This post is mostly for my dad. It's about his mom, a woman that many people called Mee-Mee.
I think about Mee-Mee a lot. Every day. I can't help it. When my son gets really tickled about something, he laughs just like her. And I've always seen Mee-Mee in my daughter's brow bone, that defined ledge over deep set eyes. Just like Mee-Mee. The similarity is unmistakable. My son might be almost a carbon copy of his dad, but his laugh descended from his maternal great-grandmother.
Mee-Mee passed away when I was pregnant with my son, about four months before he was born. Her reaction to finding out that I was having a boy was one of my favorites. "Oh! Another preacher!" she said happily. The most important thing on earth to her was that her children and her grandchildren and great-grandchildren would love God and serve Him. She already had a family bursting with men who taught Bible class, led singing during worship, and even preached, so one more to add to that number was a boon to her joy. That she had such an uplifting and optimistic reaction was a boon to mine, since finding out the gender had left me wondering, "What on earth do I do with a boy??" Wise as she was, she already knew. You teach him about God, and then let him tell other people. Simple as that.
Mee-Mee was so wise in so many ways. I've come to realize that only in the last few years, enough to mourn that I didn't spend more time intentionally learning from her. Just being around her was an education in itself. She taught good hygiene (ALWAYS wash your hands before doing ANYTHING in the kitchen). She modeled good posture for me, even with her own stooped back. She encouraged getting an education, telling me over and over "Anything you learn belongs to you." She didn't have the opportunity for much formal schooling, but she was educated in the things that mattered most in life. I could kick myself for not taking more advantage of that priceless resource. But she did what she could to impress on me all sorts of lessons related to house-wifery, mothering, godliness, life in general. And some of it stuck. In fact, I never feel closer to her than when I am cleaning my house. Sweeping my kitchen floor is a way for me to reconnect with her memory, to feel the love I still have for her a little bit more.
I wish, so badly wish, that she could meet my kids. That they could meet her. That my grandmother and my son could share a laugh, and the laughter would be the same sound coming from two bodies and two hearts. That she could look into my daughter's eyes and see something of her own. Sometimes I forget that I can't call Mee-Mee and tell her about what the kids are up to these days, and hear the pride and joy behind the instruction that she would give me.
These words are so inadequate, trying to summarize the beauty of her person and character. Little things like how impeccably dressed my grandfather was every time they went to church. Each item of clothing was clean, pressed, and in place, with a gold tie tack holding it all together.She turned a pressed dress shirt into something holy, an offering to God right alongside her clean hands and pure heart. She always said "Thank you" or "I love you" or "I'm sorry for your loss" with the best chocolate cake I've ever eaten. Mee-Mee's cake carrier had more miles on it than most people's cars. If it was joy you were experiencing, that cake was a song. If sorrow, a prayer mingled with her own for comfort, strength, and peace. She ministered in practical ways to anyone within her reach. It's no wonder that the book of James was one of her favorites in the Bible.
These words aren't enough. They will never be enough. I will continue to miss her, to wish she was on the other end of a telephone conversation, cheering me on in her own way, giving me plenty of advice and instruction. I'm thankful for that. Thankful that I knew her and loved her long enough to miss her this much. To look forward to being with her again. She's got a head start on me in the spiritual realms. I'm sure I will have a thing or two to learn from her when I make it there myself.
-Ashley
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