Phill Bettis

By Phill Bettis

The harsh winter sun that lit the room was made all that more intense by the blanket of snow lying only a few feet away. There are a few moments in life that touch us to eternity and some are so simple, so sublime that they defy explanation. At an age under ten, I remember a winter Sunday afternoon, peering out the window at the wonder of it all. My grandmother’s living room was small and filled with a couch, a chair, a television and a huge space heater accompanied by a small corner table which contained a Bible and a lamp. Outside the window on that cold February day something caught my attention. A fragile, beautiful sprout of a flower had emerged from the snow. The bright green and purple crocus bloom was a vivid contrast to the winter snow and for a moment, I was mesmerized by the improbability of life in that unforgiving winter environment.

Sunday lunch at Granny’s house was an almost weekly affair. She would dutifully attend church and easily have a feast prepared shortly thereafter. Roast beef, sweet and mashed potatoes, green beans, the fare was simple and hearty. I had my favorites. Granny’s cathead biscuits and granddad’s honey were a winning combination, but the best treat was banana pudding served in a light brown iridescent bowl that I still have. I call it the “banana pudding bowl” although the occasional usage of the bowl is somewhat more menial.

After lunch I would often take a glass of sweet tea and a spoonful of honey comb and find my way to the television. In that same room I witnessed history unfold in the era of the John F. Kennedy assassination, civil rights marches and Soviet threats to destroy our nation. The space program was in its infancy and my heroes were Scott Carpenter and John Glenn. Oddly enough I watched news programs and political commentary after those Sunday lunches and realized at a young age that our world was not as perfect or pure as the snow that lay outside of my window. Yet in the shelter of my Granny’s house, there was warmth and love and a perfection that almost defies explanation.

I have of late reflected on remarkable people and events that touch our lives. My grandparents were as remarkable as they were simple. Their morals were impeccable, their knowledge of right and wrong without question, their life filled with hard manual labor as farmers. My grandparents were certainly not perfect but they took great joy in being around others and encouraging those in need. My grandparents understood that condition because they had been there too, scraping to get by and trusting in God to provide. There was strength and character born in another era that for a brief bright time in my life mesmerized me in the light and color of lives well lived. Their success was measured not in possessions but in the intangible possessions of the soul and heart. A look at a bowl on the dinner table or an old piece of furniture reminds me of my grandparents. On cold winter’s nights I sometimes awake remembering and missing those two souls that touched me and loved me as no one ever has. I wonder if we ever get over losing someone that we love and I am content to realize that we really should not. The sting of loss should ease after the passage of time. Remembering special people in our lives should last a lifetime.

I look for remarkable people now more than ever. We may find eccentric people or odd people but truly remarkable people are a rare find. Once upon a time there were remarkable leaders in our land. They have been replaced by those driven by the next election rather than the needs of the next generation. Perhaps driven by cabin fever, I am weary of the self absorbed, the selfish and the clueless. I hunger for those with a vision, an encouraging word and a clear moral compass. Every once in a while, I find that person and that find makes me wonder as to what makes a truly remarkable person? There is a common recipe. Remarkable people have very evident character, honesty, strength, purpose and a concern for others. They do the unexpected, do more than expected, and love more than expected.

A long time ago, two fine people in a little white frame house challenged me to not only find remarkable people but to strive to be remarkable. Being remarkable is not that complicated but at the same time it is not that easy either. When I remember that little flower struggling through a snow of my youth, I remember where my quest for the remarkable began. That hunger for the remarkable creates a desire to sit at my grandparent’s table and look out that living room window one more time. No telling what might show up.