A Life Lived Well...Tribute to Momma

7/2/11

As I look around the dimly lit room, I can only think, “This has truly been a life well spent.” Starting her first nine months in very cramped space she emerged a healthy baby girl on July 28th 1932. Momma is 78 years young as I write this, and unless the doctors are terribly wrong, she will not be with us to celebrate that date again.
Although she never lived in a mansion, she will receive hers in a very short while. She never had a huge bank account; she banked on Christ being all she needed. She never invested in stock futures, but invested in the future of others, knowing that those investments were the only ones that lasted. She was never invited to join any high society clubs, but could make a street bum feel like royalty. She never turned away a stranger that needed a hand up, hot meal, cup of coffee, or a place to stay till he or she could get back on their feet. And as I look around this room, and look on the bed where her now frail body lies, I am stunned at the privilege of having been a part of her life.
Nancy Jackson is my mother. She is…because she is still hanging on…but she will be in the arms of her sweet savior soon…then she will be…a was. She was a prayer warrior, a peace maker, a Bible reader, jokester, disciplinarian, lover, hugger, worker, feast preparer, softball player, champion laugher, counselor, camper, fisherman’s pal, furniture mover, artist, accountant, friend, church member, Christ Follower and much more.
I look around the room and see the photos of sons and daughters in laws and grand kids. There are photos of my mom’s best friend, Bill Jackson, and them, young and living large in a camper on a beach vacation. Photos of her with friends from Hebron Colony. Then there are the trinkets from inexpensive vacations taken by the middle class family hauling four boys, a mom and a dad. I still see the carved what-not’s that pop bought his bride up in Maggie’s’ Valley. On the fireplace mantel is a ceramic doll under a dome cylinder, a prized possession, that mom put on lay away in down-town Florence until she could afford to get it off the shelf in the stock room. Every item, photo, note jotted on paper, card, tie clip, and cheap jewelry has it’s own story that intertwines in all our lives…”My mother truly has lived her life well.”

Until I can say more…

wick