The Rememberers– for Mothers’ Day

Mothers Day is a happy day, and also a sad one for many.  Mothers are both biological and spiritual. They find us as divine grace in life. If we lost one too soon, God seems to put strong, caring women in our lives somewhere to help us survive and grow up into life.  I have been blessed with a loving Mom who loves her children and stood by the four of us as we meandered toward adulthood. I am grateful. But I have known extra mothers–my wonderful mother-in-law, teachers, mentors, and an unfair overabundance of wise older women because of my vocation as a pastor. My wife is the greatest mother on the planet.  I still learn from her.  I am grateful for them all.

As my mother has battled cancer (and is now in remission, thankfully) this last nearly two years, I have become more grateful for the journey with mom and moms everywhere.  For all of us, thank you.  And so, a poem I wrote not long ago while thinking of my mom as the “teller of stories,” and women in churches who keep the stories that make us human beings.  It’s not about any particular person, but an imaginary woman whose life has made a difference, even if unseen.  Hope you have a day of peace, today.  And remember, whether you had kids or not, someone in thiMoms world needs your wisdom.  We appreciate you.

The Rememberer

Gary Allison Furr, April 15, 2019

 

To a man in a hurry,

She was an old lady driver

a Lincoln Town Car getting in his way

to the pharmacist and doctor

a gold mine of prescriptions

a pill for every ache and pain

 

Young men once longed to meet her

Her husband once pursued her

He saw the future in her deep blue eyes.

She raised babies safe from fear

Made decent people of her children

And gave them confidence to try.

 

She’s the best friend of her Ladies class

She never fails to write them

That she missed them and remembers them in prayer

Strangers who walk past her

in a hurry to make money

barely notice that she’s there.

 

When her late husband was angry

at the world he didn’t ask for

she waited for him to come back alive

While he huddled in the storms

he kept making for himself

until he found a clearing in the sky

 

She’s the woman who remembers

Now her loved ones come to render

thanksgiving in these hours before they grieve

and all the people that she prayed for

the children that she cherished

Wait here by the bed from which she’ll leave

 

She’s breathing slow.

They all know

her departure’s drawing nigh

Her labored breathing is the only sound

God never forgot her.

Now these people she remembered

Are gathered here to sit near holy ground.

 

 

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