While clearing out my mother’s house after her death I came across an old King James Bible. Its rough leather cover was thin and cracked; the pages yellow with age. On the inside of the cover was a name, printed in pencil, Mrs. Jehu Hank Worley. This was Minnie’s bible and that inscription had to have been written before she went blind in her 60s. This was the Bible from which I read almost every day after she came to live with us.
I could not have been older than ten or eleven when I began reading to Grandma. That book had been her constant companion as she raised nine children of her own and four grandchildren. What a blow it must have been to know she would never read from it again. But there was a granddaughter who didn’t seem to be good for much else around the house, so she was given the task of reading to Grandma. I remember sitting in a chair in that upstairs room as Grandma lay in her bed listening to the beloved words.
Grandma’s hair was still coal black with streaks of white and she brushed it 100 strokes every night before plaiting it into a thick braid. In the mornings she would undo the braid and twist it into a bun, fastening it with big tortoise shell hairpins and combs. Finding her way in the endless dark, she would come downstairs and sit in a rocker in the kitchen. My mother and sisters spoke of the prophecies of Armageddon and God’s wrath Grandma would talk of constantly. But I only remember our reading sessions.
It was here that I fell in love with the lilting phrases of the King James Bible. Her Bible lies open before me now:
“Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil; for thou art with me”…
“If I take the wings of the morning, and dwell in the uttermost parts of the sea: Even there shall thy hand lead me, and thy right hand shall hold me”…
“Let not your heart be troubled: ye believe in God, believe also in me. In my Father’s house are many mansions: if it were not so, I would have told you….”
Grandma’s favorite books were Genesis, Psalms and Revelation. As I read them to her I would argue about this or that statement in the Bible. “Why did God tell the Israelites to kill all those people in the Promised Land?” was a recurring argument as I recall. Grandma didn’t mind if I doubted or disagreed with scripture. She would patiently explain the passages and let me wonder at them. This gave me permission to explore my faith and check it out for myself.
Grandma was a devout Christian and as such I am sure she was a woman of prayer. She could not have known what was going on in the life of hr granddaughter, but I’m as sure as I can be that she prayed for that little girl and asked God to direct her paths; maybe even to use her to His glory. I didn’t think of this until I was asked to write a few words about the source of the poem, Minnie Remembers. Her portrait, with the poem in calligraphy superimposed upon it, hung on the wall above my typewriter. As I sat there wondering what to write, I suddenly had a memory of that little girl sitting with her grandmother, holding her Bible. And I knew. I knew she had prayed for me; that the doors Minnie Remembers had opened were a direct result of her petitions to God to use this headstrong, argumentative child for His service.
Posts Tagged: ‘Minnie Remembers’
MINNIE
MINNIE REMEMBERS
God, my hands are old.
I’ve never said that out loud before,
but they are.
I was so proud of them once.
They were soft
like the velvet smoothness of a firm, ripe peach.
Now the softness is more like worn-out sheets
or withered leaves.
When did these slender, graceful hands
become gnarled, shrunken claws?
When, God?
They lie here in my lap,
naked reminders of this body
that has served me too well.
How long has it been since someone touched me?
Twenty years?
Twenty years I’ve been a widow;
Respected
Smiled at,
But never touched.
Never held so close that loneliness
was blotted out.
I remember how my mother used to hold me, God.
When I was hurt in spirit or in flesh,
she would gather me close,
stroke my silky hair
and caress my back with her warm hands.
O God, I’m so lonely!
I remember the first boy who ever kissed me.
We were both so new at that.
The taste of young lips and popcorn,
the feeling inside of mysteries to come.
I remember Hank and the babies.
How else can I remember them but together?
Out of the fumbling, awkward attempts of new lovers
came the babies.
And as they grew, so did our love.
And God, Hank didn’t seem to mind
if my body thickened and faded a little.
He still loved it and touched it.
and we didn’t mind if we were no longer beautiful.
And the children hugged me a lot.
O God, I’m lonely.
God, why didn’t we raise the kids to be silly
and affectionate
as well as dignified and proper?
You see, they do their duty.
They drive up in their fine cars.
They come to my room and pay their respects.
They chatter brightly and reminisce.
But they don’t touch me.
They call me “Mom”
or “Mother”
or “Grandma”.
Never Minnie.
My mother called me Minnie.
So did my friends.
Hank called me Minnie, too.
But they’re gone now,
And so is Minnie.
Only Grandma is here.
And God, she’s lonely!
WHO IS THE MINDSINGER?
The Mindsinger is a writer of poems, books and blogs. She remembers a few things from her childhood: way back in the dark ages of the world, and what she cannot remember, she ‘embroiders’ a bit to make things more interesting. With humor and a subtle wit the Mindsinger brings to life characters for children’s stories, family shenanigans and more serious subjects.
A prolific writer, she has authored nine books, one of which, MINDSONG, was published by the Upper Room and eight of which are still looking for homes. A poem, Minnie Remembers, first published in 1974 by Alive Now out of Nashville, became a standard tool in the teaching of gerontology and was published in hundreds of periodicals and books. Minnie was even made into two films, the first by United Methodist Communications which received a Golden Eagle Film award and the second by the American Nurses Association. If you would like to read Minnie Remembers, just type the name into your Google search engine and several sites will pop up.
While suffering a writer’s block that that threatened to become terminal, the Mindsinger began carving. Soon carousel figures and natural horses crowded her living room, office, studio and any empty shelf. Three full-size figures and dozens of miniatures were created from original sketches. You will be able to see some of these when they are added to the website via Flickr.
Now that we have been introduced, I will tell you that my given name is Donna Swanson. Raised on the Indiana prairie, I have been married to husband John for 52 years and am now a mother, grandmother, and great-grandmother. My hair is white, my wit has mellowed and my country roots have gone deep into the soil of America’s bread basket. Two of our three daughters married brothers who both farm. Our son followed his father into farming and took over that occupation when his dad had to retire on disability. Sadly, our son succumbed to colon cancer in 2002 and left his family to grieve with a new awareness of Heaven.
I hope to share with you some poetry, some humor and some good thoughts over the next few years. There are weblogs to the right that contain more writings and they will be added to as material comes up. Please feel free to interact with the column and share your own story and wisdom with us.
Remember,
“The mind becomes like that on which it feeds.”
The quote by David Elton Trueblood which has become my motto. I hope to offer here a feast for the soul and nurture for the mind.
– The Mindsinger
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