"Amazing grace" sometimes has a human face

As I have shared a little of my life story, some of you have asked who took care of me after my mother died.  The short answer is Bertha!  The long answer is much more than a name or a face.

​Bertha, or "Bertie" to me, came to work for us when she was only 19 years old.   Though I can't change the fact that I was a white farmer's daughter, born in the South before the civil rights movement, I can honestly say that Bertha was a part of our family and always will be.  I had never known life without Bertie until she passed away a few years ago.  

I was so very honored when her daughter asked me to sing at her funeral.  I gave a feeble attempt at singing Amazing Grace the way Bertie use to sing it to me.

It was at Bertha's apron strings that I first heard the words to Amazing Grace and it was at her loving hands that I first felt them.

I can honestly say that Bertie was the glue that held our family together after my mother died.  She was certainly the most stabilizing person in my life.  She was truly the kindest person I ever knew.  She never said an unkind word to us as children and always carried the joy of the Lord in her heart. 

I loved everything about Bertha. She had an infectious smile, an easy laugh, and a big heart.  She loved our family with a fierce and protective love, especially me because I was the baby.  Just ask my siblings...all I had to do was hide under her apron and they knew they'd have to get past Bertie to get to me as she would say, "You better leave my baby 'lone"! 

​I loved Bertha's soft skin, her long pretty nails, and the smell of her body lotion.  I loved the way she gave me a bath and combed my hair.  Even as an adult, I loved to curl up in her lap, that wonderful place of refuge and comfort that I found so many times as a little girl.  She could always make me feel that things were going to be alright.  It was just her way.  

My happiest childhood memories were during the summer when Bertie would take her daughter and me fishing at a nearby farm pond.  We would dig our own worms, put them in a can of dirt and head off with our cane poles!  Nothing was more thrilling than seeing that cork go under the surface of the water and yelling "I got one"!  The three of us also played many a game of Candy Land and Uncle Wiggly.  I still love playing those games today with my grandchildren because it brings back such happy memories.

 I also loved it when Bertie took me to town shopping for school clothes.  Her daughter and I were the same age and when we were little, we would skip down the sidewalk hand in hand, feeling kind of proud of the fact that we were getting a few snarling looks.  This was before integration so you can just imagine those ladies with their cat eye glasses looking at us!  We didn’t care.  In OUR hearts, we were sisters! ​

Here is a picture of us together the night of my high school prom! Still sisters!

Bertha stuck with our family through a lot of hard times and heartaches.  She cried as much as we did when our father died.  At her funeral, she was mourned by many "children" who were not her own.  She lived her faith by welcoming any child she ever met into her heart and home.  While our family did not have a corner on the market of feeling loved by Bertha, I thank God every day that we were! Without her love and devotion, I don't see how we would have survived.