Goodbye, Miss Mittie...

Over thirty years ago, a precious lady named Miss Mittie came into my life and never left.   She was first my Sunday School teacher, but as time passed she became a mentor, friend, supporter, and perhaps most lovingly, a grandmother to me.   Some of my favorite childhood memories were spent in her Sunday School class, and in her home.  We had cokes and snacks, usually stop signs (the Lance Golden Cheese chip/cracker things for those of you who don’t know their “proper” name) every Sunday during our lesson, which was usually on the back of a poster with a picture depicting the particular Bible story we were studying, and she packed old cigar boxes with various activities to occupy our attention in the days before children’s church-and she always made sure the boxes contained several Hershey’s Kisses.    Every Sunday right after Sunday School and before worship, all the children in the church would gather around Miss Mittie and sing while she played the piano.   Our standards were “Zacchaeus”, “This Little Light of Mine”, “Climb, Climb Up Sunshine Mountain”, “Jesus Love Me”, “Jesus Loves the Little Children”, and “I’ve Got the Joy, Joy, Joy” (This was my personal favorite because I liked the part about “if the devil doesn’t like he can sit on a tack…ouch!”).  She was a school teacher, and she intended for you to do your best at all times-I remember a few occasions where we didn’t sing loud enough or with enough gusto in special programs, and she stopped us mid-song and had us re-do it correctly, but it was a good lesson to learn, and there was plenty of laughter and joy to go with it.  One of her favorite stories to tell about me was my surprise performance of a slightly less than traditional version of “We Three Kings” I had heard on a California Raisins Christmas special at the ripe old age of 4.   She was so proud when I told her I knew the song, but the expression on her face when I proceeded with the, shall we say, “updated”, version of the chorus is now local church legend.   Nevertheless, she was proud of me.   She always let me know she was proud of me.

I was doubly blessed, though, because I not only got to spend my Sunday School time with her, I also got to spend a large majority of my Sunday afternoons and other times with her and Mr. Harry.   Miss Mittie and Mr. Harry would pick me up on Sunday mornings before Sunday School and then take me to their house to spend the day afterwards.    I ate many a Sunday lunch with them-whether it was at the Dairy Bar in town, or at their table-where she almost always had congealed fruit salad.   In the afternoons, we’d walk to Mr. Harry’s store, and get a banana popsicle or a nutty buddy ice cream cone.   They placed pictures of me on the refrigerator right next to their grandkids.    We took trips to McDonalds, watched ballgames and played in their back yard and throughout their house. 

As I got older, they came to ballgames, band concerts, and other events. Miss Mittie got most upset one year when I didn’t roll her yard.   Yes, you read that right.  She was upset because I DIDN’T put toilet paper in the shrubbery at her house-a sin I never committed again.  They even had a camera ready every year at Halloween to take pictures of their freshly rolled yard.   Once, when home from college, I wrote “I love you!!”in toilet paper on their drive.  I know it’s quirky, but it was special to us.

Miss Mittie took a great interest in my education.  She was always checking on my grades and she was determined that I would go to college.  I made it to Ole Miss, largely in part to two scholarships which she helped me apply for, and she didn’t forget me once I was there.   I got cards and notes, reminding me that she and Mr. Harry were proud of me and that they loved me.  

Things didn’t even change when I married and had children of my own.   My husband had to get approval from them before he dared to marry me.  She loved my boys as much as she loved me, even explaining to my oldest in a book she gave him that she was his great-grandmother and how she came to be so.   One Halloween, I took my boys to “roll” their yard.   Miss Mittie and Mr. Harry were tickled pink.   The boys’ pictures ended up on the refrigerator, too, and they loved to go visit because they knew exactly where the toys were. 

My heart is broken.  Her funeral is today, and I cannot attend.  My sweet Miss Mittie went home on Saturday, no doubt to great rejoicing, for I am sure her Lord is well-pleased with His good and faithful servant, and my heart aches for the lady who did so much for me that she didn’t have to, and whom I loved as a grandmother, and for the family she leaves behind.

Miss Mittie always told people that we “just adopted” each other because her grandchildren didn’t live there or nearby and neither did my grandparents.   That’s not the case.   God very graciously blessed my life by giving Miss Mittie (and Mr. Harry, too) to me to fill that place in my life and my heart.  And what a gift she was, because I am who I am and what I am because she was part of my life.   Thank you, Father.  And thank you, Miss Mittie-I love you and you will always be in my heart…until we meet again.