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We were driving toward the funeral home for preparations when my mostly non-musical husband started singing to himself. I was holding his hand and I turned my head to my left as tears streamed down my face. What an odd time, I thought, to sing such a song.
Blessings in Sacrifice
This day, 12.31.1914, the woman who would some 40 years later give birth to my husband was born. We don’t understand what people born in her time lived through. Our way of living is VASTLY different in every way. At a time in our lives when we were working full time- which for a family in the ministry was 24/7, raising our first baby, and living closer but not close enough to do what was needed for my parents-in-law. We tirelessly (even though tired is a perfectly acceptable sacrifice in doing good for our family!) found ourselves running more and more to give rides, and to fill their refrigerator, cupboards and bellies. You see, Troy used to do this from the time he was 15 because otherwise his mom walked to and from with a pull along cart for her purchases. How many teen boys do you know who shop for their first car by checking the trunk for grocery bag space? Ma had made it to her 80th decade of life never once sitting behind the wheel of a car. I’d say she never got her license, but you had the privilege of driving Ms. Mary you knew full well she did indeed drive, if only from the back seat. The Lord impressed on my heart an impossible thought to change things, but I didn’t realize the full lunacy (a God-thing, for certain) of it until I brought it up to my husband; the look on his face didn’t match his words, “Whatever you think we should do.” And so we did.
Another miracle in the making was somehow, and seriously we don’t recall how but it was indeed impossible for so many reasons of which (lacking) finances was chief, we found this beautiful house-well beyond any thought or dream for ourselves- under frame. It was perfect with a master both upstairs and downstairs and plenty of room for two families to share. We would finish building it to our specs, put our little colonial up for sale AND move in within a few months, all while doing everything else ordinary to our life. Big things would happen in a short time from the conception of this God-prompted change to the moment we had the keys unlocking the door of our new home. We still can’t figure out how that happened; how did we close on this house while still owning and paying on the other one? But God.
The house was finally ready to show to Pop and Ma! Pop had had a rough year, but he was finally doing better. In fact, this Wednesday night he called to ask his son to stop by to help him with something on his way home from work. While he’d never done that before, it wasn’t cause for alarm, and it was no big deal. My husband was always happy just to see his mom and dad. Every day he longs for that chance which only heaven will provide. Anyway, he took care of his concern, gave them a hug and I’m sure kissed the top of his little mom’s head like always before heading home to us. Pop called me and said, “I love you, Sweetheart.” And I loved him. It was later, sometime after the frantic call from Ma a few hours before midnight telling us Pop had collapsed on the tiny kitchen floor, that he’d remember Pop’s words to his mother as he got up to leave, “Troy and Tami are going to take care of you.” We were celebrating: the new house, moving together so we could best take care of them, and Pop finally feeling better after so much ill-health.
Did he know?
He was gone, and we were crushed.
We were driving toward the funeral home for preparations when my mostly non-musical husband started singing to himself. I was holding his hand and I turned my head to my left as tears streamed down my face. What an odd time, I thought, to sing such a song. This man has taught me so much.
In moments like these,
I sing out a song
I sing out a love song to Jesus
In moments like these
I lift up my hands
I lift up my hands to the Lord
Singing I love You Lord
And Ma, through her grief, never missed a step. More than 87 years old and she never quit. She just kept being herself and doing what she needed to do, no matter how difficult and always without complaining.
There we were, four instead of five and a family incomplete. The Lord would answer a ten year long prayer and add another amazing son to our home, but the void left without Pop would remain. We’d never not know he wasn’t here, and we still even 15 years (30, 50…) later wish he was, but that’s how life on this side of eternity works. Death is a very hard part of our lives, but we don’t stop living. So many other stories to tell about Ma at home, but this one is in memory and celebration of her birthday. She loved being doted on, especially on her birthday (and Derby Day, one of those other stories). We made New Year’s Eve celebrations look exactly like the world threw her a party; it was great and usually culminated with a show of fireworks out the front porch. God is great like that!
I learned a lot from this woman. She taught us more about living and sacrifice, about joy and seeing a great life where we’d blind ourselves with burden, and about blessings in the nearly eleven years we were able to have her in our home. Every day we still miss her. I wish she could hear us sing happy birthday to her today and we could see her smile and hear her voice as candles burned on her cake, but we wait with hope and look forward to seeing her again when the Lord unites us in heaven. Happy birthday, Ma! Somehow I think 103 would have looked just as good on you as 95! Go rest high on that mountain, sing with the angels, and we’ll see you soon!
