This was kind of a eulogy I (Chris) gave at Gam's (Jimmie's) funeral.
"Above all, love each other deeply, because love covers over a multitude of sins. Offer hospitality to one another without grumbling. Each one should use whatever gift he has received to serve others, faithfully administering God's grace in its various forms. If anyone speaks, he should do it as one speaking the very words of God. If anyone serves, he should do it with the strength God provides, so that in all things God may be praised through Jesus Christ. To him be glory and power for ever and ever. Amen. " I Peter 4:7-11 NIV
I'll miss Gam's hugs.
And her wit and smile. She and her sisters, all of them, sparkled - especially when they were together. I will never forget evening suppers on Gam's screened-in porch, listening to Jimmie and Julia quip, throwing life and everything back and forth over the meal. Do you know who one of Gam's heroes was? Samuel Johnson - the 18th century British scholar, critic, and wit. One summer, she told me that she had just finished Boswell's Life of Johnson again and was starting over from the beginning. Even in her last years, at times when it was hard to hear her, hard to understand what she was saying, she was still making jokes - really good ones - ones that I would repeat at home with "You won't believe what Gam said . . ."
She had a deep love and respect for education, and a deep regret that she didn't have more of it. The only thing I heard her say against her father (other than that he had given her what she thought was an awful name - 'Jimmie Dewitt'; once I told her that I was going to name my daughter 'Jimmie Dewitt Hale' after her. She looked at me sternly and said 'You will not do that to that child." By the way - she thought the name 'Gam' was awful too.) - her only criticism of her father was that he didn't send her to college. She attributed, rightly or wrongly, a lot of her own insecurities to this fact. She went to great lengths to make sure that her children and grandchildren were educated. Many people who come to her service will be able to think of ways in which this was true.
One of her fondest memories from her childhood was being in her classroom in spring, with the windows open, and hearing her sister Julia playing the piano somewhere in the building. Her favorite poet from that time was Longfellow. Late in her life she could still quote Longfellow at length - much to the discomfort of her grandsons. I think that dates her. What kind of educational system opens the windows, lets the principal's daughter play the piano where everyone can hear, and makes the children memorize Longfellow?
The first big books I read - I mean books that my girls would call chapter books - books with more words than pictures - I read on Gam's payroll. She paid a nickel per book. I thought that was a good deal at the time. I still think that it was a good deal, but the nickel has nothing to do with it. I haven't for a long time been in a situation where someone wanted me to sit down and rest, would pay me to read at leisure, was happy that while reading I fell asleep and took a long nap, and afterward wanted me to take a walk in the woods down by the creek while she fried catfish and baked macaroni and cheese until they were lightly golden.
In recent years, I've heard it debated whether or not hospitality is a spiritual gift. If it is a spiritual gift, then Gam had it. If it is not a gift, still she had it - whatever the tensions were in her own life and mind. When I think back to my childhood, a good part of which was spent in her home, I think of the immeasurable peace there: thick peace like a heavy blanket. Peace and coziness. Peace walking through the rooms, peace sitting on a stool in the kitchen watching her cook; peace in the garden, peace lounging on the back porch.
One day this past spring I was sitting with Gam in the nursing home. She was watching my dad put away her clothes and set out things for the next day. She closed her eyes. I thought she had gone to sleep; maybe she had. Suddenly her eyes were open. She looked at him and then at me. She said, "I was talking to God about him." I asked her if she did that often. She looked straight in my eyes and replied, "More than you might think."
Gam loved deeply. She loved deeply and truly and with all of her might. There will be many at the service whose sins were covered over by her love and concern. She hoped for the best and worked for the best for all of us in all the ways that she knew how. This is what I will miss the most about Gam. When you talk to the Lord about her, commend her for her love.
"Above all, love each other deeply, because love covers over a multitude of sins. Offer hospitality to one another without grumbling. Each one should use whatever gift he has received to serve others, faithfully administering God's grace in its various forms. If anyone speaks, he should do it as one speaking the very words of God. If anyone serves, he should do it with the strength God provides, so that in all things God may be praised through Jesus Christ. To him be glory and power for ever and ever. Amen. " I Peter 4:7-11 NIV
I'll miss Gam's hugs.
And her wit and smile. She and her sisters, all of them, sparkled - especially when they were together. I will never forget evening suppers on Gam's screened-in porch, listening to Jimmie and Julia quip, throwing life and everything back and forth over the meal. Do you know who one of Gam's heroes was? Samuel Johnson - the 18th century British scholar, critic, and wit. One summer, she told me that she had just finished Boswell's Life of Johnson again and was starting over from the beginning. Even in her last years, at times when it was hard to hear her, hard to understand what she was saying, she was still making jokes - really good ones - ones that I would repeat at home with "You won't believe what Gam said . . ."
She had a deep love and respect for education, and a deep regret that she didn't have more of it. The only thing I heard her say against her father (other than that he had given her what she thought was an awful name - 'Jimmie Dewitt'; once I told her that I was going to name my daughter 'Jimmie Dewitt Hale' after her. She looked at me sternly and said 'You will not do that to that child." By the way - she thought the name 'Gam' was awful too.) - her only criticism of her father was that he didn't send her to college. She attributed, rightly or wrongly, a lot of her own insecurities to this fact. She went to great lengths to make sure that her children and grandchildren were educated. Many people who come to her service will be able to think of ways in which this was true.
One of her fondest memories from her childhood was being in her classroom in spring, with the windows open, and hearing her sister Julia playing the piano somewhere in the building. Her favorite poet from that time was Longfellow. Late in her life she could still quote Longfellow at length - much to the discomfort of her grandsons. I think that dates her. What kind of educational system opens the windows, lets the principal's daughter play the piano where everyone can hear, and makes the children memorize Longfellow?
The first big books I read - I mean books that my girls would call chapter books - books with more words than pictures - I read on Gam's payroll. She paid a nickel per book. I thought that was a good deal at the time. I still think that it was a good deal, but the nickel has nothing to do with it. I haven't for a long time been in a situation where someone wanted me to sit down and rest, would pay me to read at leisure, was happy that while reading I fell asleep and took a long nap, and afterward wanted me to take a walk in the woods down by the creek while she fried catfish and baked macaroni and cheese until they were lightly golden.
In recent years, I've heard it debated whether or not hospitality is a spiritual gift. If it is a spiritual gift, then Gam had it. If it is not a gift, still she had it - whatever the tensions were in her own life and mind. When I think back to my childhood, a good part of which was spent in her home, I think of the immeasurable peace there: thick peace like a heavy blanket. Peace and coziness. Peace walking through the rooms, peace sitting on a stool in the kitchen watching her cook; peace in the garden, peace lounging on the back porch.
One day this past spring I was sitting with Gam in the nursing home. She was watching my dad put away her clothes and set out things for the next day. She closed her eyes. I thought she had gone to sleep; maybe she had. Suddenly her eyes were open. She looked at him and then at me. She said, "I was talking to God about him." I asked her if she did that often. She looked straight in my eyes and replied, "More than you might think."
Gam loved deeply. She loved deeply and truly and with all of her might. There will be many at the service whose sins were covered over by her love and concern. She hoped for the best and worked for the best for all of us in all the ways that she knew how. This is what I will miss the most about Gam. When you talk to the Lord about her, commend her for her love.
This was kind of a eulogy I (Chris) gave at Gam's (Jimmie's) funeral.
"Above all, love each other deeply, because love covers over a multitude of sins. Offer hospitality to one another without grumbling. Each one should use whatever gift he has received to serve others, faithfully administering God's grace in its various forms. If anyone speaks, he should do it as one speaking the very words of God. If anyone serves, he should do it with the strength God provides, so that in all things God may be praised through Jesus Christ. To him be glory and power for ever and ever. Amen. " I Peter 4:7-11 NIV
I'll miss Gam's hugs.
And her wit and smile. She and her sisters, all of them, sparkled - especially when they were together. I will never forget evening suppers on Gam's screened-in porch, listening to Jimmie and Julia quip, throwing life and everything back and forth over the meal. Do you know who one of Gam's heroes was? Samuel Johnson - the 18th century British scholar, critic, and wit. One summer, she told me that she had just finished Boswell's Life of Johnson again and was starting over from the beginning. Even in her last years, at times when it was hard to hear her, hard to understand what she was saying, she was still making jokes - really good ones - ones that I would repeat at home with "You won't believe what Gam said . . ."
She had a deep love and respect for education, and a deep regret that she didn't have more of it. The only thing I heard her say against her father (other than that he had given her what she thought was an awful name - 'Jimmie Dewitt'; once I told her that I was going to name my daughter 'Jimmie Dewitt Hale' after her. She looked at me sternly and said 'You will not do that to that child." By the way - she thought the name 'Gam' was awful too.) - her only criticism of her father was that he didn't send her to college. She attributed, rightly or wrongly, a lot of her own insecurities to this fact. She went to great lengths to make sure that her children and grandchildren were educated. Many people who come to her service will be able to think of ways in which this was true.
One of her fondest memories from her childhood was being in her classroom in spring, with the windows open, and hearing her sister Julia playing the piano somewhere in the building. Her favorite poet from that time was Longfellow. Late in her life she could still quote Longfellow at length - much to the discomfort of her grandsons. I think that dates her. What kind of educational system opens the windows, lets the principal's daughter play the piano where everyone can hear, and makes the children memorize Longfellow?
The first big books I read - I mean books that my girls would call chapter books - books with more words than pictures - I read on Gam's payroll. She paid a nickel per book. I thought that was a good deal at the time. I still think that it was a good deal, but the nickel has nothing to do with it. I haven't for a long time been in a situation where someone wanted me to sit down and rest, would pay me to read at leisure, was happy that while reading I fell asleep and took a long nap, and afterward wanted me to take a walk in the woods down by the creek while she fried catfish and baked macaroni and cheese until they were lightly golden.
In recent years, I've heard it debated whether or not hospitality is a spiritual gift. If it is a spiritual gift, then Gam had it. If it is not a gift, still she had it - whatever the tensions were in her own life and mind. When I think back to my childhood, a good part of which was spent in her home, I think of the immeasurable peace there: thick peace like a heavy blanket. Peace and coziness. Peace walking through the rooms, peace sitting on a stool in the kitchen watching her cook; peace in the garden, peace lounging on the back porch.
One day this past spring I was sitting with Gam in the nursing home. She was watching my dad put away her clothes and set out things for the next day. She closed her eyes. I thought she had gone to sleep; maybe she had. Suddenly her eyes were open. She looked at him and then at me. She said, "I was talking to God about him." I asked her if she did that often. She looked straight in my eyes and replied, "More than you might think."
Gam loved deeply. She loved deeply and truly and with all of her might. There will be many at the service whose sins were covered over by her love and concern. She hoped for the best and worked for the best for all of us in all the ways that she knew how. This is what I will miss the most about Gam. When you talk to the Lord about her, commend her for her love.
"Above all, love each other deeply, because love covers over a multitude of sins. Offer hospitality to one another without grumbling. Each one should use whatever gift he has received to serve others, faithfully administering God's grace in its various forms. If anyone speaks, he should do it as one speaking the very words of God. If anyone serves, he should do it with the strength God provides, so that in all things God may be praised through Jesus Christ. To him be glory and power for ever and ever. Amen. " I Peter 4:7-11 NIV
I'll miss Gam's hugs.
And her wit and smile. She and her sisters, all of them, sparkled - especially when they were together. I will never forget evening suppers on Gam's screened-in porch, listening to Jimmie and Julia quip, throwing life and everything back and forth over the meal. Do you know who one of Gam's heroes was? Samuel Johnson - the 18th century British scholar, critic, and wit. One summer, she told me that she had just finished Boswell's Life of Johnson again and was starting over from the beginning. Even in her last years, at times when it was hard to hear her, hard to understand what she was saying, she was still making jokes - really good ones - ones that I would repeat at home with "You won't believe what Gam said . . ."
She had a deep love and respect for education, and a deep regret that she didn't have more of it. The only thing I heard her say against her father (other than that he had given her what she thought was an awful name - 'Jimmie Dewitt'; once I told her that I was going to name my daughter 'Jimmie Dewitt Hale' after her. She looked at me sternly and said 'You will not do that to that child." By the way - she thought the name 'Gam' was awful too.) - her only criticism of her father was that he didn't send her to college. She attributed, rightly or wrongly, a lot of her own insecurities to this fact. She went to great lengths to make sure that her children and grandchildren were educated. Many people who come to her service will be able to think of ways in which this was true.
One of her fondest memories from her childhood was being in her classroom in spring, with the windows open, and hearing her sister Julia playing the piano somewhere in the building. Her favorite poet from that time was Longfellow. Late in her life she could still quote Longfellow at length - much to the discomfort of her grandsons. I think that dates her. What kind of educational system opens the windows, lets the principal's daughter play the piano where everyone can hear, and makes the children memorize Longfellow?
The first big books I read - I mean books that my girls would call chapter books - books with more words than pictures - I read on Gam's payroll. She paid a nickel per book. I thought that was a good deal at the time. I still think that it was a good deal, but the nickel has nothing to do with it. I haven't for a long time been in a situation where someone wanted me to sit down and rest, would pay me to read at leisure, was happy that while reading I fell asleep and took a long nap, and afterward wanted me to take a walk in the woods down by the creek while she fried catfish and baked macaroni and cheese until they were lightly golden.
In recent years, I've heard it debated whether or not hospitality is a spiritual gift. If it is a spiritual gift, then Gam had it. If it is not a gift, still she had it - whatever the tensions were in her own life and mind. When I think back to my childhood, a good part of which was spent in her home, I think of the immeasurable peace there: thick peace like a heavy blanket. Peace and coziness. Peace walking through the rooms, peace sitting on a stool in the kitchen watching her cook; peace in the garden, peace lounging on the back porch.
One day this past spring I was sitting with Gam in the nursing home. She was watching my dad put away her clothes and set out things for the next day. She closed her eyes. I thought she had gone to sleep; maybe she had. Suddenly her eyes were open. She looked at him and then at me. She said, "I was talking to God about him." I asked her if she did that often. She looked straight in my eyes and replied, "More than you might think."
Gam loved deeply. She loved deeply and truly and with all of her might. There will be many at the service whose sins were covered over by her love and concern. She hoped for the best and worked for the best for all of us in all the ways that she knew how. This is what I will miss the most about Gam. When you talk to the Lord about her, commend her for her love.
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