It was on such a night that a significant event occurred in my life. There were probably four Hunter kids at the time - halfway to the ultimate number of eight in a span of twenty years. My older sisters had brought the tricycle into the house. Suzy, the oldest, began to ride around and around the house as fast as she could maneuver. Ater that became tiring, Lynda began to stand on the back and hold onto Suzy's shoulders during the ride. One of them then had an idea to include little Connie in the fun. They found a child's wicker chair and tied a rope from the back of the trike to the leg of the chair where I would sit to make the trip around our house.
Suzy clenched her tongue between her teeth and bent slightly forward to give her chubby legs more momentum to launch on the slick linoleum and carry her heavy load of three. The trike spum to a start then gained speed as we rounded the doorway from the living room and into the dining room. It was a straight shot to the kitchen, and she made the sharp turn into the hall with precision. That's where the problem occurred. In the hall was a large register. The first couple of times around the house, the leg of the chair stuck on that register and nearly flipped. Being only tow or three at the time, I didn't think about the disastrous potential, so we continued. The third time got us, though. There in the hall, the leg of that chair stuck and didn't give. I did, however. As the chair tumbled forward, so did I.
Even though I was very young, I still remember that night vividly. Now, all these years later, I don't recall the pain even though I lost a front tooth and have had that reminder the rest of my life with the crooked one that eventually grew in. My main memory wasn't event the grid work that was left on my face fir quite a while as a result of my face-first tumble onto the hot register. What I remember clearly about that night is my mother's reaction. As I picked myself up from the register and burst through the living room door, Mom was sitting on the corner of the couch in front of the picture window. She was in her own world because she was devouring the Bible in her daily devotions. I was two or three steps into the room, literally screaming bloody murder, before she roused from her reverie. Not all the commotion of our tricycle game nor the chaos that ensued from the accident had taken her away from the secret place she knew how to enter despite what was going on around her. I saw this single-mindedness for the Lord many other times in subsequent years.
My mother, both my mom and my friend, passed away in March. She had many things I admire about her. Besides being a mom, she had been a wife, a minister, a pastor, a teacher, a youth leader, and an artist specializing in Southwestern landscapes. She was a college student for a semester in 1947 when she was eighteen. Then, when my dad died forty years later, she finished her degree. She was both persistent and stubborn ( a trait she generously shared with us) and had a mannerism where she set her jaw when there was no way we were changing her mind. She was godly, quite, kind, loving, hard-working, frugal, and considerate. However, none of her wonderful traits were as admirable as her intimacy she fostered with the Lord. One of her favorite songs, and the last I ever heard her sing, was "I Fell in Love with the Nazarene." That song typified who she was because she came into Christianity when God healed her dying sister. That made Mom want to know that Nazarene who loved her so much He would heal her beloved sister despite the fact that she and her family were basically heathens. As she saw His unconditional love, she grew more and more in love with Him, too.
My mother reminds me of David. His love for God got him through many of life's adversities. Mom also had events that could have turned her away from the Nazarene, ber her love for him held her fast and sure. David sought God before he went to battle and waited until God told him to move. My mother knew the art of seeking God's will, too. She would say, "I need to get the mind of the Lord," or "I know God will do it if we can just get the m.o." The method of operation God chose to use was often revealed to her because she knew how to hear His voice. David knew God intimately; and because of that, his strength came from realizing each trying situation could not stand because adversity was as an "uncircumcised Phillistine, [which was] defy[ing] the armies of the living God" (I Sam. 17:26) when trouble tried to overwhelm him. Because he loved and spent time with God, he was able to slay a lion, a bear, and a giant.
My mother's time with God taught her reliance on Him, too. She slew many lions, bears, and giants because she had faith in Him "whom [she had] believed, and [was] persuaded that he [was] able to keep that which [she had] committed until him" (I Tim. 1:12). Therefore, when my bother cut off his finger in the door, she put it back on, anointed it, then applied a Band-aid. It healed without a scar. When I broke my arm, she put it in a sling; I was using it that same day. When I had smallpox, she declared me healed; and I was. When my sister had heart problems, Mom sought God until she was perfectly healthy. When people came to seek prayer, she was able to touch the Lord for them. When she dreamed, it was right on. When she prayed, everyone knew something would happen. Because of her time with Him, she knew Him intimately and knew she was part of God's army no Philistine could touch.
In Bible times, during meals people reclined on cushions on the floor around a table. As they lounged there, they would put their heads upon the chest of the person beside them. From that position, they could feel the heartbeat, could hear the voice even if it were a whisper, or would have to move when the other person did. My mother had her head on Jesus' breast for nearly sixty years. She listed to him with adoration; moved when he did; and even when he whispered, she knew the master's voice and obeyed. Right now, she probably still is lying on the Nazarene's bosom, learning more of him each day for all eternity.
Today, I look around and see the things she loved. Her painting refelect her intense personality, love for her family, and life's experiences. Her beloved house sits empty, awaiting another family to cherish it as much as she did. Her lilac and forsythia are cascading blooms, surrounded by a melange of spring flowers, whispering their beauty by their fragrance filling her backyard. As we go through her possessions, my heart is sad, yet happy. She cherished the things she left us children, but that's not the legacy that matters most. If she could, she would have left us the world, and she did. The best inheritance one can leave her children is an intimate knowledge of the Lord. Her rich, eighty years here with those who loved her weren't long enough for her to love her Nazarene. Now, though, she has forever.
