As Bad as Mamaw Justis

I underestimated my grandmother, Wilma Justis. It wasn't that I didn't respect her. In fact, I always admired how she could focus all of her concern and energy on others. It was just that she seemed unhealthy and physically weak. I was wrong.

I guess I was fooled by how she ate a funny diet due to digestion problems. She seemed to go to Doctor Frank's office weekly.

But I learned that she had hidden inner strength. Immediately after she delivered her fourth child, the doctor said, "Oh, here's anther one." She delivered twins that day.

Of my four grandparents, I thought, because of her health concerns, she'd probably pass away first. Wrong again. She survived my grandfather by thirty years, reaching age 97.

But where she especially excelled was in her deep concern for her family. She worried. When one of us suffered, she suffered.

My uncle Richie expressed it best:
"We have a saying at our house, 'You're getting as bad as Mamaw Justis.' All of Mamaw's children and grandchildren will relate to this story.
"She is always concerned that we're working too hard, not getting enough rest, not eating right, and especially not warm enough. Her first act when she greets us is to hug us, and check our ears, arms, and legs, and ask if we are warm enough.
"One cold day, my daughter Janell was going out to play, and Gwen was dressing her. She put on plenty of socks, undershirt, sweatshirt, coat, gloves, cap, and boots. Janell could hardly move, and she said, 'Mom, you're getting as bad as Mamaw Justis.'
"So whenever someone shows extra concern for another, we use this phrase. Wouldn't this be a fantastic world if everyone was as bad as Mamaw Justis?"


Papaw/Dad/David - Posted using BlogPress from my iPad

Celestial Math

It seems impossible, but we all want to return to Heavenly Father, pure and clean. We want to inherit all he has offered us--everything he has. Grasping the concept doesn't come easy. Nor does the follow through.
What makes it especially difficult is the conflict between the expectations and our performance. The Lord said,
"For I the Lord cannot look upon sin with the least degree of allowance;" D&C 1:31
That sounds a lot like perfection. Seems like I won't qualify because I sin every day.
What's an old guy like me to do?
There's Hope for Every One of Us
Jesus shares his perfection with us
Say that as I approach the sacrament this Sunday I had committed 50 sins. Well, since I spent several hours in my rental cars this week, fighting traffic in some large cities, I'd better make it 750 sins.
Some of my sins have greater magnitude than others, so maybe I need to add a multiplier to the more grevious ones. Let's rate my week a minus 1500.
If God cannot look upon my sins with the least degree of allowance, I'm in trouble. My -1500 disqualifies me from his presence and from the companionship of his Spirit.
But the Savior shares his perfection with me. His goodness and perfection are infinite and eternal.
So, let's do the math: -1500 + infinity = infinity.
His atoning sacrifice lifts us to his status. That is his mission, and I suppose it's his greatest desire. And so our debts are covered by the Savior's divinity.
Another Way of Looking at It
Some people live with optimism and positive energy. When we associate with such people, their attitudes lift our own. Their positives can counteract our negatives.
We do have hope. We can regain our standing before God, no matter how negative our actions. We just need to accept his offer to add his infinite perfection to our imperfections.
Do the math!
Papaw/Dad/David - Posted using BlogPress from my iPad

Location:Omaha Eppley Field

Papaw Justis & the Cart

Papaw Justis & the Cart

Most of my favorite Saturdays were when my cousin Jay visited. He lived a hour away, so they didn't visit as often as I wanted.

Jay and I won many wars with the World War II combat tactics we learned from movies and television. We played lots of basketball and baseball, and numerous variations of one-ups-man-ship. Our competitive spirit was always in play.

Jay liked car racing. He loved the Indy 500 and attended every year (at least that's how I remember it). I didn't care for it, but I was a gracious host, so when he wanted to build a cart to ride down Papaw Justis' hilly road, I agreed. Besides, I have always liked speed.

We found some old baby buggy wheels (predecessor of today's strollers), nailed them to a two by four plank of wood, and began to ride it down the road. It broke in about ten yards under my lanky, fifty pounds.

Papaw saw our plight, laughed at us, then went to work in the little workshop he made from an old fruit and vegetable trailer. By the way, his whole family of seven had lived in that trailer during the depression.

A few days later, Papaw showed me his creation--a beautiful, three-foot-wide cart. It weighed about fifty pounds. The plywood frame was an inch thick. He created a steering mechanism with a turnable front axle and a rope. The heavy steel axles supported ball-bearing wheels that turned without any resistance. It was a work of art!

And it flew!

The curvy and hilly road only supported three homes: Papaw's, ours, and my uncle and aunt's (Kenny and Jane). The light traffic made it fairly safe for riding the blazingly fast cart.

I'm thinking the road stretched about a hundred yards. It started with a very steep 180 degree turn, straightened and flattened out for a few yards, then dropped elevation as it merged onto the more-traveled gravel road at the bottom of the hill.

I'm alive today because we had a high grass shoulder that allowed us to avoid approaching cars.

Jay and I rode that cart for years. It never showed any wear.

We dressed it up with paint and STP decals, but the glossy paint made it hard to keep from sliding off. Of course, that added to the danger and the enjoyment.

Papaw's cart for us brought hundreds of hours of fun to Jay and me. But now, knowing what I know, it brought him lots of joy too. He'd watch us ride and laughed. He clearly enjoyed watching us channel some of our energy down his curvy road. We even coaxed him to ride it a couple of times.

Thank you Papaw. I miss you.