Mom Died.
She died last Tuesday—almost a week
ago now. She was ninety-one.
And she kept growing in faith, love,
joy, peace and wisdom, every one of those years.
I was with her the last two weeks of
her life, watching her go down and down.
At the end, it was so soft. She went
out like a lamb.
But her life—her faithful impact on
so many lives—was powerful.
Like a Lion.
She had suffered quite a bit, kept down
with morphine and other drugs in massive doses.
The cancer seemed to be attacking
non-vital tissue.
So the end brought feelings of relief
as well as sadness.
Her long, happy life, and especially
her faith in the God Who gave it to her, made it so much easier for
her and all who love her.
Afterward, it seemed somewhat
anti-climactic. The great-great grandchildren, and
great-grandchildren, in whom she had so delighted and who were the
only source of her smiles near the end, were playing wiffle ball and
riding on the four-wheeler; and us adults were eating from the
generous mounds of food brought lovingly by so many of our friends.
We were all laughing and enjoying each other.
That's exactly how Mom would want
it—and me too, when my time comes.
She only went to the sixth grade;
something I think she didn't want people to know. And they would've
never guessed it from knowing her. She wrote poetry. And taught
herself to play the piano.
Her poetry and journal entries flow in
deep currents of faith, gratitude to God for her husband, children
and family; love and prayers for her family, love of nature, and
assurance of heaven.
Here're a few samples:
“I lift up my arms in praise to
Thee,
I abide in You, and You abide in
me.” [from “The Smoke {After Dad's Miracle}”]
“When I get up in the morning
and the dew is on the ground
I can only stand in awe and look
around
The earth is such a beautiful
place
It makes the tears run down my
face.” [from
“Thanksgiving”]
“Thank You Lord for sharing
with us this cup o' tea.
You've made the
years just right for my husband and me.” [from “The
Golden Years”]
“Thank You Lord for the Golden
Years
For all our grandchildren;
they're all our dears.” [from “Grandchildren”]
“I walked down in the meadow
with my Bible in my hand.
I was sitting upon the beautiful
grass, grown by Mother Earth.
The Sun kissed me.
The Brook talked to me.
My Lord embraced me.
Hallelujah!”
[untitled]
Most amazing to me is a poem she wrote
in the 80's.
I called her from my office in
Covington in Feb., 2006. I knew she'd written some poetry, but never
shared it with anyone, so I asked her to dictate some of it to me by
phone.
She pulled out her little book, which I
now have in my possession, and started reading while I wrote as
quickly as I could.
She came to one entitled “From
Jesus,” written over a decade before our phone
conversation. She'd forgotten about it. Here it is:
“Rest now my love; it's time to
rest
You're going home to the Very
Best.”
The smell of flowers is
delightful
My nose smells with joy.
The day has come forever to be
with the Lord.
“I'll carry you away on the
wings of a dove.”
Oh, what precious Love!
Today is tomorrow
I leave all my sorrow
Behind me forevermore.
What's it like, my Love, to fly?
To never die?
To fly away with Thee?
To soar above the clouds?
The Day of the Lord has come,
waiting with open arms,
To hold me close forever with
His Love.
I'll charge through the open
gate! Oh, the beauty of it all!
But wait just a moment! The Lord
is making a call!
“Hello down there. Your Mom is
home.”
Realizing the theme of this poem, we both started crying. She was as
surprised as I. She said, through her tears, “The Holy Spirit gave
this to me. It's like the Lord has already preached my funeral.”
I read it at her funeral service on Saturday.
Welcome home, Mom.
