, many years, where her father signed over his children to their grandparents to be adopted. I’m often amazed and so thankful that my maternal grandparents stepped in to raise those two babies. My great grandparents gave up their years of “empty nesters” when my grandfather wasn’t able to care for his own children.

My parents went to the same church growing up - First Baptist church - Cornwall. My father took an interest in my mom when she was just 12 and he, 16. (I think he thought she was older because she was already in high school). When Mom was 14 and Dad, 18, he asked her to the movies. My mom said that even though she had seen the movie in the afternoon with a girlfriend, she begged her mother to go with Dad. From then on they had a date every Friday night.

Dad and Mom married on August 27, 1938. My parents were married for almost 69 years. That inspires me. Mom taught me that marriage was for keeps - through thick and thin. Mom told us to choose our spouse wisely - that it would be for a long time. She loved the mates of her children too. She loved Randy and was devastated for me when he passed away. Her pain was evident to me. Mom grieved for me and my boys and their families. Mom was so happy when I told her I had met someone and that we would be getting married. She gave us her blessing and told us that she could now die in peace. She told me that ever since Randy had passed away she had been praying for a new husband for me so I wouldn’t grow old alone.

Dad and Mom had 9 children in 18 years - 5 sons and 4 daughters. Mom cooked and baked and cleaned and sewed and washed and dried and folded and vacuumed and countless other household chores for all those years. I can’t imagine making meals for 11 people - day after day - year after year. Mom was creative and I’ve long admired her organized preparations and desired to be like her. I have so many of her recipes and some even in her handwriting.

Saturdays were her baking days and on those days - she would fill the cookie cans and bake bread for the week - to feed her large family. My own love for baking began when I was a little girl. Mom taught me to measure and mix and use the oven and from the time I was 8 or 9, I took over a lot of the Saturday morning baking. (Of course, many of my older brothers and sisters had already moved out of the house and were on their own.)

When Mom lived with Harv and I before she died - she would often ask “what day is today?” Whatever day of the week it was, she would recall her daily schedule as a young mom on Elm Street. On Monday Mom would say - “wash day”. Tuesday was “ironing day”. Wednesday was “dusting day”. Thursday was vacuuming and washing the floors. Friday was “shopping”. Saturday was “baking” and Sunday was “church day!” Many nights Mom would sew and mend long after us kids were in bed. “Grass didn’t grow under her feet”, she’d say.

I learned the fine art of caring for my family and home from my Mom.

My Mom was a nurturer to many in our community as well. For many years she drove people to their cancer treatments in Ottawa and Kingston. She volunteered for many groups at the church. For a very long time she led the “mission circle” group and kept in contact with missionaries from all over the world. Mom taught the kindergarten Sunday School class for as long as I can remember. She also sang in the church choir. She kept a beautiful perennial garden that was the talk of the neighbourhood!!!

Most of all - she loved Dad and us kids. We all knew it. It was her love for us that was the cement in our family.

Oscar Wilde said - “to live is the rarest thing in the world. Most people just exist!”

Mom lived her 100 years to the fullest. Her name never made the top 100 most beautiful women in the world. She never won a gold medal at the Olympics. She was not known by any prime ministers or presidents. She never even went to college. She wasn’t a CEO of a major company. She was ordinary. She was extraordinary.

Mom is my inspiration and every day I long to be like her.