Remembering the Queen of the Hill

Walk Worthy of the Calling -------------------------------------------------------
One of my small pleasures of life is sending “old folks” e mails to my sister. She is four years older than I and will be as long as we both remain on this earth. She was born in 1940 and was the first child in the family, not just our family, but “the family” in the larger context. Our cousin Marva did not come along until a year later, so for one whole year Donnieta got to be queen of the hill – the chosen one – the apple of the collective family eye. By 1941 the war had become the focus of all America and the draft, together with a strong wave of patriotism, caused a great bulk of American young men to enter the service of their country. My uncle, U. L. Mabry, was one of those who chose to join up and was soon on his way to U. S. Navy boot camp. Daddy’s sister, Aunt Thelma, moved into the Jackson County ancestral manor, along with Marva Jean and her brother Morris soon followed. Daddy’s younger brother joined the Marine Corps and was soon sending letters from islands with strange sounding names in the South Pacific. Gene, his youngest sister, went to Detroit and became a “Rosie the riveter” in a defense plant. She was a materials expediter, making sure that enough components were in place to avoid interruption of production. She always says that to this day she cannot see more than three of anything without wanting to mark down a count.
I didn’t make my appearance until June 6,1944. While the beaches of Normandy were being stormed by the Allied Forces, Bob and Maylene Chaffin were facing a little storm of their own in the person of yours truly. So the war was over by the time I began to have cognizant knowledge of my own existence and Donnieta and I were again alone with Mama and Daddy in the big house on Roaring River.
I was a bit of an accident prone little fellow, either due to excessive exuberance or excessive awkwardness, which I do not know. One of the earliest memories was swinging on the screen door to our kitchen, feet on the bottom wood panel and homemade door hook in my mouth. My feet slipped off the panel and I was strung up like a catfish out of water. Daddy ran to my aid but was unable to remove the crudely fashioned hook, so he sent 6 year old Donnieta to get a hammer. She simply ran to the barn crying and that incident pretty much defined our relationship for the next 40 years or so.
Strangely enough, after years of good natured sibling rivalry, our relationship changed when my mother became terminally ill. I was working in Cleveland, OH and the task of seeing to Mama and Daddy fell primarily to her. I think it was admiration for how she approached the task that forever altered my perspective of her, perhaps admiration coupled with dependence. I had seen the brown eyed girl struggle through caring for her own mother suffering from the same brand of cancer and was keenly aware of the difficulties involved with both the physical and emotional struggles that come when the parent becomes the child.
God put us here on earth to provide love, care and support for others, just as he has provide love, care and support for us. When Jesus speaks to the disciples of laying down you life for others, I am suspicious it is on two planes. He was obviously going to lay down his physical life for the believers and was calling the believers to lay down their day to day lives for others. Seldom is that more keenly demonstrated when one sees a daughter leave her family and home affairs to the dubious care of a husband, and become the primary care giver for an ailing parent. As difficult as it is, it is a thing of great beauty, and I never remember, even one time, hearing someone say at a funeral, “well, I really wish I had done less.”
One of the greatest blessings of the faith of a believer is the way it calls us to that which is greater than ourselves – that which is only able to be accomplished by Him within us. The abundant life of promise.

Have a blessed day, Bob