A mighty, mighty long way

 

Often, when I tend to linger in sorrow (Mother would call it "wallowing in self-pity"), one of her "go-to" songs intrudes.  

"(I thank You, Jesus) I  thank You, Jesus.
  (I thank You, Jesus) I thank You, Jesus.
I thank You, Jesus, I thank You, Lord.
oh, You've brought me from a mighty,
a mighty long way,
a mighty long way." 

No matter the time of day or night Mother sang the song, it was with unabashed gusto.  Years passed before I began to understand her "Thank You, Lord" as a victory song.  A declaration of having won that particular skirmish.  The song stood as a leave-no-victims-behind affirmation and signaled a readiness to enter the next battlefield.  She often hummed, "I am on the battlefield for my Lord."  It took years, no decades longer, to identify what Mother's songs in general and this one in particular signified. Much later, authors wrote best-sellers about the workings of the mind.

As a farmer (yes, farmer), Mother applied lessons learned from the farming cycle after we moved to Chicago, the Big City.  My parents joined the Great Migration from South to North in search of a safer, more promising life for our family,    While she adapted to multiple changes, from down South to up North, the lessons agriculture taught remained.  Farming represented a process requiring loosening soil, seeding, watering, and harvesting (and a lot more).  She recognized that good fertile soil, along with long, hard hours of labor, reaped bountiful, life-sustaining crops.

Mother practiced a spirituality that guarded against gloom-and-doom negativity; poor-mouthing;  or running from adversity.  Daddy's contribution rang in the statement he repeated so often that we couldn't help but memorize it: "If a task is once begun; never leave until it's done.  Be the labor great or small; do it well or not at all!"   First and foremost, my parents believed every word the Holy Bible contained.

 Mother often said that she'd lost count of all the promises she'd found in the Bible, but speculated she'd missed quite a few.  She carefully tended the fertile, spiritual soil of her soul.  A champion weed-puller, she wouldn't hesitate to point out unbelief and help me grab, twist, and pull it out of my mind before it rooted.  Did she suffer disappointments? You betcha! Did you wonder when God would move on our behalf? Sometimes, though not often.  Did she get tired? She sure did, and that's when she retreated to her rocking chair and the Word.

So, you'd think that my background had prepared me to "Look and live, my brother live, Look to Jesus now and live; 'Tis recorded in His word, Hallelujah.   It is only that you look and live," wouldn't you?  NOT! Mother and daddy certainly "walked the talk." Yet, I veered off their established path, big time.  I could blame it on the Age of Reasoning (or the Age of Enlightenment) as I often have.  I could blame distractions.  Or even stubbornness.  I've also embraced my penchant to justify every untoward decision I've made.

I can't truly blame anyone or anything, except to admit that I'm a self-diagnosed "S. L," a Slow Learner. Exceptionally slow.  However, when the light bulb finally connects, then I'm on it.  Whoopee!

"(You've been my bread) You've been my bread,
(You've been my water) You've been my water,
You've been my life, my everything,
oh, You've brought me from a mighty,
a mighty long way,
a mighty long way."