Porch memories . . .
My 89 year-old father-in-law called from Fort Worth on Sunday. It was raining and he had been sitting out on his porch watching the rain. He said, “I guess you think I’m a little crazy, but I love to sit on the porch and watch the rain.” He went on to say, “When the boys were young, I used to take a quilt on the porch, and we would all lie down and listen to the rain.” My reply was, “I know. Steve taught our kids to do the same thing when it rained.”
You see, my husband now has Glioblastoma brain cancer. So, life has slowed down a bit; but we have always taken time out for showers of rain. Our porch is very small and not covered, so when it rains now Steve pulls a chair up to the door and sits to hear the drops fall here in Houston, Texas. If you were here at about 3:00 am night before last, you would have found both of us sitting at the back door watching the rain fall, as we had done many times before.
Those moments are calm, quiet, talking moments. Moments that seem to wash all your troubles away. Moments that are uninterrupted by the busy disturbances of life. Moments when you can talk seriously about the days ahead. Moments that you can reflect on your life and question the future. Moments that the rain seems to wash all your fears away. Moments that assure you that indeed someone else is in control. Who else can make the rain? Who else can calm your fears of life? Who else can wash your sins away? Who else can change your life to be white as snow?
Whiter than snow, yes whiter than snow.
Now wash me and I shall be whiter than snow.
Jesus knew that the Father had put Him in complete charge of everything, that He came from God and was on His way back to God. So, He got up from the supper table, set aside His robe, and put on an apron. Then He poured water into a basin and began to wash the feet of the disciples, drying them with His apron. When He got to Simon Peter, Peter said, “Master, you wash my feet?” Jesus answered, “You don’t understand now what I’m doing, but it will be clear enough to you later.” Peter persisted, “You’re not going to wash my feet—ever!” Jesus said, “If I don’t wash you, you can’t be part of what I’m doing.” “Master!” said Peter. “Not only my feet, then. Wash my hands! Wash my head!” (John 13:3-9 MSG)
So, next time it’s raining hard, be assured, after 43 years of marriage, you can count on me and my man sitting as close as possible without getting wet, watching the rain while making future plans and resting in the showers of blessings we have experienced.
It seems like it was just a few years ago as I stood at my mother’s grave, looked up and saw Steve and Bonita in the back of the crowd at the cemetery. Our eyes met and Bonita and Steve gave a little grin and waved. Tears welled up in my eyes out of gratitude for them as I realized that they made that long trip just to be there for me during my time of heavy grief. Days, years, decades whizzed past and Steve and Bonita were always there smiling, encouraging me and being friends to me and my family. Sympathy.
Another moment permanently stamped in my memory was Lily’s birth date. While we had shared a year living in the same city and had become close friends as we started our lives as young married couples time and circumstances had us moving to different towns, then meeting up back in Houston where Steve and Bonita were serving on the staff at Willow Meadows Baptist Church and we were members. They already had Stephanie and John Mark. We had Will as a two year old, but we were expecting Lily. As it turned out, Steve had accepted a call to North Phoenix Baptist Church and the Seeligs would be moving. During all the hustle and bustle of them finding a new home, selling their Houston house, packing, working at the church and tending to their small children, Lily decided to make her appearance. My father and his new wife had come to Houston to help us with Will as Cynthia went to the hospital for a planned c-section. We had opted to not be told what the gender of the baby was so it was with excitement and anticipation we waited in the waiting room at Park Plaza Women’s Hospital.
“Congratulations. You have a beautiful daughter,” the doctor announced to us in the waiting. I immediately went to the pay phone – yes, it was that long ago. Pay phone – to call family and friends. Someone took a picture of me on the telephone and behind me was Steve his big old face contorted into a silly grin as he wept for joy for us at having a daughter. He already had one, and he knew how wonderful it was to have a daughter. I still have that photograph. Empathy.
There were days of worship, performances of “Celebrate Life!,” conference meetings at Glorieta, Christmas pageants, anniversaries, birthdays, deaths, and resurrections; and we seemed to walk through them together. Now we are in the same city and once more time and circumstances have seen us go our different ways, but we have these memories that make this journey more bearable and more memorable. I remember Steve drinking water in a restaurant and with his moth full of water attempt to talk to the waitress, the water cascading from his stupidly grinning mouth as he ordered his food startling and scaring the poor waitress while we all howled in glee. I remember Steve telling me how he was always expected to be funny and seemed to rise to that occasion. I remember us going out to Sanctuario de Chimio for Mexican food and him making up a song that had us all roaring with laughter and joining in with harmony at his child like ditty that had these lyrics: How much further must I go?
How much farther must I go
Till I reach the heavenly land
Far beyond the golden strand?
How much farther must I go?
How much farther must I go
Till I reach the heavenly land
Far beyond the golden strand?
And we repeated that song to the top of our lungs down that narrow, New Mexico road singing and laughing like a car full of drunks! And I suppose we were a car full of drunks: drunk on youth, friendship, family, faith, music and the glorious anticipation of the wonderful tamales served at Leona’s little trailer there by the old church.
Now, we are older. Many would simply say old. But while we have not been together constantly theses 40 plus years, we have made a friendship that we know will travel with us still driving down that New Mexican highway under the gorgeous deep purple sky with stars scattered like dazzling confetti celebrating our lives. The air is crisp, dry and invigorating and the windows are down and the wind is whirling around us like joy or like the Holy Spirit who gifted us for no particular reason but grace with friendships that are eternal.
God of joy and laughter, Mexican food and margaritas, marriage and children, church and work, You really out did Yourself when it came to blessing us. Thank you. Hallelujah!