- Dr. Daniel Anderson-Little, Pastor
I want to express my deepest gratitude to the Trinity congregation for your outpouring of sympathy and concern following the death of my mother Joan Little who died on September 24. The many cards, calls, kind words, and hugs have helped to sustain me and my family in this sad and difficult time.
Through this time, I am also reminded of the power of our faith to uplift and encourage us even in the most sorrowful of times. After her stroke, Linda, our children and I gathered around my mother's bedside and the chaplain at the memory care unit led us in a time of blessing and saying farewell. After blessing my mother's head, eyes, mouth, hands and hearts, we thanked my mother and released her with the words, "Granma, you will always be in our hearts; go in peace." A week later we gathered at Covenant Presbyterian Church in Madison, Wisconsin, to celebrate her life. We sang hymns of God's greatness and God's love for us, we prayed, we read scripture and we shared words of remembrance. It was funny, touching, sad and most of all hopeful! Two days after that, my father, sisters, brother and I gathered in Butler, Pennsylvania, for my mother's burial service.
Butler was my mother's hometown and it was a real homecoming for her as we were surrounded by a multitude of cousins and even got to tour the house in which my mother grew up. Two days after returning from Butler, I flew to Ridgewood, New Jersey, to fulfill a preaching commitment at the church in which I grew up (my mother was the paid Superintendent of Sunday School at that church in the 1970's when she ran a Sunday School of 500 children!). If I had known that my mother would have died two weeks before having to go to New Jersey, I wouldn't have agreed to preach. But I am glad it worked out that way, for it connected me with friends and a community of faith that, even though I left 27 years ago, did and continues to shape my faith and my ministry. Right now, I am weary from the emotional turmoil that we have all gone through and the relentless traveling schedule. But I am also filled with a spirit of hope and, yes, even joy as I reflect on my mother's life and what it meant to me and so many others, as I give thanks for the various communities of faith where I have belonged, and as I am sustained by God's love and mercy.
Here are the words that I spoke at my mother's memorial service:
"OH, MRS. LITTLE, THAT'S NICE!" I don't know on how many Thursdays I heard our cleaning woman Joanne say that to my mother in her too loud, boisterous, eager voice. Joanne, who was a fixture in our household, was not quite all there - maybe she was mildly developmentally disabled; maybe she was just a little slow. She certainly came from a very troubled home life and my mother opened our home and her heart to her. Joanne worked for us for fifteen years or so - although it would be more accurate to say that my mother worked for Joanne. While it was Joanne who was paid at the end of the day, my mother spent her Wednesdays getting the house ready for Joanne and then stayed home most Thursdays to supervise Joanne's work and make her lunch. And every lunch always ended with the same dessert: peanut butter cookies. Our house had a steady supply of peanut butter cookies that we were forbidden to touch.
I also remember the many times when after school a friend and I would pore over the contents of the pantry in search of a snack and we would see a fresh supply of Hawaiian Punch and bags of potato chips. As our hands reached out for those rare treats, a disembodied voice, as if by magic, would find its way into the kitchen, "Those are for the Junior Highs!" referring to the youth group that my mother ran at our local church. This used to annoy me - it always seemed that when my mother bought exotic treats, they were intended for someone else. I suppose this is a curse of most parents, and mothers especially: their kids remember everything that was done for others without fully calling to mind all of the things that were done for them. For while my mother bought cookies for the cleaning woman and punch and potato chips for her charges at church, she did extend herself for us in ways that still boggle my mind.
I don't know how many hours she spent driving us to music lessons, making lunches - some mornings five - fixing dinner, planning vacations, always welcoming our friends (even the really odd ones) into our house - basically running the world each and every day. She was a marvel of energy and accomplishment.
When I was at McCormick Seminary, the President was Dave Ramage, who had known my parents a full decade before I was born. One day as I was walking through the seminary building, Dave called me over to introduce me to a friend. "This is Dan and Joan Little's son," he said; "He got the best qualities of both of them." That statement by Dave caused something to shift within me. Up to that point, I had thought of myself as a Little much more than a McCafferty. But Dave reminded me that I, and indeed, each of my siblings and by extension our children, are products of both sides of the family - each contributing unique and precious qualities and gifts. Over the past couple of weeks I have thought a lot about the qualities and gifts that my mother gave to me and to each of us. And in so many ways, Joanne is a symbol, an icon if you will, of one of the greatest gifts my mother bestowed upon us: the gift of an open and generous heart. As it turned out, my mother didn't put up with Joanne; she welcomed her as she was, flaws and all. My mother bought her peanut butter cookies because not many people ever got anything for Joanne. And she denied them to us because they weren't good for us - except as an occasional treat. The love and admiration that Joanne communicated to my mother with her eager, boisterous agreement with whatever my mother said, was the return of the generous love and admiration that my mom gave not only to Joanne, but to her children, her husband, and to all who had the good fortune of knowing her and being loved by her.
This was one of the "best" qualities that Dave Ramage spoke of. We are all blessed that because we have inherited that quality of our mother, we will know those times when we will have the privilege and the joy of hearing the Joannes of this world exclaim to us with unqualified admiration and love, "Oh, Mr. Anderson-Little, that's nice!"