Edith A. Jolly (Gigi), February 4, 1935 – August 22, 2008
On August 22, 2008, Jesus took my mama home to be with Him in heaven. As a child and as an adult, I can honestly say that God truly blessed me and my sisters with a wonderful, wonderful mom. With one hand in the hand of our Lord and the other in ours, she guided, taught, scolded and praised us with an unconditional love.
I wrote this poem to honor her. Yet, it in no way tells her entire story, but it touches on what Mom was best known for – Her absolute love for people and her desire to serve with her best. She was an incredible cook and many, many people have enjoyed fellowship around her table of love.
Abba, I don’t understand, I cried.
I felt the Holy Spirit draw to my side.
He lifted the sorrow from my chest.
My troubled mind became calm and at rest.
As pictures formed one by one,
Of far away days when I was young.
Of pancakes on the beach and tables in the sand
Splashing ocean waves, laughing hand-n-hand.
Giggling sister sessions late at night.
Milk and cookies made it right.
With cheese and crackers, she broke the rule.
To picnic in the park, we just skipped school.
Clothes pins lined up by my plate,
A reminder, to keep my manners as I ate.
After school tea, with dainty pastries cut into hearts.
Chicken salad sandwiches and strawberry tarts.
Candlelight suppers just for fun
And goody bags for on the run
Of always forgetting the bread
And serving “after dinner” rolls instead.
Of peeking inside a restaurant fine
To count the forks before we dined.
Of Christmas tables set with a goose,
Or a lamb, or a duck and once a moose.
Of setting the table, a delightful treat,
Mixing and matching china at each seat.
From her stash within the hutch,
Pretty, printed napkins the finishing touch.
On nights when Daddy was away,
Around the table we would pray.
She told of angels with swords of fire.
God’s protection, from our enemy the liar.
Her three little girls, she could boast.
Have grown to be the sweetest hosts.
She taught us well to love our guests,
To make each feel, like the favored best.
Whether our table was made of glass,
Or a checkered cloth upon the grass.
A bed with crumbs between the sheets
Or a coffee table, loaded with sweets.
There was always laughter and sometimes tears.
She showed us faith through all the years.
Taught us to trust our Father above
And we grew in grace around Mama’s table of love.
A quickening in my heart so deep,
As I saw her pray instead of sleep.
She asked for blessings, kneeled beside her bed.
Gigi’s tears, a grandmother’s prayer, a holy covering upon each head.
As the last child’s name was said,
She pulled the covers about her head.
And dreamed - of the wedding banquet, of the Lamb.
When the Bride of Christ would take His hand.
The glorious meal we all would share,
And a Rose of Sharron upon each chair.
Then, she heard His voice, whispered in her ear.
“Come Edith, My child. Come help me prepare….
The invitations’ been sent. It’s printed in Red.
And the tables are set with the wine and the bread.
The arch angel stands ready, with trumpet in hand.
On the mount of Zion, at attention he stands.
The time is short, your reservation is due.
Jesus is standing. He is waiting for you.
The spirit says come with the voice of a dove.
Will you take His hand, and be seated, at The Table of Love?
I miss you Mom... but, I'll see you soon.