Gone Home!
Her daughter rises to call her blessed
On October 4, 2011, 5:30 p.m., Mary Lloys Rice Himes went to Glory. She went quietly, easily, simply slipped away. I had told God I was holding my mother on my open palm. I knew she wanted to go Home and that it would be soon, but I still was not ready for it.
Now that the initial shock has worn off and the busyness of trying to make arrangements for the funeral is past, I have been thinking more and more of who she really was. I fear I had been so overwhelmed with taking care of a woman who did not want to be taken care of, who rebelled against anyone telling her what to do or even doing for her what she could not do for herself, that I forgot who she really was, who she was for eighty-six years.
My mother was first of all a passionate lover of God. I believe her goal in life was to please God. She wanted to do what was right. She had high spiritual expectations for herself and others. She was a black and white person, one who was sure she knew what God wanted, not only for herself, but for others (which often caused a problem with others who were sure she did not know what God wanted for them!)
She was a lover of the Word of God. She not only loved and read it; she also memorized it and expected her children and grandchildren to memorize it with her. One of the traditions she began and I have continued is memorizing scripture to be recited on all holidays. We learned Luke 2 for Christmas. We said Matthew 28 for Easter. We said Psalm 103 for Thanksgiving. To the very end she knew each scripture better than anyone else. She felt cheated if those scriptures were not said before a holiday meal.
She also loved to teach the Word of God, not only to her own children, but to Sunday School classes, to women’s groups like the Joyful Woman Jubilees, to Bible studies in homes, and also to residents at Creekside Senior Living, both before and while she lived there. She still wanted to teach at Southern Oaks Assisted Living, where she lived for her last years.
Mother loved people. I often envied her ability to talk to anyone about anything. She loved talking about the Lord the most. She had a passion to see others come to know the Lord. She never hesitated about asking someone if they knew the Lord. I remember the neighbors she invited to our house for coffee, always talking to them about their personal relationship with Jesus Christ. When I was a senior in high school I had made a new friend. Regina had a deep hunger for spiritual things and I had been talking to her about the Lord. I knew she was very close to wanting a personal relationship with the Lord. I invited her home so I could talk to her uninterrupted. But my chance never came. Mother came into the room and immediately asked her about her relationship with the Lord and she led her to the Lord. When I said later, “Mother, I was talking to her,” she said, “I thought you invited her home so I could talk to her!”
Mother loved music. She played the piano at every church my dad pastored. She taught piano as well, but she loved the piano for herself. When we children would finally head to bed at night, she would sit at the piano and play for her own enjoyment. I can still hear the notes of “Clair de Lune” floating up the stairs in the darkness and it brings sweet memories. She loved to sing as well, still taking voice lessons when I was a child. I sometimes sing songs to myself that I heard her sing, “The Holy City,” “In the End of the Sabbath,” even “Desert Love Song.”
Mother loved knowledge for its own sake. She read constantly and encouraged us to read. Our dinner table was a center for knowledge. Whatever topic came up was fair game, but when we had argued enough, she would say, “Look it up.” Right beside the table was a small bookcase with an encyclopedia, a dictionary, and an atlas. We couldn’t Google it, but we did look it up!
Mother was a lover of hospitality and was convinced that it was a Biblical command and no one had an excuse for not welcoming people into their home. She wrote a column for the Joyful Woman magazine on entertaining.
She was a good cook, loved good food. Some of her loves I shared—asparagus, avocado, artichoke, black olives, but some I did not—calves’ brains in scrambled eggs, beef tongue or heart, pickled pigs’ feet, kippered herring, smoked oysters.
I could go on. I think of so many things she loved, her plants, her sewing, her bird watching.
Was she a perfect person? No. Did I always understand her? No. Were there ways I wished I could be more like her? Oh, yes. Will I miss her? Oh my, yes! I feel a deep hole in my heart.
And I rise up and call her blessed. I have a goodly heritage and want my children to have the same.
~~Faith Himes Lamb
