Mrs. Etta Irene Martin

Etta Irene (Granny) Martin, 104, went to be with the Lord Tuesday, February 7, 2017 at Magnolia Senior Care in Jackson. Visitation will be 12:00-1:00pm Thursday, February 9th at Chancellor Funeral Home in Byram. Graveside services will follow at 2pm at Antioch Baptist Church Cemetery in Florence. Mrs. Martin was born in Simpson County to the late Joe M. and Laura Whittington Sellers. She was a lifelong resident of Byram where she was a member of Byram Baptist Church, teaching Sunday School for over 60 years. She was a homemaker and on the Governors Staff of two Governors. She is preceded in death by her husband Carl Martin; sons, D.J. & Charlie Martin; granddaughter, Donna Morgan and six siblings. Survivors include her daughter-in-laws, Shirley Martin & Nelda Martin; four grandchildren; nine great grandchildren and seven great-great grandchildren. The family give special thanks to the staff of Magnolia Senior Care for their loving care and in lieu of flowers, memorials may be made to Magnolia Senior Care, 3701 Peter Quinn Dr., Jackson, MS 39213. On line guest book available at www.chancellorfuneralhome.com. She was fiercely loyal to her family and to those she loved, & she would adopt you if you would act right. She always rooted for the underdog, could not stand a bully, & would not stand for anybody being mistreated. She expected a lot from us and made sure that we knew it, but loved us no matter what, and made sure we knew that too. Whether the ailment was strep throat or a cold or a bicycle knee or scrapes and bruises from falling your 8-year-old rear end out of a tree, the remedy was a damp cloth to wash your face, a Bayer aspirin, and Dr. Tichenor's. And it always worked. She could make the simplest foods taste delicious. Toast. Really. TOAST. She never had much, but always seemed to have plenty, and I don't think it ever occurred to her to complain about what she lacked. She was too busy being grateful for what she had. She was of a different time, and we lose something precious as those from that time leave us. Her house was a museum, with everything in its place. You could move something & she wouldn't say a word, but if you looked later, she would have moved it back. And I know, 'cause I did it on purpose just to mess with her. She was always a lady, always. ALWAYS. But she was never a 'sweet little old lady'. Actually, I think 'sweet little old ladies' kinda got on her nerves. She was mischevious and stubborn. And sometimes, just plain contrary. We could tell stories... She was not perfect. But she was wise, and funny, and generous, and kind. She was a saint. She was google before there was google when it came to the bible. She would answer questions with scripture. "How're you doing, Granny?" "How am I doing? I'll tell you how I'm doing. Read the last chapter of Ecclesiastes. That's how I'm doing." You could ask for advice and she might say "Well, remember what old Paul said about that." When she spoke about folks from the bible, she spoke about folks she seemed to know, not characters from a book. And I think she liked the rascals best. (Except for Jesus, of course.) She taught Sunday School for several hundred years. She was sure that being a King James Baptist was what Jesus and Brother Bennett really wanted, but I think she forgave her sister for her flirtations with Catholicism and me for my Methodism. "You know, Brother John Courtney was a Methodist. And the Martins were, too... And I watch Keith on the Methodist Hour every week." (I don't know if she was trying to convince me or herself that it was alright.) I do know for sure that my grandfather, Carl Martin, was a better man thanks to her. He knew it, too. And he was one more good man. She brought out the best in him, & didn't give him any choice in the matter. And the same can be said for a lot of us. As she lost those she loved most, one by one, her friends and extended family, her brothers and sisters, her husband, her daughter-in-law, her granddaughter, her sons, she bore her pain the way she lived her life; with an unshakeable faith and a quiet dignity that spoke volumes, and serves as an example for those of us who watched. When she was a little girl, she lost her big brother in the war. World War I. Let that sink in a minute. Still, she spoke of 'old people' as some group she did not belong to, and if you asked her about her poppa, she was instantly 7 years old again, with a big smile and faraway eyes and voice. (I often did that on purpose too, just as a gift to her.) She was mentally sharp to the very end, and now, 104 springtimes later, she is finally, mercifully, home. So much of whatever good there is in me is because of her, and I will surely miss her, but I'm grateful that she is finally with her Jesus, and I bet He is, too. Granny, I love ya. Thank you so much. We will remember what you taught us. Tell everybody there hello for us, and please save us a place. David