OUR MOTHER AND HER LOVE

A little while ago, we started introducing our readers to our mothers – three women now deceased but who remain with us as we go through each day.  Rob began by sharing his feelings on the life and recent death of Electa Wiley.  Now, it’s time to learn about the wonderful woman who shaped Henry’s life...

My first memories are of images and a voice. I learned at some early point in my life the images were pictures in books and the voice was my mother reading to me before I could comprehend. In subsequent conversations, I recognized those images as she showed me the books she had read to me from while I was still in her womb, continuing until I could read alone.

Freda Jones grew up in Warren, Arkansas where her nickname was “Honey” because of her personality.  That loving, pleasant, upbeat, hopeful personality served her well all her life. She met my father, Henry L. Jones, Sr., at Arkansas Baptist college.  They married in 1943 and I was born in 1945. She dropped out of college after my birth to take care of me and the second son they had four years later, Kenneth Wayne Jones. 

Her decision reflected no lack of commitment to her education or to her teaching career. She simply did not want to leave our care to anyone other than herself.  After Kenneth and I reached elementary school age, she returned to college, driving to Pine Bluff each day and graduating from Arkansas AM&N – now U of A Pine Bluff – in 1958. She taught in the elementary grades in the Little Rock school system for 30 years.

My brother and I benefited from her meticulous preparation each night

for the next day’s learning experience for her students. As we watched, listened and learned I do not exaggerate when I say Kenneth and I experienced love from the most loving and caring person we have ever encountered. This love was not extended to us only but to the kids in the neighborhood, the children at church and Sunday school, the students she taught, and almost anyone else who crossed her path.  She taught us hate and bitterness were not options, but hope and faith must rule our lives. I still hear from students she taught.  One of them wrote recently:

“My reflection on the life of Mrs. Freda Jones reveals a truly, truly, blessed life.  This woman of God, woman of faith, wife, mother, educator, cook, petite, elegant lady impacted my life from the 5^th grade of elementary school at Booker T.  Washington in the South end of Little Rock, to my later years. As I entered the gospel ministry and furthered my theological education, I was blessed to be one of the many she prayed for. Thank you, Mrs. Jones, for your life-long impact and influence on my life. I shall never forget you. It is because of your sweet, caring, Christian spirit I am what I am today. I owe you.  Thank you. I love you.”

I guess her nickname was always appropriate.  

I visited my mother as she lingered in the hospital just before her death. The rainy day reflected my sadness as my tears seemed to merge with the downpour. But I experienced joy as I recalled:

                                       IMAGES OF LOVE

Remembering pictures before understanding

And works before comprehension

A mother reads to an infant; an adult remembers the images and words

The love in those beginnings

Two boys knew only love

From the mother who answered all questions

(she said it’s the only way they can learn)

Explained all Dilemmas

And soothed all wounds

They saw her love of the lovable

And the not so lovable

Because we were watching?

No, it was just her faith requiring it

And we were the beneficiaries

We had cinnamon rolls after the snow storm

And pick-up sticks after the teachers’ meeting

Books and love and pecan pie and love

And lectures and love and church and you can do it

And love and take your time and love

And you’ll be fine and love

For He is watching

And love and love and love and love

We saw, felt, breathed and bathed in her love—

She gave in life—we must with each breath

Carry that love into each day as she continues

To spread that love where love is unending.

She told us to listen

Even to the clamor

Of a boisterous and undisciplined world

For if we listened

We could hear the small voice

Revealing the secrets of the universe

Follow that voice and your paths

Though not easy

Will lead to eternity

We’re still listening Mom

You just keep talking.