Our Charis Family

Dawn Jones

Stones of Remembrance

As I picked up a leaf and examined the shades of the upper part of the foliage, I was astounded by the tones of crimson and deep orange found on it. I thought to myself, if someone were to ask me to describe this simple leaf to them, how challenged I would feel to do it justice. So, when I was asked to share about myself, I thought, where do I start? Each life is so colored by the hand of God and surely, mine, is a swirl of colors.

My father was an ambitious, handsome young man in the honor guard in Arlington, Va. He is a Von Thaer. This name comes from Germany, and is held by very few, even today. My dear mother, was a beautiful, highly valued secretary working in Washington D.C. She came from a very modest home in the mountains of Va. It was during the John F. Kennedy years, and when my mother married my father that it put her in a position where the young Kennedy children were allowed to play about her feet and retrieve candy from her pockets. She describes these years as bitter sweet and a challenge. The year was 1964 and she was pregnant with me, her first born. She delivered me at the Walter Reed Hospital. Mother has many times since, told me of the frightening experience  she had at my birth. Five years later my sister was born, but in a much different way. My mother had met a nun, from behind the “iron curtain” who had attended many births. She coached my mom for many weeks prior to the birth of my sister. What a difference love, tenderness, prayer and education had made.

Soon after this, my parents divorced, my mother remarried. She fell into the hands of a wicked man, was divorced and married yet again. Those years, were years on the anvil for me, and God continued to be steadfast on my behalf. It is during the valleys, that He grows His children. Growing pains. The name alone says it all.

My mother, along with my sister and I, moved to Southwest Va. To live with my grandparents who were both born in 1919. Life there was interesting and hard, but was full of blessings. Folks coming out of the depression, as they did, had many unique stories. My grandmother was a nurse for a country Dr. who, still on occasion did house calls. My grandfather was a farmer. He had chickens, pigs, and cattle. The house was old, big, and beautiful. It was heated by oil and several wood stoves. In the summer, we gardened and canned. In the winter, the water would sometimes be frozen up for days, and we would have to carry the water in, from the spring.

I was also within walking distance to my great grandparents house. Many times I would go there to help with the chores. Butchering chickens, cutting wood, gardening, and helping with the laundry. This was done on the back porch, on the old wringer washing machine. Which, by the way, feels just dreadful when your hand gets caught in the thing. It feels almost as bad as going into the outhouse, and being ran out by a black snake or chased by the wasps who had decided they were going to take up house keeping in it, and saw me as the intruder. As you can imagine, I was intrigued by my adventures, as well as the stories I would hear about life in the mid to late 1800's.... stories that could make your toes curl.

I didn't realize it then, but looking back on it now, I adore stories. They are to me, “Stones of Remembrance” from generations past, that shape us, and color our lives. Locked away in the precious memories of my family members, were vast treasures, history, that I never wanted to forget.

One of the stories was of a woman named Viney. She was my grandmothers aunt. She had many little one's, and she had just given birth unattended. It was in the dead of winter, and there was a blanket of snow on the ground. This mother walked to the spring house with a pail, to get milk, and had left a trail of blood from the spring house and back. As my grandmother shared this, I was in awe at how brave this woman was, and not only that, but how it didn't really seem to shock my grandmother at all as she told the story. As time went on, more stories would unfold.

Another story was of my great aunt Marrietta, while out in the garden, on a sweltering summer day. A young neighbor child had come across the fields by herself to relay the message that “the baby's a come'un!!” Marrietta, laid aside the hoe, and walked back through the fields. She got there in time to deliver the baby. Not a soul around, just the children at play and the cows in the field.

I found myself so captivated by some of these stories, I would ask to be taken to these very places, I wanted to see the fields, I wanted to see where the little house stood. One of the houses I went in, was of course now vacant. I found myself standing in the little bedroom. The window panes were gone, sun light was coming through the holes in the roof. I just wondered, how many births had there been in this room, out here in the middle of nowhere... There was only one fireplace in the whole house, and the spring was a field away.

Time went on, at age 15, Mr. Jones, asked for my hand in marriage. We went to high school together. By age 17, mom allowed the marriage to take place, in my grandmothers pre Civil War house, we were married. The date was December 24, 1982, the house was decorated and adorned with evergreen and holly, as was the bouquet that I carried. This Christmas Eve I will celebrate 25 years of marriage to a wonderful God fearing man, he has steadfastly stood by my side in devotion and love, in the best and worst of circumstances . God is the giver of such good gifts. In 1988, God blessed us with a beautiful son, of whom we home schooled his entire life. He is now 19, loves God, and is the best son a mother could ever hope for. We now live just outside of Richmond, Va. on some acreage, where I am able to keep chickens, garden, and have dairy goats, of which I milk twice daily.

Why did I join Charis? To be honest, joining Charis last year, just seemed normal to me, to surround myself with women who are brave, who are not afraid to give birth and attend births. This is what draws my heart. Perhaps one day I will be a midwife, but if not, I am content to assist and attend where needed.

As we go into the holiday season, let us not forget to hold our little ones near and share stories of the brave people that have gone before us. Let us also remember that not so long ago, there was a family that had traveled far, and the woman was with child, and there was no room in the Inn. So it was, that while they were there, (in this crowded city), the days were completed for her to be delivered. And she brought forth her firstborn Son, and wrapped Him in swaddling clothes, and laid Him in a manger.

And Mary said: My soul magnifies the Lord, and my spirit has rejoiced in God my Savior. For He has regarded the lowly state of His maidservant; for behold, henceforth all generations will call me blessed. For He who is mighty has done great things for me, and Holy is His name... Now there's a Story!!

Shalom to all, Dawn Jones