Her Name Was Mabel

     Christmas has come and gone, and the New Year has begun, with yesterday's dark cloud still following.  I'm sure this cloud had much to do with the fact that over the holidays I experienced a deep longing for the gathering of family, like the gatherings from years ago. And I remembered a little old farmhouse that would seem to expand itself to make room for all the aunts and uncles, brothers and sisters, cousins and in-laws that would jam into it on Christmas Day. Looking through old family photos, I came across this picture, and sat and stared, just taking it all in. 
   That's me, the skinny little runt with a big head, in the middle of the picture, with my grandmother standing behind me. To my left is my mother, and to her left, my uncle who everyone knew as Buster. The 3 people in my life who most made me feel safe in a world that I had learned to fear. 
   It was Buster who taught me about horsemanship, and how to hunt and fish. He bought for me my first pair of hip boots, my first spin-cast rod and reel combo, and my first revolver. It was mom... well she was my mom and we all know the fullness of the capacity with which they are able to love. (That is, I hope we all know). And then there was my grandmother.  Her name was Mabel, and she was an island where I could swim to and stand in a childhood that was a churning ocean of emotions.
    As I looked at that picture, I thought of how much I would love to sit at that table with them, once again, but now as an adult, and engage in adult conversations with them. Oh, the questions I would have for them...so many questions. But the one I would talk to the most would be Mabel. 
   Mabel had lived through and seen much in her years. The Roaring 20's, World War 1, the Great Depression, World War 2, the Korean War, and the war in Vietnam. She experienced the grief of losing her husband in a mine related accident, the loss of her oldest daughter to illness, and later the death of a beautiful granddaughter and a grandson. There was more, I'm sure, as we all keep certain painful memories to ourselves. The most pressing question I thought I would ask her was- How? How did you keep the faith through all of that pain and heartache? But I think I already know the answer.  I think she would smile, the way she often did when I said or did something stupid or silly (she must have smiled like that alot), and then calmly tell me, "Davey, it wasn't a case of me keeping the faith, it was my Faith that kept me." And I think I would smile back and simply say, "yeah"
   For I knew she had a deep abiding faith in the God of many promises. She trusted in the One who said He would leave the 99 to go and save the one who was lost. She held onto promises like John 10:28, and I know she had no fear of death. Thinking back, I don't recall anyone I've ever met who lived out their faith like she did. And I'm feeling like I could use some of that faith right now, with that cloud I mentioned earlier still hovering and seeming to grow in size.  No, I Need some of that Faith now.  Maybe we all do.