I spend a lot of time contemplating life and death at this time of year. In 1992, Brian's parents were murdered at the end of March, and then in 1999 my Mom died at the end of March. They were all buried on April Fool's day...not a funny trick in my book. I really miss all of them, but mostly I'm sad that some of my children never got a chance to know 3 of their grandparents.
Because Brian's parents were compassionate caring people and not members of the local gang, being murdered was completely incongruous with the way they lived. They were killed by a young man whom they had befriended and treated with kindness since he was a boy. During the trial process one of the prosecuting attorneys explained to me that motive really isn't a factor to consider in convicting someone. So that whole "means, motive, and opportunity" is really just nonsense. I mention this because so many times family of murder victims say something to the effect of "I just want to know why?". There really is no why. There is no compelling reason for murder. I really don't want to understand what runs through the mind of Lanny Smith. He had a dark desire to take their lives and acted on it, and that is the beginning and the end of his motive.
This experience gave me a greater understanding of the importance of forgiveness. I can say I truly forgive Lanny for what he did because I rarely give him a thought. I think often of the quirky and wonderful people Warren and Yvonne Downard were, and the incredible legacy they have left behind. I rarely if ever think of how they died, or the man that killed them. I trust God with all my heart. This trust lets me know that no matter what excuses Lanny and his family may come up with, no matter their reprehensible actions during the trial and after, God has it covered.
So what has mutiny got to do with anything? Well, the very definition of mutiny is "open rebellion against constituted authority", and I can think of no better definition of what my mother's body did to her than "mutiny". When I was very young (probably 7 or 8), my mother became increasingly crippled by Rheumatoid Arthritis. You should be the boss (constituted authority) of your own body, but RA causes your body to defy you with increasing debilitation. After 30 or so years of suffering, my mother finally lost the battle but I know she eventually won the war. My mother taught us all a great deal through her struggles. Most of all, what I learned from her is, "you get what you get and you don't throw a fit". By this I mean that she accepted the limitations of her disease, but never gave up finding new ways to be productive and serve others. I feel bad that as a child and teenager I resented not having a mother who could move around and do things for me. Now I know that I gained a lot of independence and learned to do things for myself.
So, to my children, this is what I hope you know of your grandparents (among many other things)
Grandpa Downard: always worked hard, and passed this work ethic on to your dad, never threw anything away (including old moldy applesauce), could fix anything (another trait your dad inherited), Was quiet, and mumbled. One of my favorite funny grandpa-isms is that he used to change his clothes like 5 times a day--no kidding! He would get up and get dressed, then put on old plaid polyester pants to work around the house, then change his clothes because he needed to go to the store, then put back on his "work" clothes, the cycle continued on and on. He could fall asleep anywhere and sleep through anything. He couldn't go to bed until he had gotten up several times to check locks and make sure the house was safe.
Grandma Downard: LOVED to talk. She was the ultimate "visitor", she could carry on long conversations with total strangers. She ate oleo and sat on the davenport. She couldn't say Nevada, or Jalepeno. Grandma was very compassionate and loving. She was especially kind to me. When she found out that I liked ham a lot, every time we went to visit she would make ham. She was eternally patient and lived in surroundings that were difficult for her in order to do what was best for her family. Very bad driver.
Grandma Fisher: I think she had arthritis of the taste buds, she would eat anything. There is a chance she was part rabbit, she would literally start drooling at the sight of a field of alfalfa. She used to eat home made carrot and celery juice every day. She was a homeopathic health nut. I NEVER told her that I didn't feel good, I guarantee the cure was always worse than the disease. Here's a hint: everything in your body is linked to your colon, she owned an enema bag and she knew how to use it! She was known to give us castor oil, straight acidofulus (think little cup of curdled milk), grossness of all manner. She never complained. If she did actually say that she didn't feel good, she was on death's doorstep. She loved to read recipes. She always had tissues in her pockets and a dixie cup by her (won't go in to what it was for).
Of all your grandparents who have passed away be sure of this, they all had strong testimonies of the gospel and truly endured to the end.
