FANNIE LOU’S BLESSING

by

Deb Harrell

“…Strength and dignity are her clothing,

And she smiles at the future.

She opens her mouth in wisdom,

And the teaching of kindness is on her tongue.

She looks well to the ways of her household,

And does not eat the bread of idleness.

Her children rise up and bless her…”  

                              Proverbs 31:25-28

 

My last two conversations with my grandmother, Fannie Lou Pender, were very difficult for her because she was very weak and could barely talk. She drifted in and out of sleep, often waking to think one of her long-departed relatives was in the room with her.  I think perhaps they were.  It was not frightening for her, but rather seemed comforting.  She had been looking forward to those reunions and being with her loved ones and her Lord for many, many years.

One afternoon, I sat by her bed and held her hand as she drifted in and out of sleep.  That morning, I had been reading in my Bible about Issac, Jacob and Esau.  Jacob was very anxious to receive his father’s blessing and at the end of his life, he made sure that he left a blessing to each of his children. 

 

As I sat watching that precious soul sleeping, I wondered to myself if any of her dozens of children, grandchildren or great-grandchildren had ever actually asked her for a blessing.  So, when she stirred from her sleep, I asked her. 

 

She said none had ever asked her for a blessing.

 

So I said, “Then, Fannie Lou, would you give me your blessing?” 

 

She did not answer.  She just drifted off to sleep.

 

When she stirred again, I asked again…”Fannie Lou, will you give me your blessing?” 

 

She said, “I DID,” and she drifted off to sleep again.

 

I thought maybe she only dreamed that she had, because she did not actually give me a verbal blessing.  So when she woke again, I asked again…”Fannie Lou, did you hear me?  Will you please give me your blessing?” 

 

She said, “I DO.” and drifted off.

 

Thinking that she had not understood me, when she woke again, once more I pleaded…”Fannie Lou, since no one else has ever asked you for your blessing, will you give it to me?”  She said, “I WILL,” and drifted off to sleep again.

I had to leave before she woke up again and I was very disappointed that she had not actually verbalized a blessing to me like Issac had to Jacob or that Jacob had spoken to his sons.  I wanted something more substantial than “I DID,”  “I DO” and “I WILL.”

 

Two weeks later, I sat with her again.  She was not drifting in and out so much that day, but it was still very difficult for her to talk.  I wondered what it must be like to have to be bed-ridden all day long every day.  I looked around the room and tried to imagine it as my whole universe.  It was a very pleasant room.  My mother had made certain of that, but still it must have been terribly confining.  Even the view out the window was out of range from her bed, so all she had to look at was those four walls and whatever decoration with which they were adorned. 

 

She was our walking history book and her mind and memory were always so sharp and clear.  They had only begun to slow in the last few months of her life.  I asked her what she did all day long to occupy her mind now that she was so confined.

 

She replied, in her long, slow Southern drawl, “Why, Hon, I have my prayers.”

 

“Well, what do you pray about, Fannie Lou?” I asked.

 

“I pray for my children.” 

 

I knew that by ‘her children’ she meant those she had given birth to herself and all of her dozens and dozens of grandchildren and great-grandchildren and the great-great grandchild on the way.  So I asked, “Fannie Lou, when you pray for us, do you sort of clump us all together in a prayer or do you pray for us one by one?”

 

“Oh, Honey, I pray for each and every one of my children.”

 

In my mind, I tried to count all those children and calculate how long it would take if she prayed two or three minutes for each one of us.  It would have taken a couple of hours!  I thought that was amazing…that someone could actually manage to concentrate long enough to pray for two solid hours.  But I did not doubt that she was capable of such a task. Even still,  with praying for two hours a day, there were yet many, many hours left in the day…every day…trapped in a frail and failed body in a bed that she could never again leave…not even to go to the bathroom.

 

So I asked her, “Fannie Lou, when you get done praying for each one of us, what do you do then?”

 

She immediately responded, as if it should go without even saying, “Why, Honey, I start all over again!”

 

Suddenly a picture flashed across my mind of this tiny, frail woman standing at the head of a long, long line of her “children."  One by one, she picked up each of us and carried us to the lap of Jesus, by whose side she stood and discussed the needs of that "child."  After they had prayed together over this child, she would take him or her from His lap and carry them to the end of the line and go back to the front of the line to carry the next child to Jesus' lap and discuss that one’s needs.  Over and over and over...all day…everyday…she carried us with our needs and burdens and deposited us and those needs and burdens in His lap. 

 

At last, the disappointment of not having some grandiose verbal blessing fall on my ears during our previous visit faded in the revelation of what she meant by “I DID”, “I DO” and “I WILL…bless you.” 

 

Fannie Lou was the most humble and Godly woman I have ever known.  She was not given to many words, so I should never have expected a great outpouring of verbal blessing from her.  She was a very quiet and unobtrusive woman. 

 

After losing her farm and having no home of her own, she lived with each of her children in round robin fashion…first with one for a few months, then with another.  For almost 40 years, she drifted from one to the next.  Being the precious woman she was, however, her children did not fight over who HAD to take her.  Rather, they usually were jealous to be the one who got her because she was such a blessing and such a tremendous help in raising her children’s children.  And she did help raise each of us.  Her physical presence and Godly influence in her lifetime reached even to great-grandchildren.

 

I was beginning to understand the simple blessing she gave me that day. 

SHE was the blessing.  By her presence and influence in my life and now that I knew the impact of her prayer life on our lives,

 

I knew that she “DID… bless” me from the very day I was born. 

 

Her simple declaration, “I DO…bless you” was her present and ongoing influence.

 

And her “I WILL…bless you” was my assurance that when she left us and went home for that long-awaited reunion, her prayers would never cease…

 

She WAS my blessing.  She IS my blessing even as I think of her now.  And she WILL ALWAYS and forever stand beside our gracious and forgiving Lord and continue to labor in prayer for…”her children. 

 

That was the last conversation I had with Fannie Lou.  She grew weaker by the day and could barely talk.  Her body left us two weeks later.  But she is still with us.  I have no doubt that her blessings and her prayers continue.  But today, she just does not have to walk as far to carry our needs to Jesus.  The waiting line, however, grows longer with each generation.

 

My grandchildren, Ivy Ann and Marisa Leigh, are some of her "children."  Those cornflower blue eyes never got to behold their precious faces in her earthly journey.  But, I have no doubt that they are now in that long, long line that is being carried each and every day to the lap of Jesus where she stands and says….” Lord, this is Ivy Ann and this is Marisa Leigh.  You know what they need today.  Here they are.  I give them to you.  They are two of my children and I trust that one day they will be two of Yours.  Let’s talk about that.” 

 

And together they pray for them and then she carries them back to the end of the line and goes back to pick up me or one of her other ‘children’…all day, everyday…all day long.  I have no doubt that she’s been praying for me today.  That precious memory of our last conversation assures me of that.

 

What a glorious memory!  She "DID” and "DOES" and "WILL"….bless me…forever!

 

I do not want to wait until the end of my life to give my blessing to my own child, grandchildren, family or friends.  I am far from being the Godly woman Fannie Lou was, but, like her, I have very little to give them except myself and my prayers.  So I pray that one day they will remember me as a "Blessing" in their lives and that they will, in turn, seek to bless others…not with just words or deeds…but with THEMSELVES and with a portion of the Godly character of their great-great grandmother, Fannie Lou, so that one day, their own children will rise up and bless them, too.

 

 

REFLECTION

 

Over the years, as I reflect on those last two conversations with Fannie Lou, I realize that her simple blessing has manifested itself in the primary activity that has evolved in my ministry.  I am not bed-ridden, as Fannie Lou was, but there have been many extended periods of time when I was incapacitated and house-bound because of illness, accident or injury. And during those times, it seems that the activity that kept me sane and occupied was prayer. 

 

So, if she had put it into mere words, I may not have gotten the full impact of the power of Fannie Lou’s Blessing.  Instead, she demonstrated the power of prayer despite the frailty and weakness of her body and being confined by space...or maybe, it would be more accurate to say…distracted by the outside world. 

 

So now,  instead of feeling guilty that I can longer travel on mission and minister physically like I used to…whenever I don’t have the strength to GO…I try to see whatever disables me at the moment as an opportunity to PRAY. 

 

As long as I can think…I can pray.  And for those few minutes, I can go, or be anywhere the need is.  And my weakness is strength to do things, in the power of the Holy Spirit, that my body has never been able to do. 

 

And THAT…is the REAL BLESSING.

 

© November,1999

Deborah B. Harrell