Do All the Good You Can

When he spoke these words, John Wesley was, without a doubt, thinking about Aunt Diane. 

Do all the good you can.  

“Well hey, Renee, I didn’t see you there.  When did you get into town?”  At this point, Aunt Diane would wrap me in a hug so tight that my face was lodged somewhere in the hair perched on top of her head.  As soon as she let me go, she’d look into my eyes and say, “You look so pretty.”  This is when I rolled my eyes at her…no one looks pretty after driving for several hours.  But you could always count on Aunt Diane to pick you up.  She spoke with such sincerity that you had no choice but to believe her. 

By all the means you can.  

“Gift giving” was quite a specialty for Aunt Diane.  In our family, a birthday is always just cause for a celebration.  And you could always tell exactly which gift was from Aunt Diane…a gift bag, with multi-colored tissue, ribbon, and a balloon.  I used to wonder how she always managed to find balloons for every occasion…and always in your favorite color.  The contents of the bag were much less predictable.  Aunt Diane had this masterful way of knowing exactly which random gift you needed.  Like the little metal table that sits in the corner next to my fireplace.  It’s the perfect size for a picture frame and my Scentsy.  The colors match my living room.  It is exactly what I didn’t know I needed.  And the glass flowers nestled between my U-Verse box and picture frames.  I remember opening the flowers and thinking, “Glass flowers…what am I going to do with glass flowers?”  Now I can’t imagine not having them. 

In all the ways you can.  

Aunt Diane always had a style all her own.  No one could rock a pair of acid washed cut-off shorts like she could.  She wore white scrunch socks long before, and long after, the Saved by the Bell crew made them cool.  She always managed to tie her hair in a loose bun on the top of her head.  I used to think it was magic that kept the little bun in place.  Wisps of hair fell across her forehead and around her ears, but her earrings were never missed.  The woman had some of the largest, and heaviest, earrings I have ever seen.  Not even a surgery to repair some of the damage caused by the heaviest ones could dampen her style.  She could wear bright red or pink lipstick like no other.  Through it all, she was herself…and she showed us that you should never be afraid to just be yourself.   

In all the places you can.  

For several years, Diane and Kinsey lived on the other side of the pasture at the end of our street.  When we were little, Alicia and I would walk up the street, climb the fence, dodge the piles of horse poo, climb the other fence, and then walk into the little white house.  Once inside, Aunt Diane would welcome us with hugs and ask if we wanted something to drink.  It was in this house that I learned to love Drop Dead Fred.  We would all pile on the large sectional sofa, wrap up in blankets, and laugh until it hurt when Fred slid all over the kitchen floor.  It was years before I actually knew what he meant when he looked up the mom’s skirt and whispered, “Cobwebs.”  Although small and filled with one-too-many elephant statues, Aunt Diane’s home was always full of warmth and laughter. 

At all the times you can.  

When Aunt Diane was in charge, you knew you were going to have a good time.  When Jurassic Park came out in theaters, it was Aunt Diane who loaded up all of the kids and took us to the movies.  We sat in the main theater at the Rialto…about four rows from the front.  The dinosaurs roared and charged and destroyed the park…and Aunt Diane snored.  She fell asleep.  For her, a trip to the movies wasn’t about enjoying the show.  A trip to the movies was about showing the cousins a good time.  

To all the people you can.  

In a family as large as ours, sharing a meal requires a pretty good amount of food.  No matter what the main course might be, the meal was never complete without bread.  This seemed to be Aunt Diane’s specialty.  She always brought the bread…rolls, to be exact.  I don’t know what kind of rolls she bought or why they were her favorite, but I’ll never forget the look on her face as she walked in the front door….frazzled. “I’m sorry I’m late!” she’d call.  (And she always was.)  That’s when the scent of hot rolls would waft through the air, and miraculously no one minded that she was twenty…or thirty…or forty minutes late.   

As long as ever you can. 

Aunt Diane left this world on Christmas Eve.  Her absence is painful.  And while we know that she is looking down on us, we miss her.  I miss her.  I miss her smile.  I miss her laugh.  I miss the way always carried a purse that was much too big for her petite frame.  I miss the way she never called my dad by his name and the way she doted and fussed over Mawmaw even though she could barely take care of herself.  I miss the way her eyes sparkled when she watched the kids play.  In her absence, I’ll do my best to remember John Wesley’s words and the lessons Aunt Diane taught us through them… 

Do all the good you can.

By all the means you can.

In all the ways you can.

In all the places you can.

At all the times you can.

To all the people you can.

As long as ever you can.

Because Aunt Diane showed me that I can.