Grams Writes

One of the hardest things my sisters and I have ever done was admit our mother into a senior care facility, a nursing home. She would be 88 her birthday, January 21. For eight long years she had lived confined to a wheelchair, the result of a leg amputation. She did not want to live in a nursing home and was quite adamant about that, but her care now required more than either of us could provide. There was no choice except the one we made.

After mother settled in, she seemed to do OK. She made some friends and joined them in the common area where they talked and watched everything that went on. She called it the “gossip corner.” The family began to feel like this was going to work. Then things began to change.

She came to my house for Thanksgiving and seemed to enjoy herself. Then there was Christmas at Mary’s. Mother wasn’t doing well then at all. A sense of foreboding settled over all of us. She was going down, fast, and there didn’t seem to be anything we could do to stop it.

January came and her last hospital stay. She was in renal failure. Mother refused to eat. She was through living. She was tired. She was ready to go home. When we left the hospital, hospice took over the management of her case. Death was not too far down the road and with each step, his pace increased.

Nothing any of us brought for her to eat tempted her. She would eat a few bites, but that was all. We visited with her as often as we could, although mother wanted one of us with her all the time.

The staff at Green Hills Health and Rehab Center were very good to mother and our family. The hospice nurse kept a close check on her and also kept  our family informed of her condition. Then on February 20, 2010 mother suffered a major stroke. She died three days later.

During those last three days, several members of the staff, the hospice nurse, the hospice chaplain, and some of her friends at the nursing home told about coming to mother’s room just to talk with her because it was so peaceful. One man even said he’d come in her room when his work was caught up and just sit by her bed. There was just something about her room that gave them all a sense of peace and calm. The hospice nurse and chaplain told us that they had learned a lot about dying when the patient was one of faith.

Mother was a simple woman. There was nothing fake about her. She cared for her family; she had been a faithful and loving wife and mother. Her family was her responsibility. Times were not always easy and she did without so we could have. Mother portrayed a dignity of spirit that was often misunderstood, but was genuine nonetheless. Even in death, the calmness, peace, and dignity of spirit that was my mother showed through.

Today, mother is talking with my dad; she’s once again held her oldest grandson, visited with Aunt Mae (oh what a time they all are having!), and spent time with friends. Most of all, she’s met her Savior face to face. She is alive, happy, and well. As my sister’s grandson said, “I bet Maw Maw is running all over heaven on two legs”!

Would I bring mother back if I could? No, not at all. I miss her, but I am so happy for her and thankful she no longer suffers. She lives because He lives!

Grams

Most of us categorize people. First, they are either friends, acquaintances, or strangers. Even within those categories there are different levels of intimacy. Then people may be described by their vocation, their interests, their looks, finances, and the list could just go on and on. But one designation that fascinates me is the worriers or those who seem to worry.

Now I know that there are people who by nature worry about everything that comes into their lives, even to the point sometimes that if there is nothing happening to cause them to worry, then there’s got the be something wrong, somewhere. Other people look at these people, shake their heads, and mark them off as people who lack faith or who ignorantly do not know how to deal with life.

Now, I’m analytical by nature. Life’s experiences have taught me to think problems through, consider all the options I might have, choose the one that is the most logical, and follow through. But, always have an alternate plan in mind. Some people might consider that approach a lack of faith. But I do not.

You know why? I firmly believe God intended each of us to use all the talents and gifts He gave us. One of those gifts is a sound mind. So, I think; I contemplate, I make a decision, and I follow through. It is that process of thinking things through that others sometimes misconstrue as worrying.

Do I ever consult God’s Word or allow the Holy Spirit to guide? Well, of course. That’s part of using your brain; that’s part of the thinking process, of making a decision. And it is in that overall process, that reliance on God’s Word, His Holy Spirit, and the gifts and talents He has given me that faith takes root and accomplishes what is needed.

The hardest part in all of this is just to wait. Sometimes the answer does not come, or it doesn’t come immediately. Then that’s when you move beyond thinking to trusting God’s Word and bombarding His throne with prayer and supplication until the answer comes. You see, worriers never get to this place. Now, they do have something to worry about.

Grams

Billy’s mom brought us big glasses of iced tea. The afternoon was quiet. We knew we’d soon have to go home, but we didn’t want to. We sat in the swing by the creek, sipping our tea, watching Brian play. The moment almost defied interruption. Linger we would, but as the sun dropped behind the tree line, we gathered up our things, got our son, and headed home. The leaves on the big oak tree fluttered, swaying to a gentle wind as if they too acknowledged our departure.

Monday morning began like most Mondays. The start of a new week brought the usual frantic rush to get breakfast, lunch packed, and Billy out the door to work. I always let Brian sleep as long as he wanted to. Now that was for his benefit, but honestly it was a quiet moment for me. The time between when Billy left for work and Brian got up afforded me a few moments for myself or to get a jump start on my chores, leaving me time to devote just to him. It was time well spent.

This particular Monday morning took a turn none of us expected. Billy’s mom called not long after Billy left for work. I could tell she was angry . . . extremely angry. “Is Brian up yet?” “Well, no he’s not. Why? What’s wrong?” “That young man filled the gas tank on my riding mower with sand!” I stood there with my mouth open unable to utter a sound. There was nothing I knew to say that could fix this. She went on, “I started it up this morning and the motor is completely ruined. I’m going to have to buy a new mower or have this one fixed. You tell Brian if he even looks at my mower I’m going to whip him within an inch of his life.” And with that she hung up.

So, now to tell Billy. I wasn’t sure just how this was going to work out. Amazingly Brian survived, even though he never lived down the time he used sand for gasoline when playing service station. After his grandmother had gotten over what he’d done, when he’d walked by her new mower he’d say, “Maw maw, I’m looking at it.” Eventually she got to where she could laugh about it. She’d shake her head and say, “He’s one kid who just about outdid me.”

If she were alive today, I think she’d be very proud of the men he and Chris have become. Their mother is.

Grams

I’ve thought a lot about this D6 Conference and I’m convinced it is more needed today than possibly when Moses instructed the children of Israel to teach their children. My job as parent, at least the instructing part, is complete, but I still have grandchildren I can help teach to love the Lord. I am grateful for the opportunity to be part of those who have the foresight to sponsor a conference dedicated to bringing parents and children together around the Word of God. What a great idea and concept and to think it’s right out of the Bible. I hope you will take advantage of what God is providing.

Grams

Thursday afternoon, August 7, my nephew David and I left Nashville headed for Chester, GA. To be more precise, we were going to spend the next couple of days at my son Chris’ house. Brian and his family were coming too. It was going to be  a short visit, but those seem to be the only kind we can manage these days. And really, several short visits may be time better spent than one or two longer visits. Just a thought.

It was a great visit! The boys fished and road 4-wheelers. We all sat around and talked, told stories, and watched the grandkids play together. This was the first time Ellie, the youngest, was big enough to really play with Will and Neil. It was really a neat thing to watch.

Friday night was the time for the “big” meal. Chris was right on target; we enjoyed a “low country boil.” Now mountain folk and westerners don’t know what that is; at least, not by that name. You set up a propane cooker outside and set a huge pot on for water to boil. Then you add red potatoes (or new potatoes depending on when your garden has come in); a little later you add corn on the cob. When those are beginning to get tender, in goes Italian sausage. When that is cooked through, you begin to add the seafood. Now this is totally up to you, but we just add shrimp (not shelled). Some people put in crab legs. Actually, I guess you can put in anything you want at this point. The trick is to use the right seafood seasoning. Once the shrimp turns pink it’s time to eat.

The best thing to do is eat outside. Cover the table with paper or scrub the table really clean. Then after draining the water, pour the contents out on the table and everybody just digs in. Friday night Chris drained the water and the contents were dumped into two large bowls, one on each end of the table. Still the concept is the same–dig in!

Saturday morning was spent at Chris’ pool watching the kids swim and play in the water. Then after lunch we all began to pack up and head back to our homes. We all wanted to get back to our respective churches the next day.

It was a good time; one of the best we’ve had lately. Chris did a good job hosting the family get-together. Can hardly wait til the next one.

Grams

The pine tree dominated the front yard, offering shade and a place to play. There under that tree two little girls spent their day building playhouses, outlined with pine straw and roads to run our makeshift cars on. It was a most pleasant place to wile away long summer days. But today I wasn’t building a playhouse or roads; I was on the look out for intruders, spies, the bad guys, and I needed a look out point. What better place than that ole tree? I jumped, caught the bottom limb, and pulled myself up. From my perch, all of five feet off the ground, I could see all the way to the road. No one would be able to slip up on us now. I could see all around in every direction.

Of course, there wasn’t much to see; just grain fields, woods, a dirt road leading from the highway to our house, but that wasn’t the point. To pretend, to imagine, to dream–that’s what made a summer day live up to every kid’s expectations.

Then I looked at my sister. She wanted up in the tree too. Well, why not? I climbed down, made a place for her to put her feet with my hands, and pushed her up on the limb. She looked all around and realized there was nothing all that special to see. She wanted down. Well, I had just jumped down from that limb and she was taller than I was, so she could jump down too. And that’s what I told her.

Now, that didn’t suit her at all. She began to cry; she was scared and wanted me to help her get down. But, I didn’t see that it was necessary. Besides, being the big sister it was my duty to help her grow up, to accomplish things. After all, she was six years old. She needed to do this and not be a baby about it. So, I refused to help her down.

Soon mother called that lunch was ready. When my sister didn’t come in for lunch, mother went to check on her. She looked at the height of the tree limb from the ground, told my sister to jump down and come on to lunch. But, my sister refused to jump. She was afraid.

All day she sat in the pine tree alternating between trying to get up the courage to jump down and crying for me to help her. Mother came to the door several times to check on things, but she never insisted that I help her get down. Late that afternoon daddy came in. The same explanations were made; he didn’t help her down nor did he insist that I help her down. Supper was on the table, still my sister sat in the pine tree.

It was getting dark and I began to wonder if my sister would sit in that tree all night. I soon had my answer. Daddy walked out on the porch, told me to get in the car. We were going to visit some family in the church. We got in the car, started it up, waved bye to my sister, and began to back the car around. My sister let out a yell to stop, jumped down from the tree limb, and ran to the car. I just looked at her and said, “See, I knew you could do it.”

I’ve concluded anything will be attempted with the right motivation.

Grams