WWMD, or What Would Mother Do?

When (the late) Bill Withers crooned,

"Grandma's hands clapped in church on Sunday morning,

Grandmas's hands played the tambourine so well

Grandma's hands used to issue out a warning,

She'd say Billy don't you run so fast

Might fall on a piece of glass," 

Grandma's hands."

he could've been describing Velma Beatrice (nee Lambus) Taylor.  Except everyone---blood relatives, neighborhood kids, adults, merchants, even medical professionals---all knew her simply as "Granny."  A self-made Southern woman from the Mississippi Delta, Velma couldn't finish high school.  For us, though, she came closest to fitting our definition of a Renaissance Woman that the Near North Side of Chicago could produce.

We believed she could do anything.  We wondered where she got it from.  Yes, her mother, "Mama," personified strength in the face of untoward obstacles. And for certain, the "acorn doesn't fall from the oak tree." Yet, Granny carried more than her parents' seed.  Self-taught, she grew vegetables in her city garden; dug worms for fishing outings; sewed clothing for neighbors;  kneaded angel-light yeast rolls; baked sweet potato pies that my brother's customers eagerly preordered; and fried chicken, tender and juicy that emerged golden brown from her cast iron skillet. 

She made her own starch from Argo chunks, ironed daddy's Sunday-go-to-meeting white shirts without "cat faces;" reserved Saturdays to shampoo, press and curl our; and stashed nickels, dimes, quarters and the occasional dollar in a Maxwell coffee .  She'd use her savings to buy patterns, fabrics, threads, and everything else needed to make the outfits I would wear to speech competitions.  Long before "coach" became associated with feats other than sports, Granny sat strategically in the audience and used hand signals to pace me through my speech contests.

And that's not all. Not by a long shot.

Over the years and especially since she transitioned to Heaven, I came to believe Spirit unerringly guided Granny.  "Come, Holy Spirit, heavenly Dove, With all Thy quickening powers; Kindle a flame of sacred love In these cold hearts of ours."  I watched Granny withstand typhoons that threatened her family, tried to upend her indomitable faith in God; and attacked the sinew of her existence, often without warning.  And I marveled at her tenacity, her strength, her unmoving focus on the North Star, her Jerusalem.

However, it wasn't until I faced and fought the raging storms that swarmed through my life over and again and suffered insufferable losses, that I realized that I still got back up that I understood! That's when I came to meet the Holy Spirit, face-to-face.  Thankful, I bowed in humble submission to His leadership and love.  He is the same Spirit Mother intimately knew.  How else could I still be standing, especially when hurricanes tossed centuries-old oak trees to the midway in the Florida community where I lived.  Especially after Granny had died and I couldn't call and implore, "Go in your closet and pray. I need help!"

When questions would crowd my world, I wondered "What Would Mother Do?"  Then I'd take the time to remember what she had done.  Pray. Thank God.  Trust God. And wait on Him.  I used to think patience meant inaction, passivity, retreat.  Now, I reach into Granny's playlist and sing, "Ask the Savior to help you, Comfort, strengthen, and keep you; He is willing to aid you, He will carry  you through." Or, "Thank You, Lord. Thank You, Lord. I just want to thank You, Lord."

That's it. That's how Granny, my Mother, lived.  As if the Holy Spirit kept her in a glaring spotlight 24-7.  Yet, her behaviors and actions weren't self-conscious.  Simply, she loved:  Husband, children, grandchildren, siblings, daughters, and sons-in-law, nieces, nephews, neighbors, cousins, church family, faithful friends.  Love came naturally to her.  When I matched my misfortunes, which were huge to me, with hers, that were horrific, I understood.  I understand.

Happy Heavenly Birthday, Granny.