On October 27, 2015 my family and friends remembered a woman with an incredible smile that could light up an ENTIRE room.  My mother.  It was at 4:15 a.m. on Monday, October 27, 2014 that the last page of my mothers story was written.  Her book began on December 22, 1928 in Savannah, Georgia.  Yes, her story had a beginning, middle, and end.  There were great adventures in those pages as well as  days that were extremely unremarkable.  She loved for 61 years one man who was her husband, confidant,  protector of her heart, and father of her children.  Just like the queen who no longer has her king, she had to learn how to adjust to the entries that would no longer include her dearest friend.  There were days when this proved to be rather difficult to do.  Rooms no longer entered due to painful memories.  Adventures hesitated to undertake.  Her earthly security blanket was no longer available. Yet, she persevered and continued a the pages continued to fill with her story.  Chapters about her children filled several pages,even to the very last seconds of her life.  Nine stars illuminating her life.  Her care and nurturing exhibited in such a way, there wasn’t any room to wonder if she loved her children or not.  So many events and experiences that her children had took her to levels she never anticipated.  Her story is a great story but she was not the author.  My mother made it very clear to all who would listen who the real author was.  Everyday she would say,

“God made us for Himself and He can do whatever He wants to do.  He is sovereign.  He is God.”

Other times I would hear her quote,

“I do not know how long ’twill be. Nor what the future holds for me.  But this I know, if Jesus leads me, I shall get home someday.”

My mother loved the author of her life story and so do I.  He allowed me a second chance.  A chance to get to know and appreciate the woman who CHOSE to forego her senior year of college to marry the love of her life and raise their nine children.  It was very important to her that we all knew the author of her life story.  She left here knowing that the same author that filled the pages of her life story was also filling the pages of her children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren’s life stories.  Who is writing your life story?  Who is your real author?