From Grief to Gratitude ( Precious Memories, Part 1)

(Please take a moment to listen to the song by Donny McClurkin.  This song speaks of trusting the Lord, no matter what.  My Mama would have loved it!) 

I read this little saying once, and have used it so many times over the past few years.  “Don’t cry because it’s over, be happy that it happened!”  That may be hard to do, but I have attempted over the past year to remember this whenever I am tempted to lapse into grief mode again.  More specifically, one day I was driving down the road with the radio on full blast, as is my custom.  A song came on that was one of my best friends’, Rose, and my songs.  I burst into tears.  In that instant, I could also hear the Spirit of God telling me something and I opened my ears to hear Him.  “I would rather have this grief in my life, than never to have known her at all.” 

So in these dark days of getting past the sadness, I remember happy times, and most of all I pull from those insanely hilarious times or just profoundly funny times to get me past the tears.  You know those times; when someone just did the human thing: a face plant, a foible, an intentional notice of something that made everyone laugh or something that touched my heart and changed my life.

I want to put these down in writing, just in case I ever get dementia and cannot remember who I am or what I am doing.  Bear with me over the next writings, as I put into words the things that made and still make me laugh, and remind me how happy I am that those ones I miss so much happened to be in my life. I will start with my earliest memories first. I will attempt at the hilarious first, since that usually brightens me up, but I also want to reflect on the beautiful spiritual moments I spent with each of them. 

My Mama - Ada Mae Williams Linn.   

When I was about five years old, my mother was busy cleaning the house, and I was busy, following behind her and messing it up.  She was a little bit irritated with me to say the least, and although her general way of dealing with my behavior was usually soft and kind, on this particular day, she had had it with me.  She gave me a lecture, which made my little self so angry I told her I wanted to run away.  She did not argue with this, but pulled out the little overnight suitcase and started packing it for me. Then she set it down for me and said, “There you are.  All packed.”   Indignantly, I picked it up, went out the front door, and started down the street toward the orphanage at the end of the street.  In my small little mind I pictured myself living at the orphanage, and boy was that going to make her sad for talking to me that way.  It seemed I had walked miles, when I finally had to put down the suitcase, and sit down to cry at the injustice of the world. About that time, my Grandad was driving up the street and saw me sitting there crying, and stopped.  He leaned out the window and asked me where I was going.  I told him I was running away because Mama was mean to me.  He then got out of the car, came to talk with me and gave me one of his famous lectures, kindly spoken, that hit home with me.  He then picked up my suitcase put it in the car and drove back toward the house.  When we entered the door, Mama said to me, “So, you are back!  Let me help you unpack.”  I never tried running away again.  In her defense, I am sure she was watching out the window as I went down the street, and the distance was actually only two houses down from ours. I know she was watching over me as I exercised my five-year-old independence.  As she has ever since she went to be with the Lord.

And I remember too, those deeply touching moments with her, which were many.  I think she knew she did not have long on this earth and wanted to be sure that I knew where she was going and that I would be all right without her.  Just a year after my attempted leaving home, when I was six, she took me to see “Bambi”.  After the movie, she explained that although Bambi’s mother died, the father was there to watch over him.  I did not understand for many years what she meant, but somewhere in my teens that message came through loud and clear. 

The most poignant moment I remember with Mama was one Sunday morning.  I was far too ill to go to church with Daddy and Harold, so I got the pleasure of staying home with Mama.  The television was on, with a preacher named Oral Roberts, having all kinds of people come down to the front of the church to be “healed”.  I noticed people who were taken down by others to be “healed” jumping joyfully because they were now well.  My mother was watching as she sat in her chair, where, by this time in her life, most of her days and nights were spent. I curled up on the arm of that big chair next to her, watching in awe.  Then I said to her, “Mama, why don’t we go there and that man will touch you and make you well!”  

She pondered that for a moment.  Her response has stuck with me all these years and has been one of the simplest statements of trust in the Lord that I have ever heard. With these few words, she told me that she had accepted whatever the Lord allowed in her life.   

She said “Honey, if the Lord wanted to heal me, He would do it right here.”

My Mama went to be with the Lord just 4 months after making that statement.  Her acceptance of the Lord’s will in her life, no matter what it was, will always be a moment that I recall as the most profound statement of faith that I have heard. 

Lord, for the brief time I had with my Mama, and for all that I learned from her, I am grateful!

On to the next precious memory, My dear Grandmother Linn.