HighCross Farm

by Stephen M. Vogelmann

January 2008

My purpose in writing this is twofold. First, I wish to honor the memory of my Mother, one so dear.  Secondly I wish to speak of Mother’s legacy and how it points to the hope we have in Christ.

My mother, among many other things, was a shepherd.  I mean, a REAL shepherd, upon which I shall elucidate shortly.  And at the same time, she was most definitely a little sheep.  A very precious, lovely, little ewe.  More on this later as well. 

The Name Florence

As Katherine related earlier, the name Florence is a derivative from the Latin, meaning “flowering or “blooming”; in Celtic the name “Florence” means “fair child” (and Florence’s ancestry does go back to those misty Celtic Isles).  We can easily picture her as that beautiful, fair-skinned, fair-haired child, with those long legs, rollerskating up and down the sidewalks of her childhood home in Elmore, Ohio.  

Growing up in the foster home of old Doc Willett, she garnered a warm spot in the heart of that man who had delivered her from her mother’s womb.  However her foster mother was NOT so kindhearted, and Mother recounted for us a mostly unhappy and lonely childhood.  Yet amazingly she seemed to grow up without developing a hard or bitter attitude.   

In many ways she had a beautiful childlike presence about her.  There was an innocence about her, perhaps even naivety at times.  She was willing to look for the good in almost everyone.  It was not in her nature to look for a fight.  She liked other people and in return, it was easy for others to like her.

And so this Florence, this “fair child”, this “flower”, was quite aptly-named.  But Mother was more than this, for she was not one-dimensional; there were other sides to her personality. 

The Name Hazel 

Mother’s middle name was Hazel, which was the first name of her own mother, and on whose birthday she herself was born.  I like to put a modicum of importance on given names;  I believe that Mother was truly a real “Hazel”.  The name Hazel is of Teutonic origin (think German) and means “Commander”.  A wand of the hazel-tree was the symbol of authority with the ancient shepherd chiefs.  

At first one might think, no she was not like that - she was diminutive and retiring, not strident or commanding.  But anyone who really knew her also knew that within that vision of the fair and pretty flower, there was a side to her that was immensely strong.  When I contemplate all the hardship she endured in her life, and observe the quality of the sterling character that emerged, the connotation of “commander” and “shepherd chief” is quite appropriate.  She had a regal victorious quality, although she never trumpeted it.

A shepherd needs to be strong.  A shepherd is one who remains steady, like a rock, no matter what ill winds may blow to endanger the flock.  Mother weathered many fierce storms in her life with an inner reserve that belied the “fair child” image for which she is most remembered.  And Mother was a shepherdess in more ways than one, which I will describe later on.

A Woman of the Word

After Jerry passed away, Mother lived alternately with Jan, Julie, and us here at the farm.  When she was here in our home last spring, we began to see a side of her that we had not known before.  There were several relationship issues I was struggling with at the time and I asked for her counsel; she rose to the occasion with profound clarity and wisdom that took us all aback.  It was amazing to see and hear, as she spoke with great authority, honed and gleaned from her many years of observation and experience forged by many of the hard knocks of life.  It was a side of Mother that I had not fully appreciated and I looked forward to more of the same.  She seemed to be entering into a sort of personal spiritual renaissance.  

Although she was in the habit of daily Bible reading, she was intrigued by our many different Bibles, many of them with study notes, and hinted that she wanted one too, one with explanatory notes and cross references, and an easier version to read.  She compared the different translations and settled on the NKJV (New King James Version) because the Elizabethan language in the KJV sometimes obscured the true meaning of the text. 

We were blessed to be able to locate a large-print bible with all of the features she wanted and presented it to her on her birthday last April.  She was delighted.  I do not know how far she got into her goal to mine its pure and precious timeless truths, because her health then continued to decline.  

But the image Kath described of Mother studying all afternoon long looking for all those references to “the Rock” has left me with an enduring legacy.

Mother told us that when she was a teenager she decided on her own to go to church (her foster parents were not churchgoers) and she read the Bible from cover to cover.  She reported that at that time she “never felt closer to God” and “was converted to Christianity”.  In her old age, she was still hungry for God’s Word, and kept seeking after "the Rock”.  For this, my mother is one of my heroes. 

“He only is my rock and my salvation: he is my defense; I shall not be moved.”  Psalm 62:6

"I love you, O Lord, my strength.  The Lord is my rock, my fortress and my deliverer; my God is my rock, in whom I take refuge."  Psalm 18: 1-2

The Shepherdess

Mother told us a sad story from her childhood of her own experience in shepherding.  There was a young sheep at her Aunt Annie’s farm which Mother had adopted as her own.  She loved that little lamb and could hardly wait to revisit the farm to spend time with her beloved pet.  But one day when she was not there, the lamb got into the apple orchard by mistake, ate too much rich food, and died.  Mother was absolutely devastated and cried and cried because she so loved and missed that little lamb.

That is one reason why we were happy to be able to give Mother not one but two lambs of her own from our flock.  Their names are Misty and Missy, and Mother loved to see them whenever she visited here.  She also owned two stuffed toy lambs that served as mascots for her two real lambs, and in the hospice, these two fuzzy friends would often be snuggled up next to her.

The Good Shepherd

A few days before Mother passed on, I had the privilege of being with her on the last day that she was awake.  When I asked if she would like me to read from the Bible, she answered in the affirmative.  For some reason, I was led to the very first page and I started, “In the beginning God created the heavens and the earth.......”  and read up through the Fall of Man.  Then we read from Psalms, including the 23rd Psalm, and then on into the New Testament, including words from the One who referred to Himself as the Good Shepherd.  

Periodically, I asked if she wanted me to continue reading, for she was very weak and sleepy, yet always she nodded, yes, she wanted me to continue.  We read about how Jesus leaves the 99 in search of the one lost lamb and finds it and holds it close to His heart.  I reminded her of her own little lamb that she so loved when she was just a child - and how Jesus loves and cherishes her even more than that.  And that although her own little lamb died, if and when Jesus finds us and we allow Him to hold us close to His heart, there is NOTHING, not even death itself that can separate us from Him, now and right on into Eternity.  

"And I give unto them eternal life, and they shall never perish, neither shall any man pluck them out of My hand."  John 10: 28

“Bind me as a seal on your heart, for love is stronger than death.” Song of Solomon 8:6. 

As Katherine so beautifully recounted in her “Tribute to Florence”, I believe that Christ did in fact come with the Keys to His Kingdom to fetch his little ewe-lamb Florence, and that she is there now with Him jumping for joy and frolicking in His flock.

I Honor My Mother

I honor my mother not just for her physical beauty, but for the beauty of the perfect love of a faithful mother, who always offered me her undying love and counsel, in spite of my many wayward paths in my youth and the trial I was to her.

I honor my mother for her inner toughness, the shepherdess chieftain, the commander, and conquerer over the repeated heartbreaks she not only survived but overcame with a stunning beauty for ashes.

I honor my mother for her sensitivity, attention to detail, and orderliness.  For her love of things beautiful and precious.  For her love of life and of other people, and for thinking more highly of others than herself. 

I honor my mother for her sweet disposition, courage, and stoic composure as her health declined, even though her body was in near constant back pain for many years.  She never complained.  In this, she was no less than a saint. 

I honor my mother for being a true woman of the Word, who even in her twilight days sought beyond the teachings of man to find that which was true from the pages of the Holy Bible.

I honor my mother for her constancy, her steady love, and tender affection for her family.  She inspires me to be the very best in my responsibilities to my own family.  I am without excuse if I do not follow her example in word and deed all the days of my life.

Quinshan Cemetery and Hope

Mother is now interred in a quiet little cemetery called Quinshan, nestled among the corn fields of northeast Ohio.  It is several miles from the little town where she grew up and suffered such sorrow - and later on, times of happiness when she was finally reunited with her grown brothers and sisters.  They eventually became as tight-knit as five brothers and sisters could ever be, undoubtedly in part because of the cruel circumstances of their early years.  

On Tuesday, January 8, we laid Mother’s body to rest in that cemetery, next to the grave of my father, the Rev. Walter W. Vogelmann, who was buried there 46 years before.  “For dust thou art, and unto dust shalt thou return”, the Good Book says.  For me now, all that remains of them here on earth is their memory, sweet and deep in my heart.

At their peaceful pastoral gravesite are two modest granite stones side-by-side, identical save for their names and their years of birth and death.  But in addition, and I had not previously noted this until that Tuesday, my parents, while they were still alive, had specified one small additional detail: chiseled into each stone at the upper left-hand corner is a simple cross.  

I am completely comforted by that.  For I believe that the only real hope we have in this life and beyond is Christ and His cross.  

In his letter to the Colossians Paul reiterates this truth as ”....the glorious riches of this mystery, which is Christ in you, the hope of glory.”

“For the message of the cross is foolishness to those who are perishing, but to us who are being saved it is the power of God.”  1 Cor 1:18

“For, as I have often told you before and now say again even with tears, many live as enemies of the cross of Christ.”  Phil 3:18

“May I never boast except in the cross of our Lord Jesus Christ, through which the world has been crucified to me, and I to the world.”  Gal 6:14