Life is like that. Sometimes good grows out of bad. Sometimes bad grows in spite of good. But life gives us both whether we want them or not.
I snapped this shot because it struck me as a symbol of life in general and Mom's in particular. In the background, like it is with many of us, is a young, beautiful, vibrant bloom. In the foreground is a mature, beginning-to-fade flower that will soon look like the dried remnants of the dead bud between the two.
I can remember when my Mom was physically a stunningly beautiful woman with a house full of young kids, one of whom had a penchant for mischief. She was always a beautiful person, and even after time, age, and disease began to ravage her body and abilities, the qualities of her soul always shined through, always testified to a nature touched by God.
 |
| The Mom of my youth. |
My first memory of her is within days of when we moved from Leflore Ave. to 422 West Harding Street in Greenwood, Mississippi. This was May of 1959. At that time, the house to our west wasn't there. Instead, we had a large green lot where we ran, played ball, and stepped on honey bees. An older boy got after me in that lot, and I ran for my life. He bore down on me like a big dog running down a rabbit. I zigged and zagged like a terrified creature trying to survive. He zagged at one of my zigs and fell to the ground while I escaped. I ran straight inside and told Mom how brave I was and how I had outrun the big boy. I always wanted to impress my mom.
My favorite memory of her also dates way back to my youth. Maybe I was eight or ten, just a small boy. We had a tom cat named William who was unusually aggressive, mean, dangerous. He was so pugnacious that I remember Dad running him out of the house with a broom because he had gotten stirred up and was attacking everything in sight. William was then banished to the outdoors where he quickly established a pattern of rambling, fighting, and coming home with severe wounds. After disappearing for days at a time, his manner was to drag back home with bloody, stinky fight wounds and lie around on the back steps while he healed up just enough to go off and do it all over again. He was too mean to touch so he never saw a vet and never received the attention most toms crave.
He lived that way for a few years and then died on the back steps one summer night to greet us with his carcass the next morning. Despite his violent nature and unpleasant presence, upon discovering his body, Mother went into the kitchen, sat at the table, and wept for William. For me, that characterizes her as well as anything I can think of. She loved deeply and saw the value, the beauty, the dignity of everything and everyone God created. Sometimes I wonder if that is why I am the way I am about cats today. She wasn't afraid to cry in front of her children, because she never received the memo that she "had to be strong" for us. Her tender compassion was impressed upon my soul like a tattoo on a sailor's arm.
My son, Forrest, called his granny, "The most Christian person I ever knew." She was not, however, showy in her faith, but she was steady, consistent, enduring. She taught Sunday School for thirty-one years. She took minutes at the church board meetings. She was the official photographer of the church for a long, long time. Brother Seefeld, her pastor for many years, said she never called attention to herself but did her job, did it well, and did it without fanfare.
Besides her huge heart, unusual capacity for compassion, and her service to her church, one word that describes her well is "creative." She could do just about anything and do it well. Of course she was a good cook and seamstress. She made my wife's wedding dress as well as those of her two daughters, Carol and Helen. Beyond that, she made Christmas decorations for the house. She cut and painted a large Santa out of plywood that she used to mount on the front of the house each Christmas season. For a while, she and her friends were into quilt making. Later, is was jelly, once making the tasty stuff out of the spent hulls of purple hull peas. Her carpentry skills were off the charts, and Dad always enlisted her help when he built something. She could do electrical work, lay bricks, plumb, and paint. She built cabinets for the house and a bathroom for the cabin in Carroll County. An artist from her youth, she could draw anything, make anything, create anything. When computers came out, she learned the computer. Late in her life, she took up photography, set up a dark room, and then when digital came along, she learned that. I, on the other hand, like my dad, change slowly and view technology with a modicum of distrust and annoyance. She, however, embraced change and delighted to learn the new.
The subjects of her photography were her children, grandchildren, flowers, and birds. With huge lenses on her cameras, she took photographs of tiny flowers most people never notice. She enlarged the flowers and everyone who saw the photos always wanted to know what kind of flower and where they grew. They were shocked to find that they had been walking over and on these little beauties all their lives. She noticed God's beauty everywhere she went. Below is one of the small flowers I took a picture of with my cell phone. It was barely discernible to the human eye. Now I notice things like this.
Her photographs of birds are National Geographic worthy. She stalked rice fields in the delta to capture stunning shots of geese. She set up a blind in Carroll County to ambush turkey with her camera. At home, she availed herself to the large sliding glass doors to record all the local town birds. Once she told me that "You'd be surprised at how many wounded birds there are around here," and then she showed me shots of a one-legged robin and a redbird that couldn't fly but had learned to survive.
We used to take a family trip during spring break each year. We, Mom, Dad, siblings and kids, would meet at a State park somewhere and spend time together fishing, eating, and just hanging out. On the last one of these trips she took, due to her health, Mom made the journey in the back of her SUV lying on a mattress, tied to the sides to prevent her from sliding around. I drove her vehicle and all the way to Natchez State Park while she saw and remarked about birds all the way there and back.
"Did you see that bird?" she asked me several times during the trip.
"Mom, I'm driving. I can't look at birds."
Once in the hospital with only a brick wall for a view, a bird lit on a ladder that went up the wall about 100 yards away from her window. She noticed. She always noticed and asked me what kind of bird it was. Who pays that kind of attention to a native bird on a ladder 100 yards away? She did and now, I am unable not to notice birds everywhere I go. Momma instilled that in me by the way she lived and it is impossible to see one of our feathered friends without thinking of her.
She not only took pictures of birds, but she kept a large flock of cockatiels in the house. She also had some parrots and I don't know what all. Once there were seventeen birds many of which had free run of the house. So she photographed birds, observed birds, and kept birds, and passed that awareness of them down to me.
That is not all she passed down to me. Her kindness and gentleness has seeped into my soul. I am selfish with my time, and self centered in many ways, but it is impossible to be raised by her and not take up at least a modicum of her sweetness. The kindness and gentleness I posses show up mostly in my dealings with our grandchildren and cats. I can't help but treat them as I saw her treat everything and everyone for all of my life.
I can never be as good as her, I can never be as selfless as her, I can never be as caring, conscientious, and courteous as her. But her goodness has influenced me and will no doubt do so for the rest of my life. This, I am sure, is the most accurate assessment of someone's life: what impact survives his or her death. Hers survives in her children, grandchildren, and friends. Maybe I can emulate her and pass some of that along. Maybe. One thing is for sure: we can all be as forgiven as her. Jesus offers that to us all.
Ho, every one that thirsteth, come ye to the waters,
and he that hath no money; come ye, buy, and eat;
yea, come, buy wine and milk without money and without price.
(Isaiah 55:1, KJV)
To everyone who reached out to the Hodge family during and after the loss of Jo Hodge, thank you. We received calls, texts, visits, food, flowers, donations to the Diabetes Foundation of Mississippi, prayers, hugs, Snickers Bars, and condolences from many. They were all received with gratitude and they touched us and ministered to us and helped begin the process of healing from this encounter with the valley of the shadow of death. God bless you all.
He lived that way for a few years and then died on the back steps one summer night to greet us with his carcass the next morning. Despite his violent nature and unpleasant presence, upon discovering his body, Mother went into the kitchen, sat at the table, and wept for William. For me, that characterizes her as well as anything I can think of. She loved deeply and saw the value, the beauty, the dignity of everything and everyone God created. Sometimes I wonder if that is why I am the way I am about cats today. She wasn't afraid to cry in front of her children, because she never received the memo that she "had to be strong" for us. Her tender compassion was impressed upon my soul like a tattoo on a sailor's arm.
My son, Forrest, called his granny, "The most Christian person I ever knew." She was not, however, showy in her faith, but she was steady, consistent, enduring. She taught Sunday School for thirty-one years. She took minutes at the church board meetings. She was the official photographer of the church for a long, long time. Brother Seefeld, her pastor for many years, said she never called attention to herself but did her job, did it well, and did it without fanfare.
Besides her huge heart, unusual capacity for compassion, and her service to her church, one word that describes her well is "creative." She could do just about anything and do it well. Of course she was a good cook and seamstress. She made my wife's wedding dress as well as those of her two daughters, Carol and Helen. Beyond that, she made Christmas decorations for the house. She cut and painted a large Santa out of plywood that she used to mount on the front of the house each Christmas season. For a while, she and her friends were into quilt making. Later, is was jelly, once making the tasty stuff out of the spent hulls of purple hull peas. Her carpentry skills were off the charts, and Dad always enlisted her help when he built something. She could do electrical work, lay bricks, plumb, and paint. She built cabinets for the house and a bathroom for the cabin in Carroll County. An artist from her youth, she could draw anything, make anything, create anything. When computers came out, she learned the computer. Late in her life, she took up photography, set up a dark room, and then when digital came along, she learned that. I, on the other hand, like my dad, change slowly and view technology with a modicum of distrust and annoyance. She, however, embraced change and delighted to learn the new.
The subjects of her photography were her children, grandchildren, flowers, and birds. With huge lenses on her cameras, she took photographs of tiny flowers most people never notice. She enlarged the flowers and everyone who saw the photos always wanted to know what kind of flower and where they grew. They were shocked to find that they had been walking over and on these little beauties all their lives. She noticed God's beauty everywhere she went. Below is one of the small flowers I took a picture of with my cell phone. It was barely discernible to the human eye. Now I notice things like this.
 |
| One of the tiny flowers she often shot with huge lenses and enlarged into gorgeous photographs. |
Her photographs of birds are National Geographic worthy. She stalked rice fields in the delta to capture stunning shots of geese. She set up a blind in Carroll County to ambush turkey with her camera. At home, she availed herself to the large sliding glass doors to record all the local town birds. Once she told me that "You'd be surprised at how many wounded birds there are around here," and then she showed me shots of a one-legged robin and a redbird that couldn't fly but had learned to survive.
We used to take a family trip during spring break each year. We, Mom, Dad, siblings and kids, would meet at a State park somewhere and spend time together fishing, eating, and just hanging out. On the last one of these trips she took, due to her health, Mom made the journey in the back of her SUV lying on a mattress, tied to the sides to prevent her from sliding around. I drove her vehicle and all the way to Natchez State Park while she saw and remarked about birds all the way there and back.
"Did you see that bird?" she asked me several times during the trip.
"Mom, I'm driving. I can't look at birds."
Once in the hospital with only a brick wall for a view, a bird lit on a ladder that went up the wall about 100 yards away from her window. She noticed. She always noticed and asked me what kind of bird it was. Who pays that kind of attention to a native bird on a ladder 100 yards away? She did and now, I am unable not to notice birds everywhere I go. Momma instilled that in me by the way she lived and it is impossible to see one of our feathered friends without thinking of her.
She not only took pictures of birds, but she kept a large flock of cockatiels in the house. She also had some parrots and I don't know what all. Once there were seventeen birds many of which had free run of the house. So she photographed birds, observed birds, and kept birds, and passed that awareness of them down to me.
That is not all she passed down to me. Her kindness and gentleness has seeped into my soul. I am selfish with my time, and self centered in many ways, but it is impossible to be raised by her and not take up at least a modicum of her sweetness. The kindness and gentleness I posses show up mostly in my dealings with our grandchildren and cats. I can't help but treat them as I saw her treat everything and everyone for all of my life.
I can never be as good as her, I can never be as selfless as her, I can never be as caring, conscientious, and courteous as her. But her goodness has influenced me and will no doubt do so for the rest of my life. This, I am sure, is the most accurate assessment of someone's life: what impact survives his or her death. Hers survives in her children, grandchildren, and friends. Maybe I can emulate her and pass some of that along. Maybe. One thing is for sure: we can all be as forgiven as her. Jesus offers that to us all.
Ho, every one that thirsteth, come ye to the waters,
and he that hath no money; come ye, buy, and eat;
yea, come, buy wine and milk without money and without price.
(Isaiah 55:1, KJV)
To everyone who reached out to the Hodge family during and after the loss of Jo Hodge, thank you. We received calls, texts, visits, food, flowers, donations to the Diabetes Foundation of Mississippi, prayers, hugs, Snickers Bars, and condolences from many. They were all received with gratitude and they touched us and ministered to us and helped begin the process of healing from this encounter with the valley of the shadow of death. God bless you all.
No comments:
Post a Comment