It has taken me a few weeks to get to the point of thinking
I could write this, but I want to add my mother’s name to this list of ordinary saints. She stepped beyond this
world for the next around noon on Good Friday, 30 March 2018. She was, in plain
terms, very ready to join my Dad, who died late in the summer of 2010. Those
seven-plus years were more endured
than lived. That doesn’t mean she was difficult to be around, just that she
genuinely wanted to be with my Dad.
She was an only child who married the third child of a
family of six and ended up being mother to five of her own children. She was
more of a city girl – Charleston, Sullivan’s Island kinds of places – but spent
all of her married life in rural Berkeley County. But that didn’t matter, she
and my Dad were deeply in love and enjoyed an incredibly happy, loving marriage
for over sixty years. Wherever he was, she was happy.
As a college senior, I remember writing my parents a letter
thanking them for how they raised me. I’m sure growing up I didn’t think they
were such good parents, but by college graduation I finally had the good sense
to recognize how God has blessed me and my four siblings. One of the greatest
blessings - other than the whole faith story we were raised in – was that she
was very curious about everything. She loved learning, and despite the fact
that she didn’t graduate from college, she was among the best read and most
inquisitive people I’ve ever known.
I guess those every-other week stops of the Berkeley County
Book Mobile where we had to check out a book and actually read it before the
two weeks were up paid off. I’d like to think I inherited some of her love for
learning, love for reading, and curiosity concerning just about anything. She
was a dangerous person to play word games with – and unlike some, she didn’t
cheat when it came to word games!
She loved flowers, trees, and nicely mowed grass. I remember
visiting my parents in 1989 after Hurricane Hugo – the devastating storm that
hit Charleston and came right on to Berkeley County. She was grateful that
their house withstood the storm, though many farm buildings didn’t. But the
most telling phrase she said to me was “The trees. Will they ever be as
beautiful as they were?” Thankfully she lived long enough to see a great
recovery from that devastating story.
She was very inquisitive about God. I think I learned from
her that it was okay to ask God anything. He wasn’t afraid of our questions nor
offended by them. If there is any reality our imagery of asking Bible
characters questions in heaven, she and Paul may yet be discussing things.
Intrigued by him, I remember her sometime saying, “that Paul . . .” in a tone
that expressed wonder about what he said. That wonder was sometime in the
spirit of “are you sure you meant to say that Paul?”
Kind and unassuming, my mother never had to be the center of
attention. Both she and my Dad seemed to feel comfortable in their skin and
never felt the need to show boat in front of others. I think I was in seventh
grade (about 1963) when my school system implemented what they called “the new
math.” I have no idea as to what was “new” about it, but it do remember it
created a bit of a stir. My mother took some class that was offered in our
school system for parents on how to help your children do the new math. Seems
like it was six weeks long for some reason. What I do know is that she could
help me with my math homework in ways lightyears beyond my certified school
teacher did in the classroom. She never enjoyed the status given to or
self-assumed by lots of school teacher back in those days, but could run
circles around many when it came to “the new math.”
She was mostly a stay-at-home mother until my youngest
brother was well into elementary school. She did some substitute teaching and
eventually worked for a number of years at the Berkeley County Gulf Oil
Distributor as what we would call today an administrative assistant. She
sometimes kept other people’s children, but don’t remember that she was paid
for that in any significant way.
She and my Dad managed t raise five children to adulthood
and marriage. When she died a few weeks back, all five of their children and
their spouses were still living and still married. No deaths. No divorces. That’s
a pretty amazing feat in and of itself.
After my Dad retired, they spent a lot of time in their
motor home, mostly up at Oconee State Park in the northwest corner of South
Carolina, and occasionally at the beach. I’m confident my conviction that God
wants me to live on the beach was a blessed gift from my mother. She was fine
with the mountains, but an occasional trip to Edisto Island or Huntingdon Beach
was good.
She was a good cook – though I can’t say I think she
particularly liked to cook. She could, as was so common back in the day, can or
freeze any kind of vegetable my Dad could grow. I don’t’ think she found that
all that fun either. She hated liver – another gift she gave me. Every time a
cow was butchered my Dad insisted we have a supper meal of fried liver. For
some reason I have a very vivid mental image of her putting a platter of fried
liver and gravy, a bowl of rice, and vegetables on the table with a distinctly
turned-up nose.
One of the sobering realities of the fact that both of my
parents – as is true for Vicki as well – are no longer in this world is that I
finally realize I am a real adult. As long as your parents are living, it is easy
to assume everything comes down to their word. But no more.
I’m grateful that in the midst of that realization I know I
had parents who modeled what loving Jesus, loving neighbor, loving each other,
and loving their children, children-in-law, grandchildren, and beyond ought to
look like.
Now if God will just help me do as well!
