I was going to sleep in on that rainy Sunday morning, and the idea of doing a lot of nothing except reading the paper and drinking coffee sounded really appealing. But by mid-morning, what I thought at the time was a guilty conscience had me scrambling to get dressed and heading to church because it wasn’t just Sunday, it was Easter. And not getting 20 questions/comments around the dinner table along the lines of “we missed you in church today, where were you?” became far more comfortable to my flesh than a sweat shirt and sweat pants in my apartment.
I was late. Really late. But the ushers smiled and said hello anyway, so that was a relief. I sat in the way back and settled in. I don’t remember one single thing about the rest of that day, but many years later, I am convinced that it was the beginning of a seismic shift that changed my life, and that I showed up at church that Easter not because of a guilty conscience but because someone(s) was praying…
“I know how much you trust the Lord, just as your mother Eunice and your grandmother Lois do;
and I feel sure you are still trusting Him as much as ever."
—2 Timothy 1:5, Living
...I figured it was my grandmother’s doing, followed closely by mom and dad and a few others.
Growing up, I thought Mamie (that's what we called our grandmother) was one of the wisest, kindest people I knew and yet she was a woman of few words. Her faith in God was just as quiet and yet seemed to be strong. I remember her listening to Tennessee Ernie Ford hymns and faithfully watching evangelist Oral Roberts on her black and white TV. The only time I remember her getting upset was when she was listening to a Red Sox game on the radio while she ironed and she raised her voice at “those Yankees!” for ruining Carl Yastrzemski’s birthday.
Mom picked up a lot of those same traits. And just as Paul pointed out to Timothy, put the two of them together, and I didn’t have a chance.
Thank God.
Several months later, Mamie learned she had terminal cancer. I don’t recall her ever changing her disposition, but it devastated mom and shook what little faith I had at the time. “Why God? Why her? Why?!” Even so, for the most part, I continued life as usual with little interest in church or spending Sunday mornings there regularly. But I did like to sing, and when I was invited to join the choir, I didn’t hesitate, even while singing about a Jesus and salvation and healing and such that was all pretty much foreign to my thinking and way of life.
But, there was this song. Mamie loved it, and so did my grandfather. And my mom, and my dad. And the whole choir. And doggone it, my grandmother and mother and whoever else with them must have been praying because it grabbed me, too, even though it wasn’t rock and roll. And on one Saturday night out with the boys, coming home I swore I heard a voice within my head say something like “you are at a crossroads—which road will you choose?” Going to church the next day was furthest from my mind for most of the night but suddenly became, “I’ve gotta be there. Because we’re singing that song tomorrow.”
Mamie and mom and somebody else must have been praying some more. Because that Sunday, after we sang that song, and the invitation was given to receive Christ as Lord of my life (and not me—that wasn’t working out too well, anyway), I went all in. Of all the deep things the pastor said that day, the one line I remember that got my attention was “what if you get hit by a truck on the way out the door today?” And all of heaven must have chuckled a little: “Watch this!,” as I found myself moving to the altar.
Several months later, right before Christmas, Mamie went Home. Even though I knew a bit more about Where she was going, I was still a mess about it all. But on her way, she left me something. She left me that song to carry for all those “Why God? Where are You? This world (my world) is a mess!” moments. And many years later, I still cannot think of a Resurrection Sunday morning without singing along:
Because He lives, I can face tomorrow
Because He lives, all fear is gone
Because I know He holds the future
And life is worth the living just because He lives*
And I picture Mamie, and mom and dad, and all the others I’ve loved who have gone to glory, nodding their heads: “It’s all true. Keep ‘trusting Him as much as ever.’ And don't forget to pray for someone. You never know.”
* Because He Lives, (C) 1971, William J. Gaither Inc.
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