Lizzie

Her name is Lizzie, her shortened nickname from Elizabeth. Whenever I heard someone talk about her it was always “Lizzie”. It fit her well.

I first met Lizzie about five years ago. She’s the wife of my cousin Willie. I hadn’t seen him or his family–which included her–for over 50 years (that’s another story I’ll write about someday soon) When I met her on a Saturday afternoon, she was seated very comfortably in a wingback chair that swallowed up her small frame. She was dressed in jeans, an oversized sweater, and knit hat that came down over her face touching and almost resting on her glasses. With her arms folded as though she was trying to trap all her body heat and keep it from escaping, she smiled big, her white toothy grin spreading from ear to ear. We exchanged a warm greeting after our introduction and she told me “it’s so good to finally meet you….” That one and only Saturday afternoon family date was the only time I had the pleasure of being with Lizzie, thus shortchanging any future attempts to get better acquainted. It’s not that we wouldn’t have wanted to meet up again. Life happens. And, for Lizzie, life was hard. I found out later from my cousin Willie that she’d been ill with kidney problems for a long time which meant numerous trips to a hospital in Ann Arbor complete with dialysis treatments on top of whatever else came her way in the form of illness or attack.

Yesterday, Sept. 21, I met Lizzie for a second time, only this time in death. She died on Sept. 13 and her funeral service was held yesterday. During her two hour long service, I got to know Lizzie and I can honestly say I feel cheated, robbed, deeply saddened that I did not have her in my life. But! More than the negative emotions I just listed, I feel elated, overjoyed and grateful beyond measure I “got to know Lizzie yesterday”. Though I did not have any conversations with her outside our one-time meeting, I got to know Lizzie through the family and friends who processed into the small church she belonged to, each individual, couple or family pausing at the casket to bid farewell. The procession took 30 minutes.

I got to know Lizzie as I listened to her sister talk about how Lizzie got saved at a young age (4 I think) and from that time on her goal was for everyone she knew or would ever meet to get saved too. She was relentless, not only with people but with God as she prayed and earned the title “prayer warrior” from many who loved and adored her.

I got to know Lizzie as a young man spoke how “If it weren’t for Miss Lizzie I don’t know where I’d be today. You see, she was a dreamer. She got visions from God. She KNEW things and when I wanted to leave her house she’d say not before you get on your knees right now and pray! Cuz bad things happen out there.” (the neighborhood)

I got to know Lizzie as I listened to her grandson (my second cousin) talk about how his mother was a prayer warrior and those same dreams and visions were used to woo him into a relationship with Jesus and keep him on the right path in life.

I got to know Lizzie when a man took the microphone and told us “I’m 72 years old and pretty much my whole life I’ve been doing things the way of the devil. Well, today, I think I’m gonna turn the direction to God cuz that’s what Lizzie would want me to do.”

I got to know Lizzie as two pastors and one deacon eulogized her role as a dedicated wife, mom, grandmother and great grandmother…a prayer warrior and a worshipper who every Sunday entered the small sanctuary with shouts of praise to her Lord and Savior.

I got to know Lizzie, not in life, but in a legacy of faith that was described yesterday through words, actions, tears, worship, dance, and songs. While I REALLY don’t feel cheated, I sense a connection as one momma and gramma to another, one praying woman to another, two women who put their hope and trust in Jesus at a young age–only Lizzie got a real good head start on that journey!

Lizzie looked frail in her beautiful white casket. This time, instead of jeans, a sweater, and a hat, she was wearing a white satin suit, a gold tierra on her black wavy hair, hands neatly folded across her bosom…hands that were well worn from lots of hugs, years of caring for her family and friends, and no doubt, countless hours wrapped up in her favorite role–praying. 

I’m honored that I got to know Lizzie.