I went to a funeral today.  It was for my Aunt Mag.  She was 83 years old and one of the Godliest women I've ever known.  I loved her much.  Here are some of my memories.

As a child, I loved going to her house.  She lived a couple of hours away, but we visited often on weekends due to various circumstances during my adolescent years.  She had a pool where my shoulders were fried every summer for a few years in a row.  I remember sleeping in my cousin's bed with my sister and the clogged drain in the bathroom. 

Once, around the age of 8 or 10, I saw a book of Spanish lessons on her living room table.  I picked it up and was immediately enthralled.  I had had a few Spanish lessons on the television at school during 3rd grade and loved learning the language.  When I asked Aunt Mag whose book it was, she hesitated for a moment and then said, "Yours" and she smiled.  Oh my.  I cherished that book for a long time.  It meant so much to me during a time when gifts were few and far between.  Was the book really purchased for me?  Or was it a decision-of-the-moment from a woman who saw a child's wishful gleam in her eye?  I don't know.  I do know it was a gift from a loving, caring, beautiful lady who meant a lot to me.

I remember pointy gold house slippers, a closet full of beautiful clothes and a vanity covered with lots and lots of makeup just begging me to play with it.  I tried hard not to, but my sister and I had a very difficult time resisting.  We did just "touch" it a few times.  I remember elegant furnishings, a piano AND an organ in her house and, when I was very young, a color television. 

Aunt Mag was my "rich" aunt.  (It's very fun as a child to brag about your "rich" aunt.)  It used to puzzle me to no end when we'd visit her house for holidays and she'd freeze ice in milk cartons.  When it would get close to time to fill glasses at mealtime, out would come all the milk cartons from the freezer and someone would be directed to the back porch with the cartons and an ice pick to pound the ice out of them for tea.  I just couldn’t understand why in the world she didn't just send someone to the nearest gas station and BUY ICE!  My heavens, she could actually afford it!  That's for sure what I would have done if I were "rich".  :o)

But my most endearing memory is the time at church when, around the altar after service, Aunt Mag tearfully asked me if I had Jesus in my heart.  I must admit that, at the time, it wasn't a priority in my life and I gave a satisfactory answer to simply get the situation over with.  But I still remember it vividly 35 years later and have thought about it many, many times throughout my life. 

Someone actually cried real tears over the state of my soul. 

I don't recall that ever happening at any other time in my life.  My grandmother (her mother) comes in a real close second with the same loving question on a different day and a different place (her kitchen), but I don't recall the tears in her eyes.  I'm sure they had been there many times in her private conversations with God, but I just never saw them.

I saw my Aunt Mag's. 

To think that someone cared that much for me overwhelmed me to the point that I remember even today the love of Jesus extending from her to me as she asked that question.  I didn't see it then, but I do now.

As the years went by, we didn’t visit as often.  As an adult, I usually only saw my Aunt Mag each year at the family reunion.  I admired her love for the Lord, her beautiful laugh, her drive to get the job done (even if it was simply spreading the tablecloths and overseeing the food), and her zeal and love for life.  I missed all those things as Alzheimer’s took over her mind and body in her final years.  But she was always my beautiful Aunt Mag – to me.

Oftentimes over the years as a young wife and mother when faced with some kind of challenge, I would ask myself, “What would Aunt Mag do in this situation?”  Usually, I was directed to my knees in prayer as my priorities were straightened out in the presence of Jesus.  I feel very blessed to have had such a prayer warrior mentor in my life even though she never fully knew how much I admired and looked to her example whenever I was in need of direction.

At the funeral today, I was reminded of my “rich Pentecostal heritage” and I feel honored to be a part of such a heritage.  A heritage where a desire to be filled with more of the Holy Spirit is nothing to be ashamed of.  A heritage where tears are not to be hidden, but cried. 

Never underestimate the power of tears when praying for a loved one's soul. 

Yes, I DO have Jesus in my heart now, Aunt Mag.  Thank you for caring so much and for playing such an integral part in directing me to Him.

Lawsy mercy.  I love you. 

Love, Paula