My
mother-in-law, Gran, is like a second mother to me. I’m sure when her son
brought this heathen Yankee home to Montgomery, AL from California to meet the
family she was on her knees by bedtime. I’m thankful her prayers brought me to
the cross even though it took twelve long years for her to see that day.
My
own childhood spent during summer vacations on my grandparent’s farm in
Arkansas did give me some enjoyable memories . . . like gathering eggs, feeding
the pigs, trying to milk a cow, and of
course using the outhouse (unlike anything I’d ever known). I did have a taste
of southern hospitality growing up, but stepping into the Shirley family as a
20-year-old was still a new experience. Accents from both sides kept our ears
straining and training to be understood. Gran had a few expressions that were
acute to her . . . like asking if Ron and I were out “frolickin” or someone had
“made a doctor,” and identifying green beans as “snap beans.” I thought that
was a new vegetable I had never heard of before.
In
the summertime, evenings were spent sitting around the living room with fans
blowing and everyone holding a bowl of peas to shell. Peas were flipped and
flying all over the floor. Our thumbs were green and hurt from all the pinching
and pulling and shoveling of those little critters but oh, they tasted so good
after Gran got them boiling. There’s nothing better than fresh-shelled peas
with a slice of bacon swimming in the pot.
Gran
learned a few things when she married into the Shirley family, too, like the
size of family gatherings; the in-laws, the out-laws, the first, second, and
third cousins, and lots and lots of children. Big meals were the norm with
fried everything . . . fried chicken, fried okra, fried potatoes, fried corn
bread, and gallons and gallons of sweet iced tea. There wasn’t room enough in
the kitchen for all the women or room enough on the table for all the food.
A
favorite family story is about one of Gran’s biscuits that was used to plug a leaky
pipe. They claim it’s there to this day, still doing the job. Gran says her
cooking has improved a lot over the years. It had to with all the Shirley men
to feed.
Gran
has a big heart. Even with her husband, Kline, and three youngest sons still at
home (Ken, Jack, and Wayne), her father-in-law, Daddy Jack, came to live with
them and then her nephew, Tommy, when her sister, Hazel died. Makeshift bunk
beds were built in the dining room, which was the only extra corner in the
house, and they stayed up until Tommy left the nest.
When
I joined the family, Gran, with only an eighth-grade education, managed a small
department store six days a week. I’ve since learned an eighth-grade education
in her day is equivalent to a high school education today. She was responsible
for opening in the morning, closing at night, ordering and inventory, deposits,
and most importantly…reading people! Why? Because in all her years at the store
(a co-worker) took only one bad check in the amount of $69.
After
a long day on her feet, she would come home to those six men who sat waiting
for her to change clothes and cook their dinner. She never complained, never
went on strike, always managed and survived. How? Because “the joy of the Lord [was
her] strength” (Nehemiah 8:10).
Now,
at 93, Gran is our precious matriarch. She prays over herself every day that
her eyes will see, that her ears will hear, and her mind will be sharp and
focused. She also prays for the whole family mentioning each one by name every
morning and every night . . . her sons and their wives, her grandchildren, and great-grands,
plus the needs for others that God lays on her heart.
Her
conversations may go around the world but she knows every road and rabbit trail
to get her back to the subject at hand.
“So-and-so called. Her son made a preacher. He’s down
in Florida now. Has a small church. He married so-and-so. You know, her family
was from Glenwood. Her father was the Postmaster for years. We talked for three
hours. Had a nice visit . . .”
I just smile. I don’t know any of these people but if
Gran wants to tell me their history, that’s just fine with me. I love to hear
the story . . . 😊
Then there was the time she referred to
her grandson’s ex as a “bee-ach.” She said it in a whisper, almost as though
she was trying to keep God from hearing her. Then she would repent and pray for
the woman, the only person I ever
heard Gran say a negative word about.
We’ve
also seen a humorous side to her in recent years, getting off a few zingers now
and then, like the time she announced, “We’ve had a pretty good year, no
marriages or divorces so far,” referring to her son who has had both several
times.
She still lives in her three-bedroom home so
she’ll have a place for the family to stay when we all swoop in on her for Thanksgiving.
We’ve talked about moving to someone else’s home to give her a break but we always
seem to wind up at Gran’s anyway. Thanksgiving just wouldn’t be the same unless
we all gather together in Luverne, Alabama.
I am
so blessed to have this wonderful saint hold my hand, my mother-in-law . . .
Shoes, shoes—everywhere. I might as well
live in a shoe for all the shoes I have strewn around me. My poor husband died
at his cobbler’s bench putting soles on Mr. Scrooge’s shoes. He died for a few
pennies that miserly old man would pay him for the good job he did. Now it is
up to me to do his job as well as take care of all these children he left with me.
Who is that coming down the road so,
so slowly?
But wait. There’s a big parade coming down
the street? All the king’s men and right behind them all the king’s horses
pulling a cart. Poor Humpty Dumpty. He’s all pasted together with glue and
scotch tape. My, oh my. I guess they’ve come for a new pair of shoes.
My little friend
is almost here. I’ll give him a drink of water after being on that dusty road
for so long.