Like spiritual mortar, faith fills in the cracks, sometimes providing the ledge where fingernails clutch, hanging on until.
Good to be back in the land of grits and country ham with my Carolina family. To be here is to connect with roots of righteousness, where my parents and other family are temporarily planted in the earth. To return home is to remember through storytelling, viewing familiar places and faces, noticing the absent ones.
Drove by the old house on Oak Leaf Drive, a portable basketball hoop looked out of place, rolled within the shadow of the Live Oak tree, dripping with Spanish moss, under which Mama and Daddy’d planted azaleas. The current owner rents to college students.
Places, like people change, sometimes for Good.
Chrissy, my sister-in-love, and I sat talking about Mama, and her kind of faith, without which it’s not only “impossible to please God”, as it says somewhere in the Bible, it’s just too tough to go on. Period.
Shortly before Mama died, an unanswered question tethered her to earth, according to the hospice nurse. We, like she, dangled from faith’s ledge. When the answer came, Mama clapped her hands together and exclaimed, “Could it be any better!” Her faith slapped on an exclamation point, mine came with a question mark. I thought,” It could be better, God, a lot better.”
The older I get, the less I need answers. Still need to ask the questions, talk about impossibilities with God, like maybe God could use a suggestion. Mostly God listens.
Mama took off for heaven a couple of days after the answer. Like Hebrews 11 says, “Each one of these people of faith died, not yet having in hand what was promised but still believing.”
Who doesn’t wait for answers in the dark, clutch to a ledge for something, someone?
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