Through It All 
He got out and reluctantly approached the front porch. It wasn't supposed to be like this: Any moment now Mama would open the door and throw her arms around him. She'd exclaim, as only she could, how good it was to see him. She'd call him "Precious" and usher him inside, where there was always something good to eat, just because Mama had made it.Then, no matter what he had to tell her, she'd draw his much-taller-frame-than-hers close, her voice would break and she would whisper, "I love you, Precious. I'm praying for you, you know."
The wobbly screen banged shut behind him as he unlocked the front door and went in, bringing him painfully back to the present. No, there'd be no hugs today--Mama had been gone for some time now.
He moved through the musty rooms, opening windows to let in light. He saw the tired old furniture with its worn upholstery. Mama's china cabinet and dishes were gone, along with the old oak dining table he remembered so well. In place of the cook stove was a rickety table bearing only a hot plate. Where were Mama's things?
He made his way to Mama's bedroom. The bed was neatly made, but again, none of the furniture was the same. Where had all her things gone? Even the closet was bare of the nice dresses she had worn. Sure, it had been awhile since he was last here, but not that long! He studied the few contents of the closet, running his hands along the top shelf, almost smiling as he remembered it had always been too high for Mama. He lifted the lids and felt inside some of the neatly stacked boxes: pictures, lace and ribbons, old papers...
Wait, what was that? He lifted out a heavy notebook and sat down with it near the window.
Ah, the firm, bold strokes of Mama's handwriting. This must have been her journal... No, he saw it was more of a journal as he began to turn the pages. Tears started to swell in his eyes as he read the beautiful writing. Angrily he brushed the tears away. No! He wasn't going to cry, not after all this time, not over some old book! But, his heart reminded him, this wasn't just any old book. It was Mama's book and she had loved him dearly. Remember, John?
It was poetry she had written and prayers she had prayed. She had made notes about events long gone: John's Dad's death, the passing of his aunts and uncles. She must have had many lonely days.
As he turned the tattered pages, he could see where her handwriting began to be less bold. The nice paper ended--he could see she had used the backs of letters and cards. Sacks and envelopes had been neatly trimmed and spread open. Each entry ended with the same three words, "Through It All."
"Sold car today...didn't get much...needed work. Mary needs...baby's medicine...some to John. Thank You, Jesus, for making a way through it all."So that's where Mary got the money she'd sent. He'd often wondered.
Every page contained a reference to him. "Sam's family stopped by last week. Mary's coming today. Sold dish cabinet. Paid Dr. Long...some left over..." Now he knew what had happened to Mama's things."Thank You, Jesus, for each blessing." Again, the writing faded: "...Jesus...John safe. Be close...side...his heart...through it all."
The date told him what he already knew: the "some left over" was used to buy the contents of the box Mary had sent that last Christmas. Mary wrote in her letter to him that Mama said she was to see to it that he got it. Mary had kept her promise to not tell Mama where he was. Mama died right after Christmas; they wouldn't let him come home.
Time slid quickly by as he read, the light from outside began to weaken. The writing became dim and unsteady, the words hard to see. He moved closer to the window as he turned the last page--it was a letter to him:
"Dear Precious John, I asked Jesus to someday let you find this. I wanted to tell you I love you, Son. I want you to be as sure of my love for you as I am of yours for me. I know you loved me, you wanted to spare me. I loved you enough to not let you know I knew. The years have been hard without you, Son, but you see, I'm going home to be with Jesus and eagerly await your arrival. Trust in the Lord, John, He loves you even more dearly than I. He will be with you, Son, through it all..."
His legs gave way as he sank to his knees by the bed. Years of anguish and heartache burst from him as he recalled long ago prayers in this very room, his hand in Mama's. Suddenly, he felt a touch of arms about his shoulders and looked up into the smiling faces of his brother and sister.
"Mama died with the book at her side. It's been packed away all this time. We came out last week to open up the house and found it. Won't you let us pray with you?"
As the three of them prayed together, John realized the significance of the three words he had seen at the end of each entry in Mama's book. Yes, Jesus had been there for him and had brought him...Through It All.
All Rights Reserved.
If you have been blessed, give God the Glory!
Please sign our guestbook; let us know you enjoyed
"Through It All".
Thank you so much for visiting He Is Able!
ALL material on He Is Able is protected by copyright.
