Ura Kathleen Golladay was born on July 7, 1909 to poor farmers in Oklahoma. Her education ended in 8th grade because she had to help her parents with the crops and other siblings. She married and had 2 sons and then had a pre-mature daughter, who survived against all odds, when she was 40. At the age of 54, her husband of nearly 30 years left her for another woman during an era when divorce was social leprosy. After her divorce, she was forced to find a traditional job for the first time in her life and raise her teenage daughter (my mom) by herself. She never remarried. She was resilient.
By the time I was born, she was 69 but she never seemed old to me. Her name, Boomba, was given to her by my eldest cousin. It never even crossed the rest of our minds to change it. It’s the only name that would have ever “fit” her. Grandma, Nana, Granny, etc just seem too cliché and inadequate to describe a woman so uniquely strong that only a non-sensical name would do. By worldly standards, her life was unremarkable (even though she lived during both world wars, survived the devastation of the Great Depression’s Dust Bowl years, and successfully chartered the waters of single parenthood as a divorcee). To me, she was the most amazing person I have ever known…and I have spent the bulk of my life chasing her legacy and hoping that she would be pleased with mine if she were still alive.
Why? What about her challenges and encourages me so much?
There are too many things to list, but here are a few:
Teaching – Whatever she knew, she taught to those she loved. Most people won’t take the time to teach people to do something that they could do more easily by themselves…not Boomba. She included us in everything from washing the car, hanging laundry on the line, “fixing” things, working in the yard & flowerbeds, baking, doing dishes, cooking, cleaning, sewing, and on and on and on. She even taught us how to crochet using our toes as the holder…sure do wish I still remembered how to do that! You name it, she enjoyed teaching us how to do it.
Laughing – Boomba was HILARIOUS! She never took herself or anyone else too seriously. Examples?!?! Boomba was a grandmother who would pass gas (usually loudly) and laugh with us about it. In fact, our joke became that she actually used her gas to talk…to this day, I swear she said hello, bull, and nope with the wrong end. I can remember so many times where we would laugh so hard with Boomba that we were all in tears. Good times!
Loved Church and Bible – Our parents were in the choir, so my brother and I were granted the distinct privilege of sitting next to Boomba and her two besties, Ruth and Rose. But Boomba was far from your average “attendee.” Her life was deeply connected to the lives of the other members in her church in a way I have never seen or experienced. They lived life together. When one mourned, they all mourned. When one rejoiced, they all rejoiced. When one was in need, they pooled their resources to meet the need. They lived life together…and it was beautiful. Boomba also valued scripture and her personal time to study. Her house was small but heating and AC were limited. I can remember Boomba sitting on her toilet next to her little furnace with her light on, Bible open, studying diligently every day…and like everything else, we were invited to share in the learning and the blessing!
Giving – She had little, but she gave whatever she had. I watched her tithe generously out of her poverty to support the kingdom ministry both near and abroad. I watched her support those in need when she herself was in need. The stories are endless about orphans who have clothes, blankets, and dolls because my Boomba stitched them with hands deformed by severe arthritis. Or there are scores of homeless people (which she referred to as bums but my uncles always thought she said bombs) who were given a cup of coffee and a bowl of homemade soup from her own portion of limited rations. Or the countless grieving families that received homemade pies or meals and so she did without. Or the thousand little tokens of affection bestowed upon her beloved grandchildren. Every button or sticker or knick knack became a priceless treasure because I knew how little she had and that every gift required sacrifice on her part.
Compassion – Everyone was of value to my grandmother. By her example, I learned to notice those that normally go unnoticed and to treat them with sincere love and affection. I have fond memories of going to the nursing home with Boomba to visit the “old” people. She always insisted that we greet everyone warmly as if we had come for them, even if we had never met them. When I was about 4, I hugged a delusional woman who inevitably thought I was her daughter. She refused to let go of my hands when I tried to pull away. I panicked, but not Boomba. She came over and spoke reassuring words of love to this woman as she gently pried my hands free. To calm me, she embraced me and told me how important it was that we show love to that woman because no one else probably does…and we hugged her again on our way out.
Content – She didn’t have much but I never once remember her complaining about what she didn’t have…I only remember her expressing how lucky she felt or how thankful she was to have what she did have. She lived in a small wood frame home that had a floor furnace and an evaporative cooler instead of an AC. To many, it would have been inadequate. To her, it was beyond sufficient. It was abundant. To her, simple, meaningless things were grand pleasures. She loved getting a burrito at Taco Bueno or a fish platter at Long John Silver. A tin can of popcorn for Christmas was a delight she could enjoy for months to come. She judged life by what she needed instead of what she wanted. She marveled at all the things God had blessed her with instead of lamenting and coveting what He had blessed others with. She was content in a way that was hard to find then but next to impossible now.
Forgiveness and Mercy – Boomba was a scorned woman many times over. The stories I gather from my mom and uncles indicate that my grandfather was an unfaithful man for the entirety of their married life…and inevitably left my grandmother as a result of his infidelity. After their divorce, my grandfather basically chose to ignore the existence of my grandmother and mom, for the most part. What would most women do? Live to rehash the story of how they were wronged, work constantly to damage him in the eyes of everyone else and harbor their bitterness until it festered into full blown hate. Not my Boomba. I never once heard her say an unkind word about my grandfather. Even though he died years before my birth, she was resolved to forgive him and to teach us to do the same. When he was in the hospital dying, my Boomba and her oldest son went to go visit him. They were sent away by his “new” wife, who later left him to die alone. When Boomba found this out, she was heartbroken and said she wished she had returned because no one should die alone. His grave was in the same cemetery as many of her family members. As a child, I remember that we would go out to put flowers on the headstones of family members and she would tell us who they were. It always struck me as strange that she would go out of her way to clean and take care of his headstone as well. Her capacity to forgive and extend mercy out of her pain and hurt were astonishing.
So what does all of this mean?
The one person (Boomba) that I have chased after all of my life, I will never become because the one person (Jesus) she chased all her life she never became…BUT by chasing her, I am chasing Christ…and by chasing them both, I am becoming not me and that's a good thing…and maybe someday I will live a life that makes someone want to chase after me (hopefully my son) and they will be able to say that by chasing me they were chasing Christ…
what an incredibly humbling, challenging, and overwhelming thought...
