The light in my mother’s eyes     

My mother had light in her eyes.

She was a delightful combination of my grandparents. My grandmother had a strong sense of right and wrong, a strong sense that her way was right and yours was wrong. So much was off limits — drinking, dancing and Methodists. My grandfather had a strong sense of joy. He was always about to laugh. My mom’s father kept things lively, even as my grandmother kept things orderly.

Mom had a brief but glorious hoops career. Grandma would not let my mother play basketball for the purple and gold of Itawamba High School because the team’s short pants were 2 feet too short. On one famous night in 1948, several Lady Indians fouled out in the third quarter of a tight game. The coach went into the stands to beg Clarice Graham to play. In a dress that hit just below the ankles, she scored several key baskets, leading the Indians to a celebrated victory.

Mom was the salutatorian at her high school. She only made one B at Southwestern Seminary, which J. Leo Garrett gave her in systematic theology.

When I met Garrett 50 years later, I told him, “My mother still complains about that B you gave her.”

He said, “I feel bad about that.”

He should have felt bad. A better teacher would have recognized an A student.

Mom had the sense of adventure to go to California as a summer missionary, where she cared for migrant children. Twenty-two-year-old Clarice would have been amazed at what the next 70 years would bring.

My dad knew he was blessed to marry my mother. The wedding was at Tombigbee Baptist Church (Landmark). I do not know if my grandfather, who preached the sermon, told my father he better treat his daughter right, but the entire congregation was thinking it. The service was on a Monday night at 8:00. The newlyweds spent the night at the Travelers Motel in Tupelo, Miss., which they say looks better now than it did in 1956.

My mother and father were partners in ministry. They went to Washington, where they learned to care for each other far from home. Then South Dakota, where they had their first child. Six years into their marriage, Mom got back to Mississippi. Four years later, the second son. Then at 44, surprising everyone who knew her, she lived in Cleveland, Ohio.

She raised two sons who adore her. She read to her children. She played with her children. She stared at her children from the choir.

She put up with a lot. My little brother once hung a pork chop on a string from the ceiling in the dining room. He set up a hidden camera to record my mom waving a broom at the pork chop trying to knock it down. If it had been 30 years later, it would have gone viral.

She watched more baseball, basketball and football games than she wanted to see. She went to a lot of games to see Marshal play and a lot of games to watch me sit on the bench.

In the story of Jesus visiting Mary and Martha, my mom is Mary and Martha. She was Martha because she stayed busy. She could not sit still. She kept moving.

But she also was Mary. She cared about everyone in the house. She made sure everyone felt loved. She knew when to listen, when to laugh, when to hug.

At the end of the story in Luke, Jesus says, “There is need of only one thing.”

If the one thing is love, my mother was great at the one thing.

She was a bank teller who worked the drive-through and consistently had the longest line. She knew everyone’s name and asked about their health. She prayed with them. At Christmas she received gifts from her customers. Did you give your bank teller a gift?

She sent thank you notes. She wrote letters. She sent so many Christmas cards. She received so many Christmas cards. Mom kept the U.S. Postal service alive by herself. They ought to put her picture on a stamp.

“She made the church more Christian.”

When churches went through hard times, she was hopeful. When there were disagreements, she was a voice for peace. When people were sick, she offered concern. When days were dark, she was light. When people felt left out, she invited them in. She made the church more Christian.

She was a great mother-in-law. My wife wanted to spend as much time as possible with my mother. I am glad my mother never had to choose between Carol and me. That would not have gone well for me.

My mother passed down good gifts to my children. Graham and Caleb are smart like my mom. They are good cooks. They love the best parts of the South. They worry about the ones who are left out.

Someone asked, “What was your mother like?” and I did not know where to start. I finally decided to talk about how she laughed. When mom giggled, which she did frequently, she would begin to shake, and her voice would go to a pitch audible only to dogs. Her face would turn a beautiful shade of red and her bright blue eyes would start dancing.

At 66, she went home to Mississippi, to a house 100 yards from the spot where she was born. Mom knew it was a good gift to live where people knew and loved her family.

My mother suffered with dementia. Two and a half years ago, my brother and sister-in-law welcomed Mom into their home. They cared for her through the long, hard goodbye. Even with that terrible disease, Mom kept being light. When she did not know anyone’s name, she would say, “I want you to meet my dear, dear friend.”

At her funeral, surrounded by family, friends, and a great cloud of witnesses, the light was still shining.

 

Brett Younger serves as senior minister at Plymouth Church in Brooklyn, N.Y.