Grammy Jo and the Babies

During three years of seminary (many years ago) I spent the majority of my free time with the same dear friend. Mrs. Jo and I walked through those days, side by side, sharing life. I had two small children she referred to as “the babies” and she had free time afforded by retirement. I peppered her with questions like a ticker tape machine, gleaning from her vast well of practical knowledge. I learned how to quilt, can, bake petit fours, grease a bundt pan to perfection, and cook a fine pan of cornbread in my cast iron skillet. Mrs. Jo had a family tree with sons, daughters in law, grandchildren, family, and friends that filled her life. Yet, she still had space to draw me and my little family into her heart. She made us her own and adored us like a rare and valuable treasure. 

Most of our collective days were filled with the mundane. However, there were a few excruciating weeks following the impossible diagnosis of her oldest son’s brain cancer. I brought “the babies” to visit with her and her husband as often as possible. We couldn’t fix the hurt but we were most definitely a distraction. The moment she called to tell me her son had been healed in heaven I rushed to her house to be by her side. I asked, “give me a task, what can I do?” Mrs. Jo handed me a bottle of pledge and a dust cloth. She said, “this house is filthy and is about to be filled with people.” I understood her prioritized cleanliness and the need for being busy.

In a chapel talk years ago, Rev. Anthony Carter described two types of friendships. Those that make sense and those that can only be described as “In the Lord” relationships. Mrs. Jo and I had little in common as far as hobbies, bedtime, and daily tasks. But we both loved Jesus and had time to pour into one another. 

Sunday morning brought the news of this beloved friend's passing. I am so thankful for the role Grammy Jo played during long and lonely hours while Andy was flooded with seminary and pastoring. I will never forget those saturated seminary days by her side nor the sporadic conversations sprinkled through the decades since. I will also never stop making her cornbread in my cast iron skillet. 

“The Gospel makes strange friends.” 

-Rev. Anthony Carter

#BeLT

At the conclusion of every episode, Mr. Rogers would look deeply into the camera, reaching the minds of children everywhere and say two simple words, "You're special". In the documentary Won't You Be My Neighbor Rogers elaborates, "'You're special' means, you don't have to do anything exceptional to be loved by those who love you." With mad respect to Mr. Rogers I would dig a little bit deeper. You're also special because the gifts God has bestowed making you unique. Eliot turns eighteen today. I'm tempted to find a great deal of pride in the accomplishment of raising such a man. The fact of the matter, Eliot is exceptional because God has created him exceptional.

Eliot has always been friendly. Thinking back when he was two, I can still picture my blond toddler walking into a group of grown men who were settling in for a deacon's meeting. Left hand in his jean pocket, he stopped in front of each man to offer his right. Seeming not to notice he wasn't a grown man, he circled the room, shaking hands while chatting incoherently. Present day, he has been known to saunter onto an elevator and loudly exclaim to the lucky inhabitants whose heads are down hoping not to make eye contact, "How's everybody doing today?" 

On icy mornings in Cary, NC, Eliot would quickly dress as soon as he woke up. "I have to go get the paper from Mrs. Marjory's driveway or she'll try to get it herself." At the age of seven he was very concerned his elderly friend would attempt to make her way down icy steps. We had this sweet elderly neighbor for a few short years before she tragically died in a car accident. I took a heart broken Eliot to her memorial service. During the share time in a room full of seated adults he didn't know, Eliot stood up and verbalized a picture of his unique friendship with their beloved Marjory. He reminisced to her family and friends how he and the elderly lady would work together to blow leaves off her back deck. He relived how for hours he and Mrs. Marjory looked through all his baseball cards. He would talk, she would listen. I'll never forget how he wrapped up his little speech to the sea of tear filled faces, "She left me, but I'll never leave her." I'll also never forget how he wept in the parking lot after the service. He was ten. 

Fast forward to the dreaded years of middle school. We will forever be grateful to God for the boys in our neighborhood. Specifically the Voyles boys that created an Eliot sandwich in age and grade.  That posse tromped through the woods behind our houses, lighting fires, climbing trees and doing various activities of potential harm that now tend to trickle out in elaborate story telling around the dinner table. They had a pact, if any of them did stepped outta line, the others were allowed to tell parents. A time or two I have told Eliot, "If you can't tell Will or Coby about it then you probably shouldn't be doing it". How many kids have that type of tangible barometer for judging whether they have a good idea or are about to do something completely insane? 

Eliot LOVES being a part of a team. Eliot played JV Football in sixth grade, grabbing ankles and recovering fumbles. For Varsity games he ran on the field to collect the kicking tee...every...single...time. Seventh and Eighth grade, he was the backup QB. Most games, he would come in once the starting QB gained a solid lead. He was small but he worked hard. He could barely see over the line of scrimmage, but he listened well, remembered the plays and we all loved it. He played baseball too, causing my heart to double in size. The one game that sticks out in my mind, Eliot saw zero minutes on the baseball field. But you could hear him in the dugout cheering on his teammates during every pitch. He helped his coaches talk through positioning suggestions for the outfield. After this particular game, Eliot asked if we could stay a few minutes late so he could run poles with the pitcher. "Running poles must be so boring, if I run with him it'll be more fun." On awards day, Coach Warren said, "Eliot would run through a brick wall if I asked him to." He was 13. 

There was also a wrestling career but I try not to remember anything involving a singlet. We'll just let that go.

High school brought rock climbing, cross country, chorus and musicals into Eliot's world. He hates running but has loved his cross country teammates. For three years in a row he received significant leadership awards. In chorus, Eliot has had little time in the spot light. His name has been listed under titles like ensemble, townspeople, tree #1, and Lurch in the Adams Family (he grunted like a pro). It's been very common in the theater at Ridgeland High School to find him building sets, hanging lights, and behind the scenes in the sound booth. This year, all that hard work paid off and he was cast as Topher in the broadway musical Cinderella. After the last show, the director singled out Eliot and his friend Bekah who went above and beyond to make the show a huge success. I'm as proud of his off stage leadership as I am his onstage performance. 

Junior year Eliot tried out for Georgia's All State Chorus and didn't make the cut. Senior year, he took this last chance for a spot in the elite choir. A few weeks ago, he had the amazing opportunity to travel to Athens and sing with Georgia's best of the best. 

Plain and simple, Eliot is the hardest worker I know. He may not always be the best or the biggest, but he works harder than most in order to accomplish his goals. Equally astounding to me is his capacity to care. He rushes to those who are hurting or in need of help. He rarely stops to calculate what it will cost him, the time it will take, or the inconvenience it will involve. He just jumps in with whatever emotion, strength, brain power he has to offer, feeling a deep sense of self imposed responsibility. 

What I want Eliot to do more than anything else is continue being an even better version of who he has always been: kind, caring, determined, hardworking, loving, uncomfortably friendly (especially on elevators), and overwhelmingly compassionate. 

I love you LT. You make this Mama so proud. 

Dimples and Roses

Memaw was one of the prettiest people I've ever known. She was always coordinated, bejeweled and smelling of roses. As a little girl I was enamored by her pretty jewelry and bright red fingernails. I have countless memories that will creep up as little reminders that she walked this earth,

Like most families, the Honea clan has our own way of putting things. The instant we arrive at home from being out and about, we will immediately put on "soft clothes." It's important to be aware, all jammies are soft clothes, but not all soft clothes have to be jammies. We always referred to my grandparent's house in Lake Jackson, TX as "the house on the court".  The grandfather clock in the hall would sing a piece of "Ex. 6. Westminster Quarters, 1794" every quarter hour and on the hour dong the appropriate number of times. The deeper you walked down the hall the more your olfactory senses would alert you to the existence of lots of things that have been undisturbed for decades. Not like some grandparent homes of dust and mothballs. Just a subtle stillness of time and large closets. Every square inch of every wall in that hallway was filled with framed photos of our very own family history. My favorite time to remember in that house is the six weeks I stayed my fourteenth summer. All the adults in my life thought I might get bored, be ready to come home. But I loved it. I loved how my Grandad went to bed early and Memaw and I would talk for hours about everything and nothing. I loved how Grandad would go to the store every morning to replenish any of my favorite food items I had consumed.  Memaw took me shopping and bought me REAL Keds, with the little blue rectangle on the sole of the heel. They were red. I lived life alongside them, visiting my great grandmother twice a week, watching Memaw's "stories" in the afternoon (Days of Our Lives specifically). I'd sing in the choir at rehearsal on Wednesday nights and put on an assigned robe to sing in church on Sunday mornings. I sat in the soprano section with Memaw while Grandad sang two rows back with the Baritones. I was there long enough to be enveloped into their habitual patterns and they were proud.

Memaw loved the tiny specifics that would make memories special. On my wedding day she wanted to be the last person to call me Miss Honea and the first to call me Mrs. Jones. I can still see her after the ceremony racing across the reception hall to be the first to reach me. It was important to Memaw that she be able to see in her mind's eye where I was housed. That way when we talked she had some specifics to build on as she imagined me living life. She visited every place we have lived from college days at Masters to our current home in GA. After Grandad died these trips were taken alone. Due to macular degeneration she was completely dependent on the strangers around her. I will forever be grateful for her brave determination that allowed these trips to happen. One time she was visiting and my kids got the swine flu. I called my aunt in a panic convinced she would get it and croak. Ann told me, "she would think it was worth the trip." Another night on one of these visits, Memaw and I split a bottle of muscadine wine. We giggled until wee hours, swapping stories and laughing at life. She would stay a few weeks, long enough to live my habitual patterns, and I was proud.

I visited her a few times in the assisted living apartment where, quite frankly, I fit in a little too well.  I loved these visits, slowly walking the halls, stopping so she could introduce me to her friends, gushing with unmistakable pride that her adult granddaughter enjoyed her company enough to come sleep with the old people. She was always cold so her apartment felt like a furnace. I would sit in shorts and a t-shirt, she sat in her sweater with a lap blanket. We never agreed about a comfortable temp but we always agreed on our nightly activity. We would visit. She'd share stories from long ago, some I had heard and forgotten, others were like a family mantra and my lips would move along with hers silently mirroring her words. One visit she had me breakout her letters to and from my Grandad during the Korean War. Memaw could no longer read them due to failing eyesight. So I squirreled them away in every nook and cranny of my suitcase, flew them home, organized them in binders, and started to record each letter. I would email the recordings to my very sweet Uncle Rich who would laboriously download the recordings onto Memaw's phone. She could then listen and remember that for most of her life, she had been completely adored by Charles Raymon Honea.

These moments and so many more will be carried in my heart forever. I have her dimples, high cheekbones, and love of good whit. I also have her heartburn, bad knees and protruding chin. It's a fair trade. She was my Memaw. She was my friend. I will never cease to miss having her in my life, thinking the world of me. Being proud just to call me hers. I am thankful for the comfort we have in our sweet Savior's redemptive power and promise of eternity. If there is dancing in heaven, she and Grandad are teaching the two step.