Thursday, November 24, 2016

A Woman of True Grit

She was an extraordinary woman.

By anyone's definition.

Born in 1919.

Raised in a small country town.

She graduated from Lander College.

Not a common path for women at that time.

She boarded a train at the age of 19.

Bound for a job in Washington, DC.

At the National Archives office.

I imagine that took guts.

She stood on Pennsylvania Avenue.

And watched FDR's motorcade go by.

Carrying him to Capital Hill.

Where he made his case for declaring war against Japan.

It was 1941.

And Martha was in Washington.

It was an uncertain and exciting time in our country.

And she had a front row seat.

She eventually returned home to Ninety Six.

Where she had a patient and persistent sweetheart.

She married Chevis.

Three kids came along.

As they built their lives around the family farm.

She was always strong.

No nonsense.

Hard working.

Those traits were soon called to task.

She was made a very young widow.

Her Chevis dropped dead one day on their farm.

A young man in his 40's.

And Martha's life forever changed.

I met her in 1985.

She was already 66 years old.

I was just 26.

We worked together for the next 25 years.

She became part of my family.

And I loved her.

We worked side by side as my girls came along.

Sharing life.

For all those years.

Martha was a force of nature.

She became my measuring stick and example.

For what it meant to grow older.

Martha kept the family farm running.

For all those years after her husband's sudden death.

She put her kids through college.

And worked various jobs.

Her last one was with me.

In her 70's she was still tending to her cows.

And caring for the family farm.

I remember being amazed at stories about "Preacher."

That's what she named her bull.

Preacher would occasionally get out of the fence.

Ending up on the country road by her home.

It wasn't unusual for her to get a call in the night.

That Preacher was out again.

Off she'd go in her night gown & coat.

No matter the hour.

A flashlight in one hand.

A rope in another.

Jumping ditches and steering Preacher back where he belonged.

There was a honky -tonk.

That was what Martha called it.

Around the corner from her driveway.

A small establishment where drinks were served.

On one occasion a customer had indulged a little too much.

And made the unfortunate decision to make his way to Martha's front porch.

Needless to say.

She handled her loaded shotgun.

With the same ease she tended her cows.

After a brief communication through the closed door with her firearm.

I believe some mention was made of the local undertaker.

And "your sorry carcass."

The inebriated customer came to his senses.

And removed himself from Martha's property.

Before she made good on her promise.

She flew across the country.

Many times.

To visit a daughter in Alaska.

After slipping and falling one day in the mountains of North Carolina.

And she politely put herself back in her car.

And drove herself home.

Two hours away.

Only to discover once she saw a doctor.

Her leg was broken.

Heart trouble in her 80's.

Led to open heart surgery.

I thought she wouldn't come back to work at that point.

She recuperated for months at home.

She told me exactly how many laps she had to walk.

Inside her house.

To get in a full mile of walking every day.

And she did it.

She pushed.

She found her motivation and drive.

Even in her 80's.

To recover.

And surprising everybody -- including me.

She returned to work.

Until she retired some years later at the age of 92.

When Martha took her last breath on Saturday.

She was 97 years old.

I put my arms around her kids at the funeral.

Mamie and Pat and Raymond.

I couldn't hold back the tears.

What a woman.

Their mother.

My friend.

They knew even better than me.


And grit.

She had it.

And we were sure blessed to share life with her.

Until we meet again, Martha.

I love you!

Wednesday, November 16, 2016

I Don't Know What Too Far Down the Road Looks Like

I have a half hour commute into work each day.

Country roads much of the way.

On early mornings.

When the sun is just coming up.

A fog often settles on the pastures and fields I pass.

I love the way it looks.

A wispy.

Light blanket.

Sunlight streaming through.

Just above the grass.


I drew on that image.

The one I've seen many mornings.

As I read my devotion today.

November 16.

"As you look at the day before you,

you see a twisted, complicated path,

with branches

going off in all directions."

"As you look again at the path ahead,

you notice a peaceful fog

has settled over it,

obscuring your view."

"You can see only a few steps

in front of you,

so you turn your attention

more fully to Me..."

and begin to enjoy My presence."

"The fog is a protection for you,

calling you back

into the present moment."


I inhabit all

of space and time,


communicate with Me

only here and now.

...on the path just ahead of you."

It caught my attention today.

I'm the worst about trying to look too far down the road.

There's plenty to be anxious about there.

But not when there's a fog.

Lightly settling over my life.


I can only see what's right in front of me.

It's there.

In the present.

Where I need to stay.

Not too far down the road.


"Then you remember the One

who is with you always,

holding you by your right hand."

"keep your focus on Me

and on the path just ahead of you."*

Sarah Young, "Jesus Calling"