This past Monday was our quarterly “G’pa Ed and G’ma Mary home visit.” I’m ashamed to admit that we go visit these precious friends only a few times a year, but right now I don’t have to wallow in that guilt because this week we went. We took supper; we took groceries; we took precious children who bring joy, yada yada. We went. We loved God; we loved on others.
It always starts with the “front lawn.”Coulter, Emma Claire and I make our way through lawn; gated and adorned with old washers full of flowers faded and dying from the summer heat or the early fall, I’m not sure which, a picnic table which Coulter tells me wasn’t there last time, and various other “yard art” and we let ourselves in. Ed and Mary are in their familiar spots and I find the only chair that couldn’t also be used as a motor vehicle. They are mostly home-bound so the tiny house is filled with hanging creations made from communion cups, beads, coffee cans and glitter. Coulter and Emma Claire are fascinated but are most interested in the candy jar. “God please bless that food, for I have no idea how long it’s been there. Amen.”
After we’ve had our chocolate, Coulter finds a big bag of toys and starts playing with what appears to be old (and I’m talking vintage here) Mc Donald’s toys and Emma Claire chases around their 14 year old dog trying to “pet you.” And then it begins:
“Well, you know my cancer’s back. But I’m not worried and I told Ed not to worry and I don’t want you to worry. God is not making up a bed for me just yet. Now, where have you been? We haven’t seen you in months. I tell Ed you’re a mom and you’re just too busy.”
“Yes ma’am. We are pretty busy. Coulter has started school and well, it’s a whole new world.”
“Well, I guess you’ve heard they’re demolishing the house next door.”
“No, I hadn’t heard.”
“My goodness. It was all over the news. See, Ed and I were still asleep because we don’t sleep too good and, well long story short (only it wasn’t short at all!) those Indians next door got drunk again and he took off in his car and started driving into the house. Three times he backed up and rammed it again. Drunker than a skunk and his girlfriend and her son were in the house, too. Anyway, they’re holding him down at lock-up and Jerry next door bought that house and he’s gonna turn it into a parking lot for Irene. And that’s a good thing, too, ‘cause she hasn’t had anywhere to park and now, maybe we’ll get some peace and quiet from those damn Indians.”
Now, as you can imagine, I’m at a loss for words. I mean, what am I supposed to say? “Oh, well, sounds like your Native American neighbors enjoy the occasional party drink?” I mean come on! My 5 and 2 year old are hearing all of this and all I need is for Coulter to share this story during center time at Kindergarten.
“Coulter,” I say, trying desparately to change the subject “tell G’pa Ed and G’ma Mary about school.” “Uhm, yeah. I go to kindergarten now.” That’s it. That’s all the contribution that he could come up with.
Now I could go on. I could tell you about Mary’s son who got drunk on her whiskey at age 12. I could tell you about her son who still likes to get drunk. I could tell you about “that damn tree,” that fell over at her sisters’s house; I could go on and on, but all you really need to know about Ed and Mary is that almost 10 years ago, just days away from entering hospice Mary received a successful bone-marrow transplant . They are faith-filled people and they love the Lord with all of their heart. They love me and my children and it goes without saying that Mary is a walking, breathing, living miracle of God.
After what I thought was a respectable amount of time and after I was sure we’d be discussing what it means to be drunk for the next several days, I politely explained that we needed to be going.Later that day, I was visiting with my mom and she shared with me a devotion which spoke to how we as parents spend so much of our time teaching our children how to be self-sufficient and how to take care of themselves, when, in fact, we should be teaching them to care for others. She encouraged me that our visits to Ed and Mary were being faithful to God’s call to love others, and I’m just gonna go with that because that’s a much nicer lesson than the one about what happens when you drink too much and decide to drive your car into your girlfriend’s home.
A few days later Coulter was practicing his memory verse for sunday school and, remembering one from a few weeks back, Emma Claire chimed in with “Trust in Lorrrrrd, aaaaall your heart.” After savoring the sweetness of the moment, I couldn’t help but think again of Ed and Mary. They’ve had 10 years worth of cancer news to lose faith; to get angry; to give up and yet they don’t. Of all the stories that I hope my children will forget (racial slurs, questionable language, etc.) it’s the story of faith that I hope will stick with them.
You could be like Mary, hearing cancer for the umpteenth time this week, or like my buddy, Marr, in the prime of his life, hearing it for the first time, along with other words like transplant patient. You could be looking for the blessing of a job; a spouse; a baby. Or, you could just be like Coulter trying to understand why someone would call you a “stupid face,” after all, “I’m not a stupid face, am I mom?” Regardless, the lesson of Ed and Mary, the lesson that sweet Emma Claire has already put to memory, is to “Trust in the Lord with all your heart.” (Proverbs 3:5) At the end of the day, that’s the only lesson that really matters.
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