This is a small tale of my great grandfather's last day of life (from my perspective) and how his legacy still continues. He was a man who passed down many traits to me including a love for land, a love for God, and a love for music.
Raymond Sidney Pitts, better known as Dock, walked into the kitchen ready for his wife's homemade biscuits. She had been good to him all these years, creating life all around. That life came in the form of three strong sons, three homemade meals a day, and three part harmonies. Ethel was her name and she had been his bride for as long as he could remember. Well, 76 years as of yesterday if specifics mattered. To him, they didn't. He only measured things by integrity and loyalty.
He brushed by her side to get a glass out of the cabinet. He caught the faintest hint of her shampoo and remembered the details of the previous evening. They had turned into bed around eight. While facing the wall like usual, he received an unusual scolding. She asked him why he always faced the opposite direction from her while going to sleep.
He turned towards her, wrapped his arms around her frail frame and held on for all he was worth.
That was last night. God had been good to give them the gift of companionship for 76 years. He wasn't sure he knew of any others who had been given such a gift.
He sat next to Ethel at the large oak breakfast table and devoured his breakfast. He never would tire of her cooking. He smiled inside when he thought about all the times that his granddaughters would try to get her to write down her recipes. Apparently, a "pinch" of this and a "pinch" of that was not exactly what they had in mind.
Dock felt rather sentimental, probably due to the previous evening, and decided to reminisce a bit. Three sons. Seven grandchildren. Eighteen great grandchildren. Two great great grandchildren. Apparently, a long marriage wasn't the only gift that God had given to him.
After kissing Ethel's head, he went into the mudroom to don his overalls. They were dirty, but that was to be expected. Silly younger generation thought they had to wash something after only wearing it once. That is probably because they never had to wash anything by hand. Funny how you can have a different perspective on things when you were born in 1908.
1908. Wow. That made him 93. He knew his math was still good because he was as sharp as a tack. He glanced in the mirror before going out the back door and laughed at his dyed hair. Well, if you are going to have a sharp mind, you might as well look the part!
He headed to the garden. Dock figured that God put Adam in the garden and told him to work it, so working the garden was good enough for him, too. The weather was a perfect Arkansas May day. Low 80's and a light breeze tempted him to believe that the offensive humidity of summer wasn't right around the corner. But, after being a farmer his whole life, well, he just knew better.
Today, he would focus on planting more tomatoes. He knew every member of his family ate them up like candy, so he wanted to be sure and have enough this year. Perhaps tomorrow he would ensure that the okra got into the ground. Gardening was a constant in his life. He was born on this land and he always believed that being a good steward of it was the least that he could do.
Constants. Yes, this land was a constant. It was all he had ever known.
Jesus. He was a constant. Dock had seen it "all" so to speak over this past generation, but Jesus had never shown a variation or shifting shadow. After living the Word for 93 years, he knew it was the only truth out there.
Music. A true constant. After redemption, Christ never failed to give him joy when singing gospel tunes. He and Ethel had sung countless songs to the glory of Jesus.
Constants. Death was a constant. But that didn't scare him anymore. True, he hated to leave his wife behind, but he would love to get a glorious glimpse of the One that had rescued him from the sin stained pit of darkness.
He needed to quit with all this sentimentality and get back to work.
Grasping his side, he fell to the dirt, wondering when the last rain drop had made its appearance on the dusty surface.
And then that sweet familiar voice thundered in his being, "Shake yourself from the dust and arise."
Apparently, he was going to receive more than just a glimpse.
2 comments:
At Allume with Kelli and she just told me to click on over and read your post today. So so good. So very good, Becke. I love legacy stories nearly as much as I love Godly legacies. Thanks for sharing yours.
Hoping to get you out to our creative retreat one of these summers!
Thanks Wendy! The creative retreat is definitely on my bucket list!
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