A Quiet Saint

“Mom, when did you meet Jesus?”

“I don’t know, I think I have always known Him.”

This is a conversation between a seventy-year-old evangelical preacher and his ninety-two-year-old mother. Even though the mother was still in reasonable health the son has been tapped to do the funeral and trying to get his act together.

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FLoy Louise Immell grew up as a younger sister on a subsistence farm in Northeast Indiana. Her sister was two years older, and they were a pair, so much so that the neighborhood referred to them as “those Immell Girls.” They got into stuff in such a way one would have thought they were brothers. On productive days, they fed the chickens, tended the garden, and completed the multitude of tasks and chores required of farm children in the 30s and 40s. One of the earliest photos of the girls is evidence that they had been painting the farmhouse, unsanctioned, of course. Mom wore a bucket of paint from the head down courtesy of Aunt Genevieve.

Floy had a determination about her that carried her through many personal victories, and it all stemmed from the fact that she knew her path and set her face into that wind. She just always knew. The narrow days of the depression during her childhood and living through World War II as a teenager worked an unspeakable strength into her character. She had made up her mind to become an Agricultural Extension Agent (Home Economist), and in Indiana that required attending Purdue University. There were 4 students in her high school class; the school didn’t offer a chemistry course, but to Purdue she went. She did it on the four-year plan plus summer school. She had to take chemistry three times to pass, and it was the last course she completed. Determination in the heart will not allow one to quit or give up; besides, she knew from an undefined promise of faith.

Indiana has a tradition at the State Fair called “The State Fair Girls School.” Every county sent a promising young lady to serve as its ambassador for two-weeks each summer at the fair. Floy represented LaGrange County in 1946, immediately before her first university semester. One requirement for the school is that girls had to wear a white dress for formal functions. Floy didn’t have one or the funds to purchase one. Her mother bleached flour sacks until they were white as snow, made the White Dress, and Floy was quite pleased to wear it. The dress followed her to Purdue.

Another adventure early in the college days was the first trip home from a school five hours away. She caught a ride with a local boy going home for a weekend. In Northeast Indiana, local included the next county. He decided not to return to school, and Floy was marooned. Her immediate family was well off in subsistence farm resources; however, that didn’t quickly convert to cash for a bus ticket. The neighbors heard of the plight and pooled their cash to get Floy back to West Lafayette. Keep in mind those neighbors were subsistence farmers also. They loved my mother as one of their own and supported her as a member of a community family. God wanted that girl in school and gave her uncommon favor. The bus ride was arduous and a little late, but the godly favor manifested again as she was allowed to catch up with class work.

loy got her dream job upon graduation. It was in Gibson County, about as far as one could get from LaGrange County and still be in Indiana. It was here that she would spend most of her adult life. A brief intermission from being a Gibson County resident and Extension Agent took place because of marriage. She met my dad while he was home on military leave. His enlistment was up during the Korean action. As an Air Force communications specialist (mechanic), he was stationed in the Philippines when the outbreak began. All service personnel on the Pacific Rim became part of the emergency force that confronted the North Koreans. The master sergeant presented him with reenlistment papers with the eloquent admonition, “Sign ‘em or get drafted into the infantry next month without any seniority or choices.” So, Floy was smitten by the staff sergeant, and they were married in three weeks. They lived in Madison, Wisconsin, in a little trailer in the Air Force Base’s outgoing flight pattern. Mom said I would not go to sleep in the crib until the 7 o’clock flight passed over at night. The small family unit, including a new baby sister, moved back to Gibson County.

(For not the hearers of the law are just before God, but the doers of the law shall be justified. For when the Gentiles, which have not the law, do by nature the things contained in the law, these, having not the law, are a law unto themselves: Which shew the work of the law written in their hearts, their conscience also bearing witness, and their thoughts the mean while accusing or else excusing one another;) Romans 2:13-15 KJV

The path of a Quiet Saint is not always full of religion; however, it is full of faith, trust, and endurance. We had a pecan grove at our house, and I remember Mom walking alone among the trees, not doing much of anything. Years later, I asked her about it, and she said that is where she would meet with the Lord and have conversations. The early family years in Indiana were not a joyride. Dad suffered from PTSD, and everything you hear about that is true, and to a certain degree it happened to us. This condition and family impacts were not commonly understood in the early 60s, so Floy endured, loved her husband, loved her children, and did what she had to do.

God, being faithful, allowed Floy to return to the Home Economist job after a fourteen-year interlude. The trials and victories continued, and the seasoned woman strived to serve her family, the people in the community, and her colleagues faithfully. She didn’t preach with words, but with a generous heart and steadfast commitment.

In 1975, Floy had a medical procedure that led to a critical staph infection. She died, and this is her testimony of what happened while in the hospital; I have no reason to doubt it.

“I found myself above all the pain, floating at the ceiling of the hospital room. It was warm and full of glorious light. Below I saw my body in the bed and your father and younger brother at my side. I knew the Lord was there with me, and He was taking me home. My heart was full of compassion for my family, and I asked if I could stay so I could take care of them. The Lord granted my request.”

Saint:

Use of this name in scripture refers to all who love and have an unshakable faith in God. It is not a position to be claimed, but rather one others recognize. Paul addressed all believers in Christ in this manner,

“To all that be in Rome, beloved of God, called to be saints:” Romans 1:7 (KJV)

He gave her 50 more years. A book could be written, but that is for another time and another place.

For her last three years, our conversations often turned to, “Why is God keeping me here?”

Toward the end, my sister told me Mom was really mad at God for not taking her. All her friends were gone, and she felt like the last stone standing. People started to come by to say goodbye, and Mom started to do an amazing thing. She had never been one to evangelize; however, she bought many of the little Jesus figures and some Crosses (red ones). She kept them in a basket in her room. She gave each visitor one and told them she wanted them to know Jesus was always close, and that these tokens would help them remember.

When I heard Mom was angry with God, it prompted a lot of focused prayer on my part. With her passing out the little statues, I no longer needed to think that He was waiting for her to ask Him into her heart; that happened long ago and had always been part of her life. The Spirit pointed to me the request she made 50 years ago. It was still active and in force! Now how am I going to have this conversation?

Even though Floy was gentle, generous, and compassionate, she did not surrender or bow down to anybody in her spirit. So, being mad at God was not a light thing. She didn’t have much left in her body, but her mind, will, and determination were as strong as if she were a thirty-year-old. So, here we go.

She began, “I can’t understand why I am still here. I’m 97 years old; everybody else is gone from my contemporaries. Why am I still here?”

“I understand you are mad at God,” I replied.

“Yes, I am.”

“I have been praying about this. Do you remember the experience you had in the hospital? I asked.

She paused, a dreamy countenance, “Yes.”

“Didn’t you ask to be sent back?”

“Yes.”

“Mom, maybe you need to tell the Lord that your work is done and that you release Him from that request and would like to go now.”

“I have been praying,” she said, “But I guess I need to be more forceful with Him.” 

“No, Mom, No!” I exclaimed. “This is not how it is going to work. You are a tough old bird, and you never bow to anyone.”

She smiled at that one and said, “Yes.”

Then I said, “Ask gently, thank Him for the extra time, and make peace over your anger.”

She understood. We sat there in stillness for a few minutes, together for the last time.

I kissed her on the forehead, told her she was a good mother, that I loved her…goodbye.

I drove to my home in West Virginia that day; she went home to Heaven three days later. 

In retrospect, I wonder, did The Lord send a chariot? Did she tell the angel to scoot over, lay hold of the reins, and drive? It is pleasing to think so.

Feature Image: Heavenly chariot GENAI Text to Image