So, Thursday, my grandmother and son went with me to make an arrangement and honor her together.
My grandmother and I were satisfied with our summery bouquet and after talking a while, we left.
Maybe we don't honor her with artificial flowers really often, but we do talk about my mother all of the time. I've always told my children about her- her patience with us, her subtle sense of humor, how she played games with me, and her dedication to mission work. I tell them how she made our tiny little home seem so beautiful with her care and attention to detail, how she played the piano during the day with abandon, how she gathered her family together each night to pray. My grandparents tell all of us how she was as a girl. For a time she wanted to join the army so she could be on an army baseball team like her father, then she was going to marry the preacher's son. Later, she just wanted to be a mother like her mama. They can honestly say she never gave them any reason to doubt her or worry. She was gentle and kind her whole life.
Grandmommy and I honor her with our sometimes sad attempts to grow African Violets like hers. I honor her every single day I put being a homemaker ahead of other distractions. She is in so much of what I do that I don't know if I could examine my life and tell where her influence begins and ends. It's not just talk when I say her choices are living long after her. They are shaping generations, really. I want to live my life in a way that is not only pleasing to God, but a tribute to her.