For Zelma T

“Your sweet little old gray-haired mother.” That’s how she always signed her cards and letters to me. She could well have said “Your sassy, feisty, outspoken, witty little old gray-haired mother.” She died at 83 on October 31, 2003, Halloween. Even in that she got the last laugh. I can just hear her, “Try to forget me now!”

This woman who so influenced my life bore the name of Christian with tenacity, pride and boldness. In her last three years, she became more frail and less able to get out and spend time with people. She had to use a portable oxygen supply. She was greatest grieved by the fact that she could no longer witness. She said she told God He would just have to bring them to her door – and He did! An electrical installer, a county worker – no one would be leaving without hearing the Good News of Jesus Christ. Turns out, in both of those cases, God had brought them to her door for that specific purpose. She left instructions that the occasion of her memorial service be used to give the plan of salvation one more time – her “last chance.”

At 69, she took a home mission assignment to go to the inner city in Buffalo, New York. Loaded up her car, didn’t know a soul, didn’t have a place to live, just trusted God. She served there for six months and rejoiced in it for the rest of her life.

Mother went to early Sunday School. After it was over, she’d run outside and stand in the handicapped parking spot to save it for her sister, who didn’t need it. Supposedly my mom did because she rode home with her and had the oxygen. Frankly I can’t see it. She could almost outrun me.

One day I called her and she sounded very tired. I hung up and worried a bit. So I called her back and asked about it. This is what she said. “A person can’t sound tired? Don’t you worry about me. I still have a lot to do. I still have my list of old ladies I visit." She was 81.

She had a mild heart attack. When the ambulance got to her house, there she sat on her front porch swing with her purse in her lap waiting for them. I went home to Arkansas and sat with her in the hospital and helped her check out and get all her medications. Then we went to Cracker Barrel with my aunt and cousins for dinner.

She was completely comfortable talking about her death. She used to say, “To tell you the truth, I’m a little excited about it.” Do you know what that excitement was? That was the joy of her salvation. When she died, we had a brief graveside service that was a true celebration of thanksgiving for having had her zesty sense of humor and her in-your-face honesty.

The warm November day was full of sunshine and the wind that she loved so tugged at the few remaining leaves on the trees around us. Stories that she wouldn’t allow to be told while she was still with us were shared of her giving to others. My husband and children were with me and we had the closeness that only those intense occasions in life bring. Friends I hadn’t seen in over thirty years were there to lend support. Funerals for successful world-centered citizens are dignified and sad; graveside services for poor God-centered “gray-haired little old ladies” are pure joy.

I realize I’m getting on in years myself. Not only do I no longer understand commercials, most times, I don’t even know what they were for! Pop culture references are lost on me. I watch American Idol and marvel that many of the songs they perform are completely new to me. My grandson had to repeat who he was going to be for Halloween three times and then I had to look him up on the internet to see who he was.

My kids say, “What’s up with her anyway? She doesn’t like to do anything anymore but listen to the birds, talk about God and read the Bible. What’s wrong?” Nothing’s wrong. I'm filled with peace and "I'm a happy soul." I’ve turned into Zelma T.