Odessa Porterfield: In Memoriam

       I seldom use this space for personal or family comments. This week I beg your indulgence to say some things about a dear and beloved lady in my life who died peacefully in her sleep last week. She was my second mother, and I was listed as a foster child in her medical records.

       Odessa had turned 105 in December of last year. I had known her for approximately 62 of those years. She was my nurse and playmate, teacher and mentor, disciplinarian and encourager. There is no element of my early life this godly lady did not touch and mold. She knew and loved my wife. Then, although the miles had begun to separate us by then, she loved and enjoyed our children.

       As a sickly child who spent a lot of time in bed with regular bouts of pneumonia and assorted other respiratory ailments, my mother needed help with the constant care her child needed. With mother's work in the daytime and the night duty for my care, Odessa took care of me for six to eight to ten hours a day. I knew her well and loved her deeply. A major part of my hatred for racism surely traces to my love for this African-American woman of tender heart, joyful spirit, and Christ-like character.

            Typically too frail to play outside as a little boy, Odessa played Lone Ranger and Tonto with me in the house. With the padded arm of a couch for my horse, she and I chased down many a bad guy and brought him to justice!

       We found irony in the fact that our memories are rooted in West Tennessee but our lives have been lived near each other in Michigan for the last six years. Every visit to her daughter Elizabeth's house was special. Her mind stayed sharp, even as her body got weaker. I told her I wished she would try to forget some of the more embarrassing stories about her childhood ward that she seemed to take particular joy in sharing. She would only laugh – and tell another.

She knew my name and those of my brothers. But she never used them. She gave us names only she used of us. Mine was . . . Umm, maybe I should keep that to myself. Yep. I think I will. But that's what she’ll call me the next time I hear her voice. And we will worship together before the throne with a freedom we didn't have back in those pre-Civil Rights days.

       The resurrection will have given back to her everything time, age, and frailty took away – and provide so much more. “And I heard a voice from heaven saying, ‘Write this down: Blessed are those who die in the Lord from now on. Yes, says the Spirit, they are blessed indeed, for they will rest from their hard work; for their good deeds follow them!’ ” (Revelation 14:13 NLT).

It Didn’t Change Me

During my travels last weekend, I stayed at a truly elegant hotel. I can’t afford such places and never choose them for myself. But the largesse of friends told me to close my mouth, stop the protest, and enjoy myself. So I did. And the experience was one I will not be able to repeat anytime soon.

Such a nice place has history, of course. Part of the appeal to people who choose to stay there is that they are inhabiting space previously shared by the likes of European royalty, world-famous athletes, and rock superstars. Who knows? The person in a given room may be in the same room once used by a man or woman or family tonight’s overnight guest is occupying.

Let me spare you the expense. It isn’t worth it! When I got up the next morning, I was still just an ordinary citizen; there was no more royal blood in my veins that morning than when I went to bed. Neither did I have an athlete’s body or any sense of being able to hit a baseball out of the park in dead center field. And I certainly couldn’t sing any better. Why, I was just sure that my morning shower would have me singing in such fine form that somebody would be pounding on my door with a multi-million dollar recording contract in hand.

Okay. I’m just kidding. The trip and overnight in elegant surroundings didn’t make me lose my mind. I didn’t expect that occupying hallowed space would transform me into any of those things. Just being in a place once occupied or made distinctive by distinguished souls doesn’t transform anybody.

But you already know that. So what’s the point?

It seems to me that some people think they have a spiritual life just because they come from a certain religious tradition, are church members, or observe regular rituals associated with religion. No more than staying at the famous Adolphus Hotel turned me into Queen Elizabeth II, Babe Ruth, or Bono!

One of the most terrible satanic myths I know comes in forms such as “I am a Christian because I live in America” or “I am saved because I joined the church” or “Only the people in my church are true Christians and will go to heaven.” No more than being a member of a certain group kept King David from adultery or Judas from betraying Jesus or the church leader whose name comes to your mind right now from the moral and criminal behavior that landed him in jail.

The call of the biblical prophets rings true across the millennia:  it is not words, rituals, and claims that prove you are God’s child but family resemblance.

“Anyone who sets himself up as ‘religious’ by talking a good game is self-deceived. This kind of religion is hot air and only hot air. Real religion, the kind that passes muster before God the Father, is this: Reach out to the homeless and loveless in their plight, and guard against corruption from the godless world” (James 1:26-27 MSG).

Mother as Gatekeeper to Conscience

With Mother’s Day still on your mind, let me dare to state the obvious: Children who have the good fortune to interact with their mothers a lot develop healthier consciences. There is even solid scientific research to support what most people have long sensed on this point.

The human conscience is part of the likeness to God that is built into us by our Creator. It is the internal monitor for behavior. It approves or disapproves our actions, gives us assurance to proceed or warns us about dangers ahead. But a person's conscience is like a thermostat. Someone has to set it.

In a study done a decade ago now, toddlers were encouraged to imitate their mothers in such simple actions as playing tea party or tending to a stuffed animal. The researchers indexed the children in terms of their readiness to imitate what they observed. Then, in subsequent sessions, they evaluated those same young children as they were enticed with prizes for games they could win only by cheating or breaking an object that had some value to them.

Here is how the correlation worked: Toddlers who eagerly imitated their mothers were more likely to follow the rules and more likely to exhibit a sense of guilt when they broke something.

I'm not a psychologist, so I can't offer any meaningful analysis of the experiment or how it was conducted. I'm just an ordinary guy who remembers his mother's influence in his life. I have watched my own children interact with their mother. And I have cringed at some of the undisciplined behavior I have seen in kids who seem to feel no guilt or remorse for irresponsible things they do.

The furor over “attachment parenting” explored in this week’s Time magazine article largely misses the point. It isn’t how long a child is breast-fed or put in a sling versus a bouncy seat; it is consistent and nurturing relationships with parents that create security and emotional health.

Maybe the fact that I didn't want my fourth-grade teacher, Mrs. Whaley, to tell my mother about the words she heard me using on the playground that day is evidence to support what the psychologists have since measured. Maybe all of us who had mothers who invested energy in our moral and spiritual development have thought at times, "I hope my mom never finds out about this!" They forced us to think about our behavior until we internalized some values of our own.

If you are wrestling with a tough ethical dilemma, it might help you to think about your mother for a few minutes – even though Mother’s Day has passed.

            “My child, listen when your father corrects you. Don’t neglect your mother’s instruction” (Proverbs 1:8 NLT).

Better to Ask than Assume

The late Bill Love used to tell the story of a psychiatrist, engineer, and doctor who got lost in the Canadian woods. Stumbling on a trapper’s cabin but getting no response at the door, they went inside for shelter and waited for his return.

In the corner, on a crude platform at waist-high level, was a wood-burning stove. It quickly became not only the focus of interest for their half-frozen bodies but the center of their conversation as well.

The psychiatrist explained the stove’s unusual position as evidence of psychological problems brought on by isolation. The engineer, on the other hand, saw it as an ingenious form of forced-air heating. The physician surmised the poor fellow had arthritis and found it too painful to bend over to fuel his stove.

When the trapper finally arrived, they could not resist asking about the stove whose warmth had saved them. “Simple,” he said. “My stove pipe was too short.”

I wasn’t along for that hunting trip, but I’ve been where those guys were that day. I’ve tried to read someone’s mind. I’ve seen motives that weren’t there. I’ve walked into situations, caught a snippet of what was happening, and made a fool of myself by some badly chosen response. Or I’ve used a perfectly innocent slip of the tongue as my excuse to take offense. I can be a real jerk at times!

On occasion, the victim has been a stranger. At other times, it was a friend from church or colleague at work. Most often, it has been my wife or child.

Communication is a wonderful thing – when it happens. But there are so many barriers. Each of us brings baggage to every situation. Words can be vague or carry very different nuances for people from different backgrounds. Then there are the prejudices and blind spots all of us have.

Lots of confusion could be eliminated and far more progress made this week by following this simple rule: When something isn’t clear, ask. Don’t assume. Don’t guess. Don’t mind-read. Trying swallowing your pride and saying, “I’m not sure I understand. Do you mind explaining that to me?”

This simple strategy could save you embarrassment, time, and money. More important still, it might save one of your life’s most important relationships.