Ode to My Godmother

Lois is one-of-a kind. A rare bird. An unusual breed. Always cheerful, she has almost seemed Pollyannish at times, except that in her struggle with cancer the past two months, her continued peacefulness and joyfulness have touched everyone. Her cancer has progressed so rapidly that she's now in a comatose state and it's only a matter of weeks before she passes. Both the discovery of her cancer and her passing will occur while we are one our trip, and I am so very, very thankful that I—we--got to see her while she was still alert and responsive. You see, Lois is not just a unique person; she's my aunt, and my godmother.

My godmother, Lois, has always been one of my heroes. When I was a child & teenager, I wanted to be just like her. She went to Africa as a missionary in her mid-twenties, became fluent in Swahili, lived and served in Tanzania for 38 years, and loved Tanzania with her whole being. She gave up the possibility of marriage and family in order to remain faithful to her call and work there. Lois wouldn't call herself a feminist because she and the other female colleagues she had in Tanzania didn't think in those terms. But that they were strong women is something no one can doubt. And, so, I always viewed remaining single, focused, committed, and dedicated to serving overseas as the ultimate goal. Marrying, having a family, remaining in the U.S., was a worthwhile lifestyle but it was wimping out to me. I wanted to be like my godmother, Lois.

As far as godmothers go, Lois is one of the best. For as long as I can remember, I have received birthday & Christmas cards from her. As I grew up, her writing expanded to include personal letters, cards for other holidays, and postcards from exotic locations. Most of my international doll collection came from her travels around the world. Years of faithful correspondence, despite my miserable record of reciprocating. She visited me regularly, no matter where in the U.S. I was living. She was always there; faithful, reliable, constant, with her words of love and support. So regular that one could take her for granted. Of course there will be a card in the mailbox from Aunt Lois. Until now.

When Matthew and I visited her in January, I commented to my other aunt (her sister) that I had a strong sense that I wouldn't have much more time with my godmother. “Lois?” Auntie Gloria replied, “she'll be around a long time--into her 90s.” Old age runs in the family. Not for everyone.

Lois had her quirky, eccentric side, too. She loved to stay uip late reading which meant that she had the infamous habit of nodding off on you in the middle of a conversation. But that was . . . just Lois. She was as naïve as a child. Was it from being in Africa so long—she was caught in some kind of 1950s time warp? Or was it her? Our family never could figure that one out. It was . . . just Lois. But she loved people. So she was generous to a fault. She gave money to anyone and everyone who asked. She was also usually late. But when one went looking for her, she could often be found conversing with another traveler, shopkeeper, or waitress, having the time of her life. There were no strangers to Lois; every person she encountered was a new friend. That was . . . just Lois.

And so I write of my godmother. Auntie Lois, you're an amazing woman and have always been a role model for me. Thank you for being such a wonderful godmother all these decades. We will grieve at your passing and miss you terribly. But I know that you will be with the Lord Jesus—your Best Friend, your Sustainer, your Savior, and so we will also be joyful for you. I hope you have a blast, Lois. I know you will.

Love,

Cindy