WHAT WILL I BE DOING?

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WHAT WILL I BE DOING?

Wednesday, June 27, would have been Mary Lloys Himes’ birthday.  My mother would have been eighty-seven years old.  About this time last year I told my siblings that Mother was not doing well, that I did not think she would be with us by Christmas.  It was not that she had some terrible illness, but just that life was running out.  And, sure enough, on October 4, 2011, about 5:30 p.m., Mom slipped into the presence of her Lord.

           Over thirty years ago Mother’s older sister, Grace Rice MacMullen, was struggling with cancer throughout her whole body.  It was obvious she would not be with us long.  On August 18, 1981, the doctor told Grace that, at maximum, she had only six months to live.  That’s when she wrote a poem entitled “What Will I Be Doing December 18?” exactly six months later.

            If Mom could have known she had less than six months to live last June 27, I don't know what she would have written.  She certainly would not have written poetry; that was not her language.  But I know she would have shared the sentiments.  So, in honor of Mother's birthday, I want to share Grace's poem.

What Will I Be Doing December 18?

Well, that depends.
I'll be praising the Lord for His
glory and goodness--
by faith or by sight.
 If by faith,
as I've been doing,
My praise may be subdued,
alternating with a tear at times.
      If not by faith, ah then!
      With angels and trumpets and
      choirs and instruments
      Indescribable!
 I'll still be loving the Lord--
Maybe blindly, hesitantly,
But full-heartedly,
Trustingly.
     Or else--or else!  I'll be
     loving Him in a burst of Light,
     where shadows are washed away;
     Knowing as I am known--
     with the full-pouring effusion
     that can only at last express
     my stunted, limited, longing love--
     in purest, shimmering light
     and color and substance.
 I shall, that day, talk to God a bit,
As usual, about the things I'm thinking about,
about the people I love, about how the day is going,
about what I need and want.
     --Or yet, or yet__I shall that day
     talk to God!  Himself, in person!
     No dark glass between,
     nor childish me to speak of childish things.
 I shall on that day lie in bed,
Or move about with wheeled chair,
Finding my needs met minute-by-minute
By loving hands and smiling faces;
     Or, indeed, indeed!  I shall be
     Doing handsprings, cartwheels,
     Run a dozen miles!
     Move with God's own planned grace,
          As Eve did;
     Roll down a long grassy field, 
     Jump across a stream.
      I shall observe with undimmed eyes
     And hear with unstopped ears,
     Taste with untainted buds,
     And sniff the fragrances of another world.
 Where shall I be?  Here or there?
How little it matters!
 (Taken from the booklet Pain:  The Gift Nobody Wants by Grace Rice MacMullen, published by The Joyful Woman)

          So, Mom, what are you doing?  Are you jumping from garage roofs, as you loved to do in your youth?  Are you playing tennis with Grace?  Are you catching up with Daddy, catching up on the years when he could no longer communicate?  Are you cuddling those little ones who went home to heaven before you got a chance to mother them?  Are you rocking my little one?  Are you talking with the Savior?  A favorite song was always It Will Be Worth It All, worth it when we see Jesus.  Or maybe you are singing with a heavenly choir.  Whatever you’re doing, you have the best.

          I miss you, Mom.





     

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