Aunt Jeanne Marie

Oh, Now I See

AJM DallasShe always asks the most amazing questions, and today was no exception. At 87 years old, she forgets a lot, but her desire to know how I’m doing hasn’t changed.

So yesterday, after our usual hello’s and how are you’s she asks,

“What flowers are blooming in your front yard?”

At first I thought it was hypothetical. But then I realize it’s almost spring, and this is probably a common question from a long gone era.

“It’s not quite spring yet,” I respond. “So nothing’s really blooming yet. But my Easter lily has sprouted, but there’s no flower.”

“Oh, I see,” She sweetly replies.

Aunt Jeanne Marie is the greatest conversationalist. And since she’s always lived on the west coast, while I’ve lived back east, she’s taught me how to use questions to engage with people.FullSizeRender

Many times we’d be a few minutes into our conversation and she’d stop.

“Wait a second honey,” she’d say. “I need to get a picture of you. Where are you sitting?”

“I’m sitting at my kitchen table.”

“What color is your top?”

“I’m wearing a denim shirt.”

“And your slacks. What color are they?”

“I’m wearing khaki’s.”

“And your hair, how are you wearing it these days.”

“Well, it’s about shoulder length, a little layered, highlighted a dark blonde. And it’s curly.”

“Oh good, now I can really see you. Now where were we?”

I updated her on my kids and grand-kids. Then we talked about my dreams and the ways she could pray for me. We laughed, and we cried. And we marveled at how many years had passed.

And after we hung up it hit me.

I was wrong, my yard is full of flowers.

5e67f-dscn0231_0001Because, Aunt Jeanne Marie, now that I think about it, you planted them there. Grace is in the middle just where you put it. It grew every time you loved me in spite of how flawed I am. Then there’s that patience. Remember how you planted it so deep in the soil so its roots would stay put? You made sure I could see it for many, many years. Oh and that perseverance, that flower is so stubborn. I couldn’t kill it if I tried. You made sure of that each time you stuck by me no matter what I did.

And I think I can speak for all of us when I say how grateful we are. It was you who tilled the soil of our broken lives. It was you who did the hard work so we could reap the reward. It was your love and devotion to a renegade bunch of kids that changed our lives.

So yes Aunt Jeanne Marie, my yard is in full bloom. And it will stay that way for many years to come.

 

Bitesize Pieces of Perfection

I’m sure it came inside a card I no longer have, but this little strip of paper made it’s way into a box of keepsakes. When I ran across it several months ago, I took it out and glued it into my art journal.AJM I Wish

Aunt Jeanne Marie has often sent me such treasures. When I was younger I didn’t realize their long term value, and many didn’t get saved. But somehow, I began to see these jewels of wisdom and I started tucking them away.

Today, I read this one over and over. Of all the things listed here, my mind got stuck on the, “…ordinary little bite size pieces of perfection…”

It got me thinking – just what does a bite size piece of perfection look like?

So here’s my short list from the past month:

IMG_3908Work has brought my son Daniel from Philadelphia to Florida for two whole weeks. So for fourteen days, we get to talk, dream, argue, and frustrate each other, just like the old days. It’s so wonderful to have my son in the house.

My granddaughter Juliette, who lives in Atlanta, shut herself in a closet to spend some quality FaceTime with me. For about thirty minutes, I got her all to myself. She told me about the recital I missed, her school work, and her latest writing projects. The memory of that conversation still warms me.

I spent the past couple weekIMG_3905s on the road for work. And in those travels, I got to eat at some amazing restaurants. All at no cost to me.

I met a new friend from Phoenix through my blog. Somehow we connected and began to support each others writing. I feel honored when she comments on my website. It’s an odd type of world we writers live in. One where we are often alone with our words. But when they go out to places unknown, and they latch onto someone else, it’s a real treat. So check out my new friend Tanara McCauley’s website. I think you’ll be glad you did.

Sometimes life just gets really hard. And it’s easy to get bogged down in the tough stuff of just getting by. And all the while, God is reaching down and handing us little bite size pieces of perfection. Moments He’s orchestrated on our behalf. But if we don’t take the time to reflect. If we just stay focused on the difficulties at hand, we’ll miss all the ways He’s wrapped His arms around us, and gently held us through the storm.

The Love of a Boy and Girl

IMG_3631Last week I feasted at Aunt Jeanne Marie and Uncle Eugene’s dining room table. At eighty-seven, it’s a struggle for them to entertain guests. But they were delighted when I came, bringing two friends along with me. For over an hour we ate great food and drank fine wine. And as we did, the conversation became richer and richer.

Finally, I pushed my chair away from the table and declared, “This is the best.”

“No,” replied Aunt Jeanne Marie, “The love of a boy and a girl, that’s the best.” Then she turned to Uncle Eugene and tenderly tapped him on the shoulder.

The moment froze. For a few seconds, years of photographs flashed in my mind. The young bride and groom. The two of them in their forties, fifties, and sixties. Uncle Eugene so tall and handsome, usually with his arm around his stunning wife.How to get Mojo

Sitting there, I felt honored to have witnessed such a great love story.

And, once again I realized how distorted my view of love is. How too often my heart gets sucked into a Hollywood romance because the couple is young and beautiful. How I’m easily impressed by wealthy celebrities declaring unending love for one another.

But true love sat in front of me last week. And it was quiet and reserved. Deeper than anything I’ve ever experienced. And it didn’t need words. It shined through in the simplest glances. And spoke volumes in the gentle tap of a shoulder.

If we lived in a right side up world, there would be a line outside Aunt Jeanne Marie and Uncle Eugene’s door. People would come from miles in order AJM & Grandfather 1to soak in their wisdom. Talk show hosts would compete to book them on their shows.

And they would be the celebrities of the day. Their faces beaming on the cover of the magazines in the check out line. And our young men and women would clamor to be just like them.

Ahh, what a wonderful world that would be.

Yup, I Was a Dirty Kid

I have a vivid memory of standing next to a pretty little girl in my 4th grade classroom. As I glanced down at our hands, my fingernails were not as white as hers and my arms still showed the dirt remnants of my latest adventures on the ball field.

Two years later, at a new elementary school, I learned the devastating truth, that apparently, I dressed all wrong. “Why do you wear summer clothes in the winter?” The perfectly dressed classmate asked me?

Seasonal clothing – that concept eluded me. But the shame of not fitting in didn’t, it stuck for years.

There’s a grei8opez3yna8118yat scene in Betty Smith’s book, A Tree Grows in Brooklyn, where seven-year-old Francine has to take her little brother, Neeley for their vaccines. To take his mind off what she perceives is impending torture; Francine spends the morning with Neeley making mud pies. Forgetting to wash up like their mother told them, Francine drags her brother, mud and all, to the local health department.

Francine goes in first where a nurse scrubs a nice clean white spot on her arm. In disgust a Harvard trained intern who was obligated to work a few hours a week at the clinic says,

“Filth, filth, filth, from morning to night. I know they’re poor but they could wash. Water is free and soap is cheap. Just look at that arm…”

Francine is so angry she doesn’t even feel the needle jab. And while the nurse is bandaging her up, Francine blurts out,

“My brother is next. His arm is just as dirty as mine so don’t be surprised. And you don’t have to tell him. You told me…besides, it won’t do no good. He’s a boy and he don’t care if he is dirty.”

I anguished reading that scene.

For years my shame would pop up it’s ugly head. It drove me to overcompensate in many ways. Kelly and Daniel

And when I had children of my own, I overcompensated by keeping them clean. No dirt would gather under their fingernails. And of course, they had the best clothes, even if it meant sewing them myself from scraps purchased at Ben Franklin’s.

But then a funny thing happened. One day, in casual conversation my Aunt Jeanne Marie said,

“After your father died, when I was living with you guys in Arlington, I used to watch the little girl next door as she left for school. Her clothes were always pressed and her hair neatly done. Then I’d look at you guys and my heart would just break. There was so much to do and your Mother and I were doing the best we could. But I always wanted better for you guys.”

Suddenly, all those years of stored up pain melted away. Somehow, just knowing she saw my need made it better. There was comfort in knowing I didn’t suffer alone.

Aunt Jeanne Marie knew. And that knowledge was like cool water to a thirsty soul.

And to think, He sees it all…

He has searched me, and He knows me.
He knows when I sit and when I rise;
He perceives my thoughts from afar.
He discerns my going out and my lying down;
He is familiar with all my ways.
Before a word is on my tongue, He knows it completely.
He hems me in behind and before, and He lays His hand upon me.

Such knowledge is too wonderful for me, too lofty for me to attain…

Praise be the Lord.

 

Passing the Baton
AJM & Grandfather 1

Uncle Eugene and Aunt Jeanne Marie 1980’s

About thirty years ago, after spending a day touring the sights in San Francisco, I sat down at my Aunt Jeanne Marie’s dining room table while she busied herself in the kitchen.

The table was clear except for a small very thick photo album I’d never seen before. I slid it in front of me and opened it to the first page. There sitting neatly in its plastic sleeve was a picture of my mother. On the next page was a picture of my brother Jim, his wife, and their three kids. Page after page, a new family appeared, including mine. We were all there, including Uncle Eugene’s sister and her families.

Aunt Jeanne Marie came in from the kitchen and sat across from me.

“Oh you found my prayer book. I find it so much easier to pray for someone if I have a picture of them in front of me.

I smiled as I turned the last page to a formal picture of then President Ronald Reagan.

“Oh, you know the bible says we’re to pray for our leaders, so I pray for him too.”

Now I’d like to say I went straight home and made me a prayer book of my family’s photos. And that each day I took it out and prayed diligently over each member. But I didn’t. At that time, my prayer life consisted more of desperate pleas for God to remove me from my latest trial.

But lately, I can’t stop thinking about that little photo album. And the idea that for most of my life, well probably all of it, Aunt Jeanne Marie has prayed for me.

TPDFrank Peretti’s compelling novel, This Present Darkness, tells of a demon invasion of a small American town. And whom do those demons fear? The tiny “remnant” of saints whose greatest weapon is prayer. And the one they fear the most is an old lady named Edith. When she begins to pray for that town, the demons recoil in fear.

The bible says we struggle not with flesh and blood, but with powers of this dark world, and spiritual forces in heavenly realms. Perhaps Frank Peretti’s story is truer than we’d like to think. And if it is, we need more remnants in constant prayer for our families and our towns.

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My Granddaughter Jo with Aunt Jeanne Marie, 2010

Aunt Jeanne Marie is in her late 80’s. And I’m convinced when she begins her prayers, evil forces in heavenly realms have to withdraw. And the weakening of her physical body does not deter the strength of her spirit. And daily she goes to war for the souls of the ones she loves.

As I contemplate the future of my family, I realize my generation needs to pick up that baton. We need to prepare to do battle in spiritual places. To build remnants who understand the scope of the fight. To prepare to walk through the valley of the shadow of death and fear no evil. Are you in?