Legacies

I have had a million things on my mind about which to blog: an unbelievable show I watched recently about Amish teenagers, some of the lessons I've been learning as my involvement in ministry grows and changes, personal updates, etc. All of that came to a screeching halt on the Friday before the Memorial Day holiday weekend when my grandmother suffered an acute gall bladder attack that nearly took her life and left my family completely rattled.



The circumstances of how things began are nothing short of miraculous. Any other day of the week, she would've experienced the beginning of her symptoms in a quiet, empty house as my grandfather ran his usual errands around town. (Although he is an octogenarian, his energy and drive puts many of us whippersnappers right in our place. I have definitely inherited some of his "ADD"-like behaviors, haha...) At any rate, my grandparents had company -- my uncle from California -- who was able to get her quickly to medical care. Had he not been there, all of us would hate to put together the picture of how this story could have played out. At any rate, the random timing of his short visit didn't seem so random after seeing this happen.



As I write this, we have had many ups and downs with my grandmother's physical and mental condition. The life-saving surgery she requires is too risky at this point, so the best thing for her is to rest and regain her strength; however, in the back of my mind, I'm wondering how long until we see a repeat of her extreme pain and agony if this flares up again before she is strong enough for surgery.



Something that has frightened some family members is her willingness to go Home. As far back as I can remember, my grandmother has made very clear to me that we all have important work to do "in the highways and hedges" for the Lord until we are called Home, which is where our hearts should ultimately be pointed. When we have talked of injustices and violence going on in the world, especially in regards to children who are abused or starving, she is always moved to tears, her spirit grieving for the Lord to return and bring His own unto Him. While I would love to see her make a full recovery and return to her St. Francis of Assissi-like love and care for her birds and squirrels at her home, as well as her music ministry at a local nursing home, I know that both physically and mentally she is exhausted and weary. I know that she yearns to see Jesus and add her voice to the chorus of those worshipping at the throne. I will be honored to see her through whichever journey God sees fit to send her on, be it here or there. But what moved me to tears was thinking about what she will leave behind.



"Some people come into our lives and quickly go. Some stay for awhile and leave footprints on our hearts. And we are never, ever the same." This quote by Flavia has always been a profound truth for me. Especially after T. died, I could really relate. But what I think about today is the legacy my grandmother leaves behind, what each of us will leave behind. We hear a lot in today's media about presidents and their legacies, how they have shaped the nation in various ways during their time in office. In our own personal lives, we each leave behind a legacy. I've also heard the analogy that children are like glasses, and parents leave behind some kind of indelible fingerprint on the glass, while some parents crack or completely destroy this fragile material. The way we act, think, dress, virtually everything about us impacts those around us and leaves a lasting impression, hopefully a good one if we're lucky.



The legacy my grandmother has already created was so easy to see on the faces and in the hands of my family over the last week or so. There were eight to ten of us waiting to take shifts and sit with her, feed her, or console her at any time during the day or night. The sense of family connection in the ICU waiting room was virtually palpable. But consider who we have learned this from: this is a woman who has hardly sat still a day in her life to eat a complete meal. She is the most selfless serving person I have ever seen, somehow being both Mary and Martha at the same time. Even as she worked hard alongside my grandfather to care of five children of her own, she also tirelessly cared for the sick and elderly in her neighborhood, worked around the clock to care for her own ailing mother and mother-in-law. She lived through the Great Depression as the daughter of a widow and still manages to have a song in her heart and a smile on her face. She is kind and gentle to animals and children alike, and is a prayer warrior to make Mother Teresa look like a complete slacker. She wears her "Good News" pin everywhere she goes as a conversation starter so that she can tell people about Jesus when they inquire about what her pin means. She is Jesus in the flesh.



Her legacy lives on in me as well. Many people firmly believe that, unless you have a "come to Jesus" moment, then you have not really accepted Christ into your heart and made your choice for Him. (Which I have a massive theological difference with, but we'll just save that for another blog...) I was raised with Jesus. He has been a constant presence in my life, as much as my own parents and siblings. My grandmother has everything to do with that. She also frightened me to death about what Hell was going to be like, but again, that's another blog. I have never questioned: a) that Jesus loves me, b) that He is always present with me, even when I feel abandoned and alone, c) I could never stray so far away from Him that He will not always love me, d) that He is the one true Son of God, e) that He died on my behalf so that I might be forgiven of all my sins, etc. You can see where this is going. She didn't cram a bunch of scriptures down my throat and tell me I couldn't listen to pop radio in the '80s or that I had to wear long dresses and never cut my hair. She simply modeled what it means to be a Christian in a fallen world. She explained things to me, sang with me, prayed with and for me, taught me to love others and to be kind. She taught me to bring my faith in a meaningful way to others, not through pleading or judgment, but through example and service. As I embark on care giving ministry at my church, I feel like my life has come full circle, in many ways because of the tiny seed which she planted thirty-something years ago.



As I wrestle over what it's like to watch someone fighting for their life, possibly dying before my eyes, I'm realizing that growing older and aging can be a scary thing, but not the frightening experience I once envisioned. It can be a brave, graceful experience journeying slowly back to God, one that I am humbled and honored to be a part of. I only pray that He loans her to us for a little while yet -- there is so much I feel I have left to learn before she is gone.



"For God so loved the world He sent His only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in Him should not perish, but have eternal life." --John 3:16