Nona

Nona passed away last Sunday after a long illness.

And before that, a difficult struggle with arthritis in her hands. Hands that had done so much for so many.

Nona loved flowers. In fact, she was a gifted arranger of flowers at a shop in Wewoka for years. 

And what a cook she was. People at church fought to get one of her pieces of pie at potlucks.

One time she gave me a clear glass dish with a lid, "perfect for a small meatloaf", she had said. At the time I remember thinking it was such a neat dish, but no way, no how, would it work for our family with two boys who were eating us out of house and home. But our story has changed, with both boys grown, and of course, Nona was so right about the dish's perfectness for a small meatloaf. For two. What a treasure to me now.

Nona gave even when it wasn't easy to give. I could tell lots of stories about her generosity and kindness.

Mom must have told Nona I loved old needlepoint. That's when she gave me the happiest, framed needlework her daughter made. How Nona fretted over Donna's battle with cancer. And how hard it was for her to lose Donna and her husband, Jack, within two months of one another. The needlepoint will be appreciated for many years to come at the Johnson House.

Nona loved Vaughn. If we both stopped by to visit her, she barely noticed I was there. She sometimes called him her "boyfriend". She almost always had a little honey-do for him to take care of when we visited.

She loved her church. She and Jack were regulars at Community of Christ in Seminole, favorite pew and all. When she wasn't able to attend anymore, members stopped by as often as possible with communion and a visit. Sometimes she had us stop at Long John Silvers and bring her some fish.

Nona loved her family. And they loved her.

At the funeral Wednesday, I got to see all the family gathered. I put faces with names, the names Nona had bragged about so often when we visited.

The service was lovely. So many flowers and photos to enjoy. Kind words were shared from everyone who knew her.

I got in the car to join the procession to the cemetery, turned on my lights. As soon as we turned the corner, I watched as people who were on their porches stopped in their tracks and paid respects. I love this about Oklahoma, or maybe all of Small Town America (not sure). For a moment, obligations were put off by those who were walking, or those in cars who pulled to the side of the road. All was quiet.

The police officer escorting the procession got out of his car at the intersection, lights flashing, and stood with his hands behind his back, protecting us as we traveled to Nona's final resting spot, up on the hill with Jack and Donna.

Oh, she'll be missed. But what a reunion Nona had last Sunday morning in Heaven. No more pain, no more loneliness, no more struggles.

Sweet Sundays

I've attended church regularly all my life.

I'm so glad my mom and dad made the effort. And what an effort it undoubtedly was, getting three little ones dressed in their Sunday best, attempting to arrive on time. I just loved Sunday School, singing songs, learning about Jesus, making crafts and being with my friends. I remember sitting in the worship service right by my parents. Church was pretty formal then, and we were expected to sit still and be quiet. Once and awhile we found out just how serious Dad was about us behaving ourselves. He would give one of us "the look" and to the foyer we would go. This never ended good for us.

I learned all the hymns. I put my pennies in the offering plate. I listened. I bowed my head.

It takes guts to go to church regularly, especially if you attend a small congregation. Sometimes it lands you some obligations, like teaching Sunday School, ministry of music, leading prayer service, offering a testimony, being on a committee, taking up offering. You might get stretched.

With both of us knowing the benefits of being raised in church, when Vaughn and I started our family, we knew we wanted the same for our children. We were young parents and Jake was the first little one regularly attending in a long while (at that time), so we were determined to teach him to sit still and not distract the formal worship of others. I remember packing a church bag...a bag that was only used for church...filled with special toys, snacks to eat, cool pencils to write with. Because he was a good kid, and because Vaughn quickly obtained "the look", Jake, and later Parker, learned to sit still and appreciate the things that went on in the adult worship service.

I remember driving with a very young Jake. We had been singing songs, as we usually did in the car. He started singing... "Blessed and happy we shall be...listen to the Master's word...Soon the kingdom's coming, watch and see, the kingdom of the Lord"...I couldn't believe those grown-up lyrics were coming from my young son. But what pride I had as a mom, knowing he had absorbed those words by participating in our worship services. And at such an early age!

There has been so much to gain and so little to lose from going to church regularly with my family.

Now I'm not saying church is the only place you can find Jesus. Not saying that at all. But for me, that ritual of getting up and going, of being obligated to the congregation in so many ways,  of soaking up the testimonies of others, of combining my faith with the faith of my friends and family...that ritual has made me strong.