OPINION —
In 2022 I ceased being an octogenarian and became a nonagenarian. And now, at age 92, I can testify that many memories for nonagenarians remain precious. I delight in looking back and giving thanks for many unforgettable friends I have known.
I met “Miss Jimmie” when I was 43. We had just moved to Demopolis, Alabama, where I began serving as pastor of First Methodist Church. Miss Jimmie did not surface during our first weeks there. She checked us out at a distance. She admitted that she wanted to hear a few sermons and listen to what others were saying before making up her mind about the new preacher.
We would learn that this quaint little lady was pushing 80 and did her own thinking. She was delightfully plainspoken. A retired school teacher, she was also a poet whose rhymes had been frequently published and enjoyed by many for years.
Dean and I knew none of this when she first dialed our phone. We had no clue that her call would lead us into a remarkable friendship that would bless us during the last six years of her life.
“I want you to be my guests for dinner tonight at the downtown hotel,” she said. “I want to buy you both a nice steak. Is six o’clock a good time for you? If it is, I’ll be ready at six. Since I am legally blind, I need for you to pick me up at my home,” she said, leaving me no choice but to say, “OK, we’ll pick you up at six.”
That was our introduction to Miss Jimmie. She did not mince words or mess around. Straight to the point. Get on with it. Vagueness wastes time. Say what you mean.
That night, as we enjoyed delicious steaks, Miss Jimmie wasted no time telling us what she had decided to do, without discussing it with us or anyone else.
“I have decided to adopt you,” she exclaimed with emotion and conviction. “I have no children and I want you to be my children,” she concluded.
Dean and I sat there, stunned, caught off guard by Miss Jimmie’s announcement. She hardly knew us, yet wanted to adopt us. Finally, I replied, “We are honored, Miss Jimmie.” I looked at my wife for help and she said with a smile, “And we accept!” We never took the matter up with a judge but for the rest of her life, Miss Jimmie our extra and special “Mom.”
That relationship was lived out in several ways. Almost every morning, shortly after six o’clock, our telephone rang. It was Miss Jimmie. “Have you heard a good story this morning?” she would ask.
“No,” I replied, “but I would love to hear one.” She would proceed to tell me a good joke or a funny story, not all of which I would be at liberty to share from the pulpit.
That was a cardinal rule with Miss Jimmie. Begin each day with a good laugh. In those years we often needed a little humor to soften the growing pains of raising four teenage boys.
Occasionally, the bacon or the toast might burn while we were getting our daily dose of humor, but mostly it was a blessing to have “Mom” call and wish us “a nice day.”
Miss Jimmie gave us nicknames that no one else has ever used. She called Dean “Buttons” and I was “Little Guy,” the funniest nickname ever given to a 260-pound preacher.
A ritual developed in time. Miss Jimmie would call every month or so and invite us to her home for hot tea and pink jello salad in the afternoon. Goodness knows what all was in the jello since Miss Jimmie was legally blind. The jello had little marshmallows in it, and frankly, it was not all that tasty. I made a crucial mistake the first time she ever served us that jello; I lied, and told her I loved it. Lies can hang around and hurt you!
From that day forward the ritual included pink jello. Over and over Miss Jimmie called and we would drop over for her pink jello, crackers and hot tea. Believe me, I paid for that lie many times.
Since Miss Jimmie was legally blind, and unable to read, I suggested that she order the Bible that was available on cassette tapes. She obtained the tapes and began listening daily to the Holy Scriptures. Months went by and one day the jello did not taste so bad when Miss Jimmie said to us, “You know, I am thankful for my blindness. All my life I paid little attention to the Bible, but because I am blind I have discovered the precious Word of God. I love listening to the Bible.”
After Miss Jimmie died in her mid-80s, one of her nieces called me with the news that “Mom” had willed to us her favorite rocking chair, the one I always sat in when we visited her. Her niece delivered it to our home.
That old chair still has a special place in the Glory Room of my home. Now and then I sit in it and reminisce about the special lady who often filled our mornings with laughter. I don’t miss the pink jello but I do miss the unforgettable poet who decided that living a life of love meant adopting Dean and me as her children.
Life is indeed a many-splendored thing, and there are a thousand wonderful ways to enhance life’s beauty by loving others. How blessed we were to have been loved by this charming little lady who loved to serve pink jello to her pastor.
