Sally Pierson Dillon: Meet Me at the Half-up Party

Party Half-way Up

Sorry. Haven't posted a blog for a couple weeks. Amongst kids' events, flu and work, I suddenly grew quite melancholy. My cousin, Sally Jo, died from pancreatic cancer. She had suffered with lupus for years, often landing in hospitals, nearly dying, but never quite giving up. With a spirit that reminded me of my mother, she would fight on. Then, came the cancer. It was a battle she couldn't win in this life.

So, I thought I would be too sad in any post I would write. I just couldn't seem to get past it. I couldn't go to the "celebration of life" that they had after her funeral, so I just couldn't seem to find any closure. She was younger than I am. She had published quite a few children's books, articles and children's Bible lessons. She taught Bible classes and often spoke when she was able. She even got up and spoke at my mother's funeral. Her father, a pastor and man who had spent many years in Africa, England and then back to the states as a missionary, and her tough-minded mother had raised her around the world (along with her two little sisters, one who was born in Africa.) Back in those days her dad would record a tape (instead of writing a letter) and send them to my mother.We'd sit at the kitchen table with photos he'd send and imagine their lives in Africa. Amazing stories. Stories of adventure and danger and God's amazing grace. My mother and her dad were close in age as brother and sister, and also in heart. They were the two youngest of 11 children born to Aaron Pierson.

Sally was a wild teenager. She was brilliant and like most imaginative and passionate people in youth, she wanted to try everything. She graduated from high school at 16 in England and came to the states to go to college. It was more freedom than she had ever experienced. Somehow, God in His plans and mercy, allowed her to live through those turbulent years. She rededicated her heart and soul to God. And boy, when she did, look out! She never lost her heart for the rebellious teens of the world. All that passion and exhuberance went into raising her two sons (after she had gotten married,) and into her nursing career. Then, she started writing.

The one article that I remember the most was in this column she used to write for a Christian magazine. The column was called "Sally Sez" and it was full of her typical humor. This article was about when we die how we wait until God calls us and the dead in Christ rise first, and meet with the others in the sky "half-way up." She talked about when we all met up together we'd party right there in the sky, "half-way up" on the way to meeting up with Jesus. At my mother's funeral she talked about doing this very thing with my mother one day. It sounded like a lot of fun--and Sally was all about fun.

Her suffering was tremendous in this life as an adult, but she didn't lose her humor or her spirit of vitality and zip. I know for sure that when I get to that party I will recognize her. She won't be in the body that she left earth in. She'll have her fun and party body on.

And thinking about it in that way makes me smile. I can still picture her in pedal pushers (you have to be a certain age to know what those were...) hanging upside down on the swing set in my cousin Mary's backyard, yelling like a warrior and turning cartwheels when she'd finally fall to the ground. Eyes sparkling and freckles all over her face, she would've given Dennis the Menace a run for his money. That is how I choose to remember her in this life. And that is the spirit I'll recognize at the Big Sky Party on the way to Jesus.

Coming to America: The Perssons and Thompsons

The Perssons



On With the Story of Coming to America...


A couple days ago I revealed my mother's family's dark secret--that her grandfather was a harsh man who never mourned his children he had put into harm's way, drove his wife to shamefully filing for divorce at the turn of the century by his cruelty to her (that wasn't a common occurance where the woman left the man and divorced him,) and one other daughter being committed to one of the first mental institutions, which sprang up after Dorothea Dix campaigned for better conditions for mental patients.

This family portrait is missing a couple people--Oscar, who died in the barn fire, and Esther who died when she was overworked by lifting pails of sand from the well and died from a ruptured spleen the next day. The one lone son on the back row is my grandfather, Aaron. The daughter who would have a breakdown not long after this, Ellen, is directly behind her father. The portrait even looks as if there are missing people.

I have a similar photo of my grandmother's family. While these photographs are posed and they would have to hold still for a while, there is a stark contrast in the two families. No one is smiling in the Persson family portrait. When I study their faces, knowing what their family was going through, I see pain and sadness. Maybe bitterness, in the Persson family.


The Thompsons


On the other side, I have been told lots of sad stories from my grandmother's side, but they were a happy, giving family with many people bearing witness to their many kindnesses to people--with even many stories of kindness/neighborliness to the Indians on a nearby reservation,(the people who were despised by many, especially the ones who remembered the uprisings.) I can tell you more about them later, but look at my Great-grandfather's face, Bernt Thompson.(He the one with sparkling, friendly eyes on the front row.) I want to know him immediately.

The smallest child, and only blonde in this family, is my grandmother, Anna Thompson, who was "stolen" for a day by the local Chippewa medicine man, Mickinock, when she was just a few days old so he could show his friend's blonde-headed baby off to his people. Notice how her mother lovingly cradles her hand and leans in. This was the family who helped young Aaron Pierson when his first wife died. These are the people who tucked him safely into their family and cared for his five children, as he struggled to hang onto his farm in those mournful days after his wife's death. And their youngest daughter,Anna, two years later, is whom he fell in love with, married, had five more children with, and cherished, until her dying day ( my mother was only 5 years old when Anna died from tuberculosis.)Anna allowed Aaron's children from his first marriage to name their youngest daughter(my mother.) They picked their dead baby sister's name, Lillian Arlene. (My mother would say with a smile later that it was tough to see her own name on that baby's tombstone.)

What stories are being told in your family? In our family we love to tell stories. We laugh about the funny things that have happened, and miss the people who are gone. My kids know about Great-grandfather Aaron and the wolf thrown over his shoulder, the time the bull charged him and he flipped him over his head, and a whole bunch of stories displaying his sense of humor. (For another time.) It is important for us to tell stories. It is the best gift you can give to those around you.

Maybe you are grasping for hope right now. Maybe you are like Aaron, bitter and angry at someone in your family. Many of Aaron's sisters died, his first wife died from a tubular pregnancy just a year after they had lost a baby. He was left alone with five small children. Just when he was desperate and didn't know what to do with his children, along came the Thompsons. Did Aaron pray to God to help him? I think he probably did, as he was known as a man of God in his church and community. I'm sure things seemed pretty desperate before they got better.

You have to tell your stories. Garrison Keillor says,"We need to write, otherwise nobody will know who we are." If someone had not written down these stories that passed on to me, and if my mother had not told the stories to me as a small child, I would've never known. I wouldn't know that I came from people who had come through hard times, and could go on. These are more precious to me than anything. If you don't know your ancestors' stories, that is ok. Tell YOUR stories, the things that you have come through, the things that make you smile and cry.

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More 1000 Gifts.....
182. Cheeseburgers from McDonald's (yeah, they are a weakness, but tasty and quick when you are hungry and out.)
183. shared laughter with Bryce and Max (my two youngest)
184. Melba, who loves us
185. the internet
186. "God-moments"--those special moments that God shares with you a thread of hope
187. seeing my "flower girl" from our wedding Saturday evening and chatting about writing! (and her precious gift--her daughter)
188. feeling the "beat" of the music on drums
189. radio--music that comes from "somewhere" and we don't even think about it, but just enjoy it
190. cute little bird ornaments I found on sale in the Hallmark shoppe while my boys were taking guitar lessons
191. chatting with the owner of the Hallmark shop about mutual friends and our families--leaving with a smile of connection
192. the great guys at the music shop who can fix any instrument and love it as much as you do
193. downtown Christmas lights
194. the quiet of the country in the early morning hours
195. email--instantly connecting with people I can't always call
196. praying for a friend I've only seen a few times who lives across the country in her moment of need
197. My Heartsong Presents historical books I got in the mail
199. My gold sweater that makes me feel almost elegant (even though I'm not!)
200. Max whistling (I know he's home and happily baking)
201. Speartoons!
202. American humor
203. Jim Watkins and his humor (Even when life gives him lemons, he knows to pray what to do with them)
204. My gold cameo ring that feels smooth on my finger
205. Healthy Hoof Treatment (a hand treatment just when I was giving up hope that my cracked, dry hands would heal and I'd tried EVERYTHING) (Oh, yeah. Figures that it is a treatment for horses' hooves...)
206. Sheryl leaving a comment and sharing joys with me
207. other people who leave comments
208. Ramona's joy over her new book
209. Cranberry-orange bread
210. smell of freshly baked cookies while I write (Max is baking again...)
211. the aroma of Christmas Punch scented candle by Yankee