Grass Widow

His mother was a widow.  That was "the story" all his life, and he had never known his father.  He went to work in the state Capitol in Austin as a page for a Senator at age 12, grateful for a job and an income just before the Depression hit.

Walking one day between the statues and the old artesian well on the Capitol front lawn, he saw a man approach.  It was a surprising greeting:   "How's Laura and Sallie?  And how's Nell?"  Dad said he was surprised, and asked the stranger how he knew those three sisters, his aunts and his mother.  "Oh, I just do.  Used to travel through East Texas a lot.  Fine ladies, those three."  They exchanged a few more pleasantries, there were questions about his life ambitions,  the man shook his hand and wished him well, and walked away.  He never introduced himself at all.

On the next trip home, Dad asked Laura and Sallie, and his mother, Nell, about the conversation.  They looked nervously at each other, and then the story emerged.  Nell was not exactly a "widow".  She was what was called a "grass widow", where the husband just left.  Everyone knew Will had no plan to return to Texas, and Nell had no intention of ever leaving Bullard.  There was no formal divorce or separation, since it was clear that he had gone for good to another part of the world.  The three sisters were totally surprised that Will had come back into Texas.

The man, of course, had been Dad's dad.  The meeting in Austin was not a chance meeting, but a moment Will had planned with great (but temporary) nostalgia. Having found what he needed to know, he vanished again into whatever "far country" he wanted.

Always moving, my grandfather Will, from Tennessee, had traveled from coast to coast, finally settling in Florida.  He died at the age of 37.  Old friends later said he died of two things:  bad habits and pneumonia.

People choose their lives.  Some nest.  Some flit like a hummingbird, all motion and  no permanence.  Some lives turn out to be long and fruitful.  Some lives are short with no discernible point, and no relationships that outlive the moment.  And some women, like the "grass widow" turn out to be durable, accountable, and persistent, loving their families for a life-time, pouring energy fueled by faith into fine and honorable lives.

And what did Jesus say about all this?  I have come to bring life, and that abundant.  Grandfather, working hard to stay free from all responsibilities, never quite figured that out.  Grandmother, the "grass widow", took that seeming disability and worked past it to live a long life of love, honor and (Jesus definition) abundance.

We choose our lives.  Almost always.  And a loving God wants to help.  Will never knew.  Nell never forgot!