Flying Home

My most prominent theatrical role came when when I was in 2nd grade. I had the distinct honor of playing the role of Mary, as in Jesus and Mary, in the school play. Mom was a very handy seamstress and transformed some simple material into the perfect costume. I was a very proud Mary. Of all of the little girls, I couldn’t believe I had been chosen. This role brought happiness to my young heart and holding “Baby Jesus” nurtured my budding maternal instinct.

Playing this role was a big responsibility and I wanted to do it perfectly. All went very well, especially when I kept my eye on the prize, sweet baby Jesus. Our play re-enacted Jesus’s birth from centuries earlier, but this little baby’s love was more than just some vague mystery. It became tangible to me through the love of my parents. From the moment of my own birth, I grew to know I was loved not with an ordinary love, but with a love than transcended earthly bounds.

My siblings and I had somewhat of a storybook childhood. We didn’t live in a castle or have magic carpets. We hung laundry out on the clothesline to dry. Our Mom sewed many of our clothes. We harvested vegetables from our garden, and all did chores. Mom cooked from scratch and made homemade cookies. Christie and I used to complain that “all the other kids get store bought cookies (like Oreos)!” Good grief; I’m glad Mom didn’t trade us in!

There was little drama/trauma in our early lives. One of the most alarming things that happened was when my brother, Alan, was 2 years old and he fell and hit his forehead on a pipe when we lived in Midland. I had to go lay down because the bloody mess and seeing him hurt made me feel faint. And then there was the time my sister, Annette, got her fingers tangled in the mixer beaters when it was on! These early injuries squelched my young desire to become a nurse.

My siblings and I became known as the “red-headed family.” We were nurtured and deeply loved by parents who continuously helped their offspring learn to have strength, courage, and faith. That didn’t mean we were always sitting around singing Kumbaya. Mom was not shy and readily shared her mind… “In all the world, you only have 3 sisters and 1 brother; be good to them,” or “You can do this the hard way or the easy way.”

When we all left the safety and securing of our childhood nest, we were ready to face the bumps and bruises of life. Our parents had never taken their eyes off the prize – their faith in Jesus. Their sharing of this gift made all things possible and bearable.

Last year about this time, we received the gut-wrenching news that Mom was terminally ill. Two days before she passed, her once big voice was reduced to a whisper of weakness but she clearly said to me, “God is good.” When I raised my eyebrows, she added “All the time.” I knew she was physically suffering but I thought, “That’s my Mama, praising God at her darkest hour.”

I recently had a dream about Mom. In the first scene I noticed we were wearing similar outfits – dark purple blouses and gray pants. I commented that we needed to get our pictures taken together. Mom was young and vivacious in my dream and her hair was a little longer that I remember it and curlier.

The second part of my dream is what captivated me, however. I remember leaving somewhere to go home, only I didn’t get home by normal means. I went outside and lifted my arms and floated up above the tree line. I immediately started flying home at a brisk but comfortable pace. I remember having to lift up a time or two so I didn’t hit the trees with my feet. The home I was going to was my parent’s home on Highway 79, a place of overwhelming love through the years.

As I got close to home, I noticed that there were 2 large telephone poles, one on each side of the narrow driveway. I slowed down to turn/fly in but apparently not enough because as I was turning in between the poles I was going a little too fast and hit one of the poles! Luckily I bounced off it and headed down the driveway to home. Much to my delight when I got up to the house, Mom was there waiting for me outside with outstretched arms. My joy was profound.

I woke up with a smile on my face and a lightness of spirit. I had received a message from God. I believe the telephone pole “crash” signified that there will be bumps, bruises, and unexpected hardship in life but Mom’s open arms was the love of sweet baby Jesus manifesting itself once more. The message was clear… through it all, keep your eye on the prize. The reward is out of this world!