Today we lost my Grandmother, my Mother's Mom, Gertrude Gann. She was just a few weeks shy of here 96th birthday. This post was originally published on Mother's Day '09. My mom read it to Mamaw Gann, I just hope she understood how much she meant to me and what an influence she had on my life. I envy the reunion and the joy she is having right now.
I want to tell you a story. Once upon a time - an enchanted time known as "The 1980's"- there lived a boy in a small town in north Texas hard against the Oklahoma border. This boy had a lot of what he needed. Love and support from his family. Plenty of food. Shelter. Unfortunately, the boy had very little brain. This was evidenced by his mullet, his lack of taste in fashion, and his driving ability. He was not unlike many of the boys his age.
The boy of very little brain had a job. He worked in the food court of the newly-opened mall in his town. The Boy also had a car. A Mustang. Now there is nothing wrong with a Mustang in and of itself, but when all that horsepower mixes with very little brain, well, you know. The mall where the boy worked wasn't quite completed. In fact, there were a couple of acres of parking lot that were wide open dirt fields at the time. So, being a boy with very little brain and very much horsepower, he'd head to work a few minutes early each day, and just before going to work, would spend some time driving, spinning, and freewheelin' in this unfinished parking lot. One day, after a particular heavy North Texas downpour, the boy was off-roading in his Mustang in the deep mud of the unfinished parking lot. It was then when the boy learned an important lesson about construction. Curbs for parking lots and landscape islands are poured in place before the concrete of the parking lot. He learned this lesson as he hit the curb straight on traveling roughly 30 mph. The damage, as you can imagine, was extensive. So, the boy walked about 100 yards from the disabled car to the Mall. All the way, he was trying to come up with a way to keep his father from knowing about what had happened. But there was no escaping telling his Dad. Now, as you can imagine, his Dad was quite upset when he learned the full extent of the damages, and the underlying cause of the damages.
The Boy's father was prone to rant. And rant he did. But, the Boy had an ally. The Boy's grandmother was visiting from out of town. And in the middle of his father's rant the Grandmother spoke up. She said "Don't give him a hard time, he had on those new work shoes, that were probably too heavy for his feet. It's not his fault, his shoes were to heavy".
"YESS!!! The shoes Dad! It's the shoes!" explained the boy. The Dad didn't buy it. And really, neither did the boy. But in that moment he learned that he had someone in his corner, someone who thought along the same lines as himself. Someone, who would show extraordinary grace to the obviously guilty.
The name of the boy isn't really important. His Grandmother just happens to be my Grandmother, Gertrude, or Memaw or Granny Gann. She's well into her 90's now, living in the same town in Mississippi that she has for years. Maybe because I've spent the better part of the last year in a sort of deep spiritual introspection, that I've been thinking more and more about how I want my life lived, what legacy I want to pass on to my children and grandchildren, and how I want to affect people I come in contact with. The more I think about these things, the more I think I need to be like my Grandmother. Here's how.
First, and this is where it all starts, is the simple faith my Grandmother has. Unencumbered by inner debates of theological finer points, she simply lives her life with Christ. I don't know for certain, but I'm 90% sure she's never got into a debate with a Calvinist. I'm sure she believes in the rapture of the church, but at the same time she trusts God to do what God does, even if the rapture never happens. She hasn't attended "church" my entire life. Yet tithes routinly. She trusts God to work things out, and seeks to be like him, and prays that all of us do the same.
Second, she has nothing really, and manages to give it all away. Ever make one of those mental lists of items that you'd grab on your way out the door if there a fire? I have. And topping that list is the quilt she made me. It's ragged now, over used not just as a blanket, but as a tent by the kids, a picnic blanket by me and Vanessa, and a pallet by our dog when we aren't looking. It really should be framed and preserved at this point. What I love most about it is that she took what she had - time and my Mother's old maternity dresses - and made me something just for me. I'm not unique here. All of her children, and grandchildren, and countless others have a quilt she made especially for them. Maybe in my life I need to stop writing checks to charities and missions and get my hands dirty. Pour my time and energy to demonstrating my love to other people. A custom, tangible gift of love from me to someone who needs it.
I have a tendency to make snap judgments of people. I'm the star of my own movie, and when people don't behave according to the script, I write them off as 'idiots', or worse. I remember a time when I was a child - maybe 7 or 8 years old. All of my Mom's side of the family were gathered at my Grandmother's house to do what the Gann clan does best; talk and eat. A group of adults were talking about a particular man in the community. He was a sorry individual. No good. Corrupt. Dishonest. You name it. The conversation went on for a while and the longer it went, the worse he got. Finally, after stopping short of blaming him for Vietnam and rampant inflation, there was a lull in the conversation. At this point my Grandmother said something that has stuck with me ever since. She said "He sure drives a pretty car though". And with that, the conversation was over. He might have personally been responsible for all manner of evil in the world, but she saw - an called attention too - the only positive thing that could be said. He drove a pretty car. I wish to God I could be more like that. Instead of pointing out all thats wrong with who I meet, I want to see the positive. I want to see the pretty car. I want to be that full of Grace.
Grace to accept people for who they are. Love to give with no thought of anything in return. Faith that simply trusts God to be who God is. What more, I ask, is there? What else is there to achieve?
My own son is shaping up to be a lot like his Dad. That means there will be hard lessons he has to learn, and probably ample opportunity for me to rant, like my Dad (like when he opens every single Christmas present with his name on it and not waking anyone up where we could enjoy seeing it, or invites all of his friends over on Saturday and forgetting to tell us until the doorbell rings). I hope that when those times come, I'll have learned from Granny Gann to take a deep breath, collect myself, and think that maybe, just maybe, his shoes are too heavy.
Thank you Mamaw. Happy Mother's Day.
