You and I measure time by events. The writer of Ecclesiastes reminds us of that in Chapter three. We have those pivotal moments that mark our living in births, deaths, holidays, special events, and tragedies.
Growing up daddy would say on the day you were born icicles
were hanging off the house a foot long and we buried your momma’s Grandmoe
Crumpton the day before you were born.
One of those pivotal moments came in October 1986. Momma heard that I would be preaching at the
Mom had worked in the veneer mill in Maplesville thirty-five
years earlier. She wanted to go with me
in hope of renewing some old acquaintances.
I hoped that she wanted to hear me preach, but she wanted to meet old
friends.
It was rare for mom and dad did not get to hear me
preach. Both died within the first three
years of my ministry. I think the only
sermon my dad heard me preach as a pastor was a Father’s Day message at my
first church. Mom heard a few more, but
not many.
The trip to Maplesville was fun. I spent time with mom. She met a few old friends and for mom, she
heard me for the last time. In my
ministry, my sermon has been the last message people heard before they died. That is an awesome responsibility when
standing behind the Sacred Desk. My
preaching what may be the last word from God a person hears.
The following week, I went to see momma on Saturday
morning. She was standing at the place
she stood most, behind the kitchen sink washing dishes. She was looking out the window as I sneaked
up behind her. Momma did a lot of humming
and singing while doing dishes and this morning was no different.
I grabbed her from behind, gave her a big bear hug, lifted
her from her feet, and turned round and round with her. When I put her down, she said, “You broke my
rib.” I said, “Momma I did not squeeze
you hard enough to break a rib.”
Momma worked hard her whole life and she and dad never had
many worldly possessions. For several
years, mom suffered severe pain, but the doctors could never find anything that
may have caused the pain. Mom hurt so
bad that she would spend a couple hours after work resting at my sister’s house
before taking the thirty-minute drive home.
My sister lived a couple miles from where momma worked.
So, when I hurt mom, I just added to the pain. After two or three days following my big
squeeze, mom went to the doctor. When
Dr. Funderburk, family friend and former parishioner of mine, read the x-ray,
he sent mom to a specialist.
A few years earlier mom had a stroke but recovered. She rehabbed herself. Later the doctors diagnosed melanoma cancer
on her back. She had successful
surgery. But the pain continued.
I shall never forget the moment when the doctor told me, I
was with her when she had surgery following the hug that broke the rib. The surgeon said, “Your mom is eaten up with
cancer.” He said the rib was not broken,
but I collapsed her rib cage on the left, the good one, with the hug. The other side is completely eaten away. That was the good news. The bad news was that cancer riddled her
body. The surgeon said, “Your mom has
six months to a year to live.” That was
around Halloween.
Mom had a bad spell around Thanksgiving. The doctor said, “Your mom has three to six
months to live.” Mom was in the hospital at Christmas. It would our last Christmas with her. The doctors said, “Your mom has days to
live.”
My sister, brothers, and I spent time with mom. My sister was marvelous staying the week,
while my brothers and I did weekends. On
one of my watches, mom was struggling, always the fighter. Seeing she needed some encouragement, I said,
“Come on old woman, get up, and fix me some biscuits.” I was not ugly or disrespectful, that was the
way mom and I picked on each other. She
loved to fix me biscuits and I loved aggravating her. She tried to get off the
bed using her good arm; cancer destroyed her right arm, esophagus, number four
disk, thigh, and neck among other parts of her diseased body. After a gallant effort, she fell back in the
bed, looked me dead in the eyes, and asked me, “Am I going to make it? Don’t lie to me. I know when you lie. I can see it in your eyes.”
Mom was obvious to how short her time was. I told what the doctors told me. I said, “You have days.” She said, “I thought so.”
She said, “God has blessed me. He gave me what I wanted. Christian kids. I have a preacher, two deacons, and a Sunday
School teacher. I never wanted to be rich, famous, or have a lot of stuff. All I ever wanted in life was Christian
children. God gave them to me.”
Pivotal events came at Halloween, Thanksgiving, Christmas,
and the start of a New Year. Twenty-seven
days into the New Year momma died.
To every thing there
is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven: A time to be born,
and a time to die (Ecclesiastes 3:1-2a KJV)
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