The Portion of my Inheritance

When we talked on the phone and he told me he had a piano recital that same evening, just a few short hours away, I could not imagine possibly being able to make it. He, living one and a half hour away and his dad being one and a half hour away in another direction.

“It’s ok mom, don’t worry about coming. It’s going to be a long recital and I am only playing one piece.” he said.

I changed the subject. I needed time to process this within my own heart and with my Lord.

When I watched him drive away after his summer job close to home, I knew.

I followed him out to the road and watched him until I could not see him any more, because I knew.

I knew he would not be back.

He had stopped calling our home his some time ago. His home was now an apartment sitting on campus at UTA, in the very center of his life. The road that stretched from that third floor apartment to our front door has become longer and further for him.

It wasn’t just the distance of our dwellings that was so hard. It was the distance of our hearts. Him, pulling and tugging, spreading his own wings, taking the flight of his own life, in his own way.

It had been a series of changes that unfolded before my very eyes. I knew even then that our Lord was shaping and drawing him out. All was right and exactly as it should be, but a mother’s heart tears easily.

He had stopped telling us about his recitals—part of the converting process into manhood—and now I was holding this opportunity within my very hands. If I acted quickly we could make this thing happen. My fingers dialed the number of one who could make or break this mama’s heart.

I explained to Martin, this thread of hope I was clinging to and he packed up his tools and was on his way, just as I knew he would. He is so good like that.

We made it there with thirty minutes to spare. Just enough time to steal precious moments with him, then we walked with our son to the music building.

And everything had been worth the effort. Seeing him. Watching him play the piano suddenly closed the distance and all was right and my heart was full.

Yes, he was right when he said he was only playing one piece. It was a Liszt and when he played he took me away over the past twenty two years.

Hear, my son, and receive my sayings, and the years of your life will be many.  I have taught you in the way of wisdom; I have led you in right paths.  When you walk, your steps will not be hindered, and when you run, you will not stumble.  Proverbs 4:10-13

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The feeling of a baby moving from within the mother’s womb is an exciting and memorable event.

Being able to share it with your own offspring is an even more remarkable experience.

Watching my daughter Andrea’s belly swell with her second daughter, Aniyah, and sharing all the wonders that involve this miracle of miracles is beyond any expression. Hearing the heartbeat and feeling the movement produces such a thrill of anticipation.

On one particular day Aniyah was being very active. As we were feeling her different body parts that were poking and pushing in different directions, I realized the extent of her miraculous dwelling.

The womb.

Within her abode, she is completely encompassed and protected. Within the walls of that womb, she is safe. The nourishment needed for her growth and health is provided as well. She depends upon it for her very life. There, she is completely wrapped in love.

At this point, outside of the womb she would be weak and vulnerable. At this point, apart from the womb, there very possibly would be no life.

Everything she is, everything she does is within her mother’s womb.

Like . . . living and moving and having her being.

Then I heard the whisper of my Lord, “That’s it!That is what abiding in Me looks like!”

Only when I abide in the womb of His love, only when I abide in the womb of the Trinity-living and moving and having my being, in Him (Acts 17:28). The marvel of it all, only then will I have absolutely everything I will ever need for survival on this earth. Only then will I know the peace that surpasses all understanding.

My very life depends upon it.

As the Father loved Me, I also have loved you; abide in My love. John 15:9

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For the past several years I have tried to grow my own pumpkin patch. I have tried everything from planting seeds to letting pumpkins decompose, trying different soils to different sun exposure. To no avail.

Finally, this past summer, from the seeds of decomposed pumpkins, it finally took. I had my very first pumpkin patch!

At first, one lone pumpkin survived the extreme Texas heat and I felt it only right to gift my first born pumpkin to my first born grand child. To her delight!  

 I figured if it survived the drought and heat, surely it would survive her endless dropping it on the floors and toting it along with her to her every destination.

Soon, the pumpkin patch grew wild, overtaking the garden and the blackberry bushes, but eventually it gave birth to a second pumpkin. As the heat began to give way to the cooler air pushing in, pumpkins began to pop out everywhere. Yes, I think I finally got this! My pumpkin patch was looking pretty good and I was so pleased with myself! I could finally justify the higher water bill because of my incessant watering.

But alas, after a few busy days that took my time and attention away from my pumpkins, something terrible went wrong! Little, tiny, yucky, slimy, green worms feasted on my treasures!!!!

I was alone when I found them. There was no one here to save my pumpkins, but me! I would have to be brave. So . . . I began picking up rocks and squishing those slimy green worms, and scraping them off the pumpkins, smashing them on the ground! Over and over again! Sadly, one was too far gone to be saved, so it went into the compost pile.

As for the rest, even though they were still green and covered with scars, they went into the house where they are proudly displayed for all to see.

I am the vine, you are the branches. He who abides in Me, and I in him, bears much fruit; for without Me you can do nothing. John 15:5

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When Autumn falls softly upon us, I rejoice. The long Texas summer generously bows out and autumn takes center stage; majestic, displaying it’s colorful splendor for all to see. The blistering heat surrenders to the cool air that almost gives sight to breath.

Pumpkins are gathered. The wood is stacked high. Darkness comes sooner now and I can hear the faint echo of a dog barking at dusk.

Smoke billows out into the blue-gray sky from the warm belly of a fireplace.

My soul is renewed and I feel a deeper sense of peace as the change settles on me.

And I know . . . . He did this just for me!

“The heavens declare the glory of God; And the firmament shows His handiwork. Day unto day utters speech, And night unto night reveals knowledge. There is no speech nor language where their voice is not heard.” Psalm 19:1-3

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I think that it’s right to start this journey with one who held so much influence over my life: My grandmother, Lorrene Brown. Born in Ioina Michigan, in a house two doors down from the home she spent her entire life in. She indeed embodied a “gentle and quiet” spirit. She was constant, my rock. With her, I always knew I was loved. Her quiet way was soothing and reassuring. I cherish the memories I have of her. She knew hospitality. Her doors were never locked and all were welcome. She was always there to greet them, sitting at the table drinking her coffee. She rarely ever left her house, except near the end, she traveled the length of Michigan to Texas to see those of us who had moved further on.

As a child growing up I can not ever remember my grandma not drinking coffee. She drank coffee from the time she got up until she laid her head on her pillow at night. I often would fill her cup for her but I never once joined her, being a child and into my teen years, coffee held no appeal for me. But it was such a big part of her everyday life. I very vividly remember the colorful array of her coffee cups; orange, green and gold.

Several years ago I found two such cups at a antique store and was flooded with emotion and memories of my grandma. I purchased the cups, as a gift, for my mother, my grandma’s first born. Last Sunday my mother gave the gift back to me, but only the orange cup. The other one was intended for my sister. “Here,” she said, “Take this and have coffee with grandma, I had coffee with her this morning.”

And so . . . The next morning I sat down to have coffee with grandma for the very first time, even though she has been gone for over 30 years.

rather let it be he hidden person of the heart, with the incorruptible beauty of a gentle and quiet spirit, which is very precious in the sight of God. 1 Peter 3:4

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