Deborah Thomas

I awoke this morning to a soft voice saying, “Honey.”  It said it twice more. It was beautiful. Not a question. Just one word with a period. The voice was too soft and high to be a man’s voice so I feel it was my mother. I answered, “Mom.” Silence. “Mom,” I said again. Silence.  But I felt a comfort. I felt love.

What a rich blessing God gave me to begin the new year.

Days before this, I felt my grandfather nearby. No talking, no images. Just a sense of his presence in the room.  I longed to visit with him. He had a super strong influence on me because he lived with us from my age of five. Poor eyesight had disabled him, making him lose his driver’s license, also his hearing was poor even with aids. My dad resented Grandpa’s inclusion, and we bore his scornful looks at Grandpa for years. Later, Dad got counseling and improved. Grandpa’s sight was so poor, I doubt he saw those ugly looks, at least I pray he didn’t. I was too scared to say something to my father about it. As an adult, I should have addressed it.

Thankfully, Dad was not verbally abusive with Grandpa. (Mom invited him to live with us without asking Daddy first. She knows this was wrong and asked for his forgiveness.) Grandpa was Mom’s helper and a good one. He was also able to work for my father in his heating and cooling business in his first years. He was good with us kids, playful, fun, and had a reverence for God. He came to Christ in his sixties. His sense of humor was refreshing and took residence in me. I remember our family getting ready for church one Sunday and I was still inside. Grandpa yelled, “You better hurry! Train’s leavin’ on Track NINE!”  I ran. I can still hear him.  

My dad went into the ministry as a lay pastor some time later, but at the startup of this, sold our house and moved my grandfather and I into one of their rentals—a 4-bedroom basic house on a narrow lot with a dirt backyard. Meanwhile, he and mom moved to Sonoita for several years about 1968. This was a good plan because they needed a Tucson base. My sister went off to college/ my brother into the Army. Grandpa lived with me for 2 years there, while I finished at the university. Then, I married and also moved to Sonoita, also for a teaching job. My husband received Grandpa into our new residence, a self-made brick structure without insulation or protection from the elements. The insects loved it. Grandpa lived in the little one bedroom/bath apartment in the property’s side yard into which Dad installed a window air conditioner. Grandpa took all his dinner meals with us. I cooked nightly and he did breakfast and lunch himself.

Two more memories came, this time of my first husband. In Jeremiah 29 I read about false prophets telling people the exile was going to be over in 2 years instead of 70 as God said. God punished them for lying to his people and confusing them. He’d issued an order to obey King Nebuchadnezzar and go to Babylon, build houses and live there for those 70 years. God also disciplined the Jerusalem Jews who lived in rank disobedience of Him, lied, worshipped idols, and failed to worship Him, as if heathens. The memory of my former husband popped up. He had turned against God and treated us badly—for a second time. He did not repent. This time, instead of bringing John back, God said “No” to my prayers.  Maybe John’s heart was so troubled and angry, he was unable to care for us.  I cannot say that therefore, God punished him. But clearly, God did not let him return. God plucked him and put him elsewhere.

An additional thought of John came from a Hallmark movie; a prairie teacher was dancing with the sheriff of the town, falling in love with her. I realized John never danced like that with me. He would sometimes apologize and buy flowers at times. But no romance. No soft touches. He never held me in his arms more than ten seconds, or moved with the music. Maybe he could not hear the music. This might explain why I never saw him worship God. Were his emotions too damaged by parental abuse and pain that he couldn’t dance or worship?  His strongest suit was protecting himself, steadily.

Wherever his heart was, God saw it and still loved him. John had a stroke 32 years later, disabling him the last two years of his life. In the end, he began to let God in a little, receiving the visits and prayers of a chaplain.

How wonderfully remarkable when God speaks, whether through a voice, a song, memory, or something in the Word. But also, through prayer. Thank you, Lord.

1 Samuel 3:10. “Then Samuel said: ‘Speak, Lord for Thy servant heareth…’”

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