Nan (1924-2011)

Today the woman I’ve known all my life as “Nan” breathed in and then breathed out. For the last time. She had just turned 87.

Nan’s health has been failing for years. There have probably been 10 times we thought she was going to go, and she rallied every time. Except this time.

Since I moved away from Ashland in 1996, I mostly remember a healthy and vibrant Nan, the lady I knew when she babysat me during my childhood. I’ve been overcome by memories from those years, many of which I want to record here mostly for my own sake.

  • Faux tuna sandwiches at Steele’s Cafe. I say “faux” because Nan had to tell me they were tuna even though they were actually chicken salad. I didn’t like chicken salad, but I loved tuna. Apparently.
  • A classic moment from Nan’s days as a nursery volunteer. Nan had asked the two-year-old pastor’s daughter, to put her shoes on. When she refused, Nan decided to appeal to her spiritual side. “Jesus wants you to obey, Andrea.” Andrea, with a scowl, said, “I hate Jesus.” You’d have to know Nan to understand the true humor of this.
  • Sparkly, gold, high-heeled house slippers. Yes, that’s what I said.
  • The smell of fish frying in her kitchen. Pops was a master crappie fisherman, and during the summer we would regularly bring home dozens of fish, and Nan would fry them like nobody’s business. Kari and I visited Nan and Pops in Florida just a few years ago, and we caught a bunch of crappie and Nan fried ‘em right up, as delicious as she used to in her prime.
  • Crying at Christmas. Whenever there was a special gift shared at Christmas, you could guarantee a quivering lip and a few tears from Nan. She had such a tender heart for Sis and me, and later in life for Braden and Keaton. (There are so many more Christmas/holiday memories I can’t even count them, including the annual rolling of the rolls.)
  • What I remember most about Nan, though, is that she taught me an awful lot about Jesus and my faith. When I was 7, Pops was told he’d never walk again. Nan may have been shaken, but she didn’t show it. She just prayed. And prayed some more. And got some other people praying. And before you knew it, Pops was walking again. Mom and Dad explained to me that God was the one who did that, and I decided then I wanted to follow Him. Nan gave God credit for everything, but she didn’t blame Him for anything. Her faith has profoundly shaped my own, and I’ll always be so thankful for that.

My Mom is Nan and Pops’ only child, so Sis and I got them all to ourselves. Growing up in the same town with two of our three living grandparents was a special treat, too, one that I really see the benefit of now that our boys live relatively far from all four of their grandparents. Her life was a gift to many, but especially to us.

I love you, Nan. And I miss you. But I won’t miss you forever. I’ll see you again.

Imagine life as a game in which you are juggling some five balls in the air. You name them—work, family, health, friends and spirit—and you are keeping all of these in the air. You will soon understand that work is a rubber ball. If you drop it, it will bounce back. But the other four balls—family, health, friends, and spirit—are made of glass. If you drop one of these, they will be irrevocably scuffed, marked, nicked, damaged, or even shattered. They will never be the same. You must understand that and strive for balance in your life.
Brian Dyson
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  • 15 Plays
  • O’ Happy DayThe Taylor Family

This is one of the songs I wrote about in the last post.

The Music of my Heritage

Over the last decade, I’ve taken a lot of grief from a lot of friends for being such a big fan of the Gaither Vocal Band. While I recognize that, at times, the lyrics from the GVB leave some theology to be desired, the harmonies and vocal talents are what I love. (Don’t get me wrong…more often than not I think the lyrics are great, too.)

In September I traveled to Ashland, Kentucky, to celebrate the 40th anniversary of my parents’ church, Ashland Plaza Church of the Nazarene. My dad has been the worship leader there since the day the church opened its doors. A huge part of the anniversary celebration was some great southern gospel music, mostly featuring my dad, his sisters Stella and Linda, his brother Lawrence (yes, I have an uncle named Lawrence Taylor; no, he is not a punishing linebacker), and his brother-in-law Gene. My cousin Erin and I sang a few with them, but mostly we all just sat back and listened to their sweet harmonies and ringing chords.

During that weekend, I was reminded why I love that particular type of music so much. Just like the importance of my faith and family, my penchant for grammar, and my dedication to certain athletic teams, this stuff runs in my blood. The chorus of one of those old Vaughan songs is often in my head, and when one of them comes on my iTunes shuffle, I hum or sing along in my office.

While I don’t make it to Lawrenceburg, Tennessee, for the annual family reunion and singin’ any more, I hope to find a way to pass this great music on to my boys and keep the heritage alive.