My parents arriving in Paraguay in 1943. 

Sometimes the aging of our bodies and minds, and the fading of our lives occur so gradually that we’re hardly aware of them. Occasionally, when the passage of time reveals itself in a compressed fashion, it hits us in unexpected and profound ways.

That’s what I experienced today, in reading excerpts of my parents’ letters and diary entries, spanning most of their lives.

I’ve mentioned before that my husband Ed and I are conducting research for a biographical novel based on my parents’ life and work. John and Clara Schmidt left a safe and sheltered Mennonite life in Kansas to become medical missionaries in Paraguay, South America. Their primary sponsor was the Mennonite Central Committee (MCC).

The following excerpts are taken from love letters my mother Clara wrote to her fiancée John in 1943, six months before they were married:

I have for quite a while looked forward to a home of my own, with a husband to whom I could look up and love & care for, for little ones to bless it.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

My mother before she married

 

 

 

 

 

 

Excerpt from my mother’s love letters

And another:

About your letter from MCC, I was glad to hear that they had written of the opening in Paraguay. I think that maybe after our wedding we should be on our way to South America. South America will probably give us a good chance to establish a home and family. After all, what is marriage without them?

They left the day after their wedding to be MCC missionaries in a remote area of Paraguay.

Sixty years later, shortly after my father’s death, my mother wrote (on different days) these entries in her diary:

How will I ever make it alone? God, please help.
Today I read John’s obituary. It’s hard for me. I have a cry. How I miss him.
I read in old letters about our start in the MCC work. Makes me sad to read it.
I’m shaky and I fall so often. Get depressed thinking about it.

 

 

 

 

 

 

My mother at my father’s funeral

Yes, I understand that my tears, as I read these words, fall because they were my parents. But they represent many of us, don’t they? Once young, hopeful, full of dreams; then sad, lonely, shaky.

As I write this, it is Ed’s and my wedding anniversary. This morning as we lay in bed, we retraced the decades of many wonderful moments we’ve shared, which are fading. And yes, they produce sadness in their passing. One doesn’t need to be a Buddhist to understand that the very things we identify with and hold onto as the reason for our happiness, in the end, are often the bases for our deepest suffering.

Today, I set the intention of redoubling my efforts to experience, moment by moment, the love, the dreams and the energy that enliven my life with Ed. Knowing that one day all of it will pass.

And grateful that we have them now.