Maybe They Really Were Radical...

My Mama just turned 80 years old and I'm not far behind her. She had me when she was still a teenager. She never had a childhood, until my Daddy gave her one. He bought her every doll, every trinket, car or flower he imagined she wanted. She spoiled him too...I think she was still combing his hair up until the day he died. All my life, she said she'd probably never make it past 60, since most of her people didn't live long. But she's still here -- sleeps like a boss, with skin all soft and dewy (that's odd, too, because she had terrible acne for the first half of her life). I don't think she was birthed in the normal way -- she came here fully grown, all ready to be an adult. She was an athlete, though nobody knew it except us. Daddy would be playing basketball in the driveway with us, when Mama would come marching by (she marches; I've never seen her sashay) on her way to the mailbox. We'd throw her the ball. With no delicacy or finesse, she'd fling the ball into the hoop every time, like a rocket. On her way to pick errant weeds that dared to poke their head up in our grass, we'd yell for her to take a turn at bat. Daddy would lob the ball and she'd smack it out of the yard. You could throw her any sphere and she would catch it. There was no playing, just quick hints at the coordination underneath. She had other fish to fry, literal fish, and was very happy to leave the playing to Daddy and us kids. 

When the five of us would be in the car, going somewhere, often we would start singing. Mama was probably the best voice, but she would leave it to the other four of us while she stayed quiet. Daddy was tone-deaf, but would sing to the top of his lungs. I wondered for many years why she didn't join in. She was in the church choir, for heaven's sake. I asked her why she didn't sing when we did. She said, many times, "I just like to hear you all do it." 

As I got older, I began to see the gift that she gave us. She never knew the sweetness of a Daddy who played with her, or sang with her, or threw a ball to her. Hers was a cold man, who married, made four daughters and then sat down, old before his time. He wasn't a bad person, just absent. When her and my Pa married, she wanted a different life. She herded us towards Daddy, made a secure and ordered home, and was happy to watch her progeny thrive with the opposite chemistry of she and him. She was the wind under his wings. Not that she's ever suppressed anything about her opinions, no indeed. She's strong-willed, sassy and assertive. It's a God mystery, for sure. They fussed and talked and made up, but I saw her respect and love him and I saw him love and respect her. 

Sunday night's sermon was from the current intern at our church, a young man who looks like he could be my grandson (I'm kidding -- I'm only 39 and I was still playing hopscotch when I was 14, so he couldn't be my grandson), with few rings around his trunk.  The theme running through his homily was that of quiet faithfulness. As young folks, we thought we were going to be radical, we were going to change the world. In God's economy, however, it seems to usually be that constant, resolute, true daily walk that bears fruit. The tortoise really does win the race, though I chafe at the thought. My hare-ness might just be the death of me. As I think of my folks and the things they did so well (even though they were both sinners with cracks a-plenty), I honor them and especially my Mama this day, for that golden thread that ran through the pieces of their life. They were rarely quiet, but their faithfulness was soft, simple, peaceful...a refuge for us children. Two people, flawed and bumbling, who learned to depend on Christ. Now a swath of  humanity follows them, an eternal legacy built on things that last, rather than things that don't. They actually have changed the world. Grace, grace...