Milepost 11: The Curse of the Blackened Eye

“Chandelier, I”

enamel, acrylic, & glitter on wood panel

36”

2022

Matthew 6:28-30

And why are you worried about clothing? Consider the lilies of the field, how they grow; they toil not; neither do they spin; yet I tell you, even Solomon in all his glory was not arrayed like one of these. But if God so clothes the flowers of the field, which are here today and gone tomorrow, will he not much more care for you, O men of little faith?

My daddy died eight weeks ago. He died in a sterile intensive care unit despite constant nursing, all manner of tubes and needles and breathing devices — and bushels of prayers offered up in his name. He was secretive about his illness and private in his suffering, but the public crowded into his church to pay their last respects.

"What a man he was!" they said,

"He gave so much to so many."

"He fed many a family in Adams County, Mississippi," said one old man.

Person after person came up to tell me how he'd helped them. It was overwhelming to hear all that Daddy had done for others in his 59 years of living.

When all of the funeral was over, when the last memorial was acknowledged, and when Christmas had come and gone, I came back to Atlanta to an experience I had never known before, grief. I began an intimate relationship with this multi-dimensional feeling. It was a relationship that at times would hurl me so deeply into despair that I could not speak without crying. The nights became endless. In the hushed still hours after midnight I felt most alone. I became wound up in a tight cocoon of self-pity.

I called my sister, Ellen, on one of those nights, and somewhere in the conversation she mentioned that she had found Daddy's watch, and ironically it was still ticking.

I don't know what happened that night, but I awakened with the beginning of a different attitude. Of course Daddy's watch is still ticking. He still lives! He lives in our hearts and minds as all daddies do for little girls — as our first love.

He lives in our adolescent memories as one we could depend on for fairness.

(Example: If my cousin, Kenny, and my sister, Kaye, and I were in the bed on a hot summer night and the two of us were giggling and Daddy had yelled once to cut it out and we didn't... he would barrel down the hall and spank all three of us because he figured that it took one to make two giggle! Now that was fair!)

He taught great lessons in perseverance.

(Example: Every time my pony threw me... and one day he tossed me off 5 or 6 times... he made me get back on him every time... to teach the horse a lesson... or so he said. I might add that the one time the pony threw him he put the horse out to a faraway pasture!)

He instructed us well in the spirit of adventure.

(Example: He taught me to swim by tying a catch-rope around my waist, throwing me out into the lake, and pulling my screaming, flailing body back to the bank... wherein he administered encouragement and repeated the swimming lesson. Needless to say, I became a good swimmer at an early age. I learned in self-defense!)

Every summer he managed to convince us that the best way to lose 10 pounds and get a great suntan would be to drive a tractor for him all summer. I usually did get a good tan, and sometimes I even lost the weight, but always I have been grateful for working side-by-side with my family.

He lives with me today most of all as I remember his laughter and pure enjoyment of living things... people, plants, flowers, animals... He loved in a big way. His laughter was quick and hearty. It filled the whole house and then some, and if you were the one who'd made him laugh you felt mighty special.

Of course his watch is still ticking! He is alive and safe in the arms of Jesus. He is free of pain and problems and Living in a Life so free we cannot even comprehend the joy.

And what about me — and the others left to grieve? We are considering the lilies of the field; how they grow, they toil not neither do they spin.

If God so clothes the flowers of the field, which are here today and gone tomorrow, how much more will he care for us?

Shhhhh… listen… Can you hear a watch ticking?

Faye Junkin Hudnall

February,1987