
My Great Aunt Stella was a lady of awesome faith. In her late eighties, she had kidney surgery and bounced back so well, you wouldn't have believed she had recent surgery. Her faith was strong and solid. Sharing her faith was important and she did it with grace and wisdom. She was a happy woman of God. It didn't seem to me that she was shaken by much. She loved her family and she loved me. I remember the last few times that I was with her; I noticed how she looked at me, with the eyes of Jesus. She loved me so much. I remember my dad looking at me much the same way. It was weird. I say weird only because I didn't really know how to receive it, but I did notice.
My first memories of Aunt Stella are from the delicious homemade rolls she made for each and every family gathering. The aroma filled every nook and cranny of the house. You couldn't escape it and they were always saved for supper! Of course, if you got to Aunt Stella with Mom's back turned, she'd sneak one to you, but you had to be careful because then she'd have all of the kids lined up waiting for one!
A widowed woman as long as I can remember, she never missed an opportunity to get together. She loved to play card games and laugh.
Last week, Aunt Stella went to be with Jesus. Sad as it was here, I know she was well received in Heaven. Yesterday, while washing dishes, the Lord reminded me of the healing that has taken place in my family. I was taken back to a time when Aunt Stella came to Texas and stayed with my mom and her husband, my stepfather, Papa Wally. I too, was staying with my folks and Aunt Stella and I bunked together. Every night, she and I would lie in bed and talk. We had missed out on many years of being together with the loss of my father and there was much to catch up on. She wanted to hear about my salvation and my folks. Mostly, she was concerned with the rest of the family and how they would spend eternity.
After the years of animosity and distrust, Aunt Stella felt perfectly at ease spending an entire week at Mom's house. Why? Because we were all Christians, washed by the blood of Jesus...sins forgiven. We all had a common bond of Jesus, not my dad. It no longer was the hurt and pain of his death that brought us together, but the healing hands of Christ our Lord. As I thought about this miracle that took place in our lives, tears of gratefulness began to pour out of me. Sure, I was going to miss being with Aunt Stella and the faith she loved to share. But mostly, I was overwhelmed at the grace that Jesus shared with a hurting family.







