passing

{the last picture taken of me and Granny
August 2011}

i'm bewildered by this thing of passing

the ticking hands of the clock that taunt or sing, never knowing which until you stand in their shadow.

the gentle rush of calender pages that flow and shuffle past from day to month to year, making you stop and stare with just how much time has flitted past your unsuspecting fingertips.

and eventually, the fingers of God gently bring the ticking to a silence. the rustling to a halt.

the end comes eventually. 

and the end is floating steady onward toward my great-grandmother.

this good and faithful one is making her steps toward Heaven's gates, this walk she has taken for so long. a life so changed by the hand of God, a daughter so loved by the King of Heaven.

and so i sit and wonder how to grieve. 

do i even dare to grieve for this soon-coming loss of mine

for her gain is so much greater?

she called for my grandfather first. her youngest son. and so he boarded a plane to California and flew to his mother's side.

then the call was for my mother. one of her many granddaughters. and so my mother and sister boarded a plane and went to her side.

{my favourite picture of Granny ever.
Grandpa at her bedside earlier this week
reading the Bible to her.
this is my legacy}

i envy those who are at her bedside today. those who sit in her bedroom, holding her hand and reading her favourite Words to her.

her days are coming to an end. this life of ninety-five vibrant years is starting to fade.

she fades, but never pales. her breaths are numbered, but her life is eternal.

Granny is going home. 

be it today or sometime in the next week.

and in my heart, i grieve her loss. this great lady.

but in my soul, i dance.

because this daughter is going home.

i love you, Granny. so very much. i will see you on the other side. 

give Jesus a hug for me. 

He's waiting for you. 

{tmy sister's tribute to Granny can be found here}

Labor of Love

Tonight, I spent some time with my mom's side of the family, planning for my grandparent's 50th wedding anniversary celebration this coming fall. If you were looking at us from a distance with no knowledge as to who any of us were or what we were doing, you would think we were an odd little group.

There were eight of us, clustered around a small crackling fire enclosed inside of a large metal dish.

My aunt and uncle, not quite two years married, holding hands in two separate deck chairs, looking at one another as if their entire worlds revolved around their beloved partner.

My mom, sitting in her chair with her day-planner in her lap, her red hair glowing like a sunset in the light of the flickering flames.

The three teenagers -- Abby, Rae Marie, and I -- sitting in age-order on the padded porch swing, giggling and waving the smoke out of our faces.

And then there was my grandma and grandpa, the origin of this tiny cluster of loving people. They were the ones that drew my closest inspection.

Grandma, with her little basket-purse and crown of carefully styled grey hair, her smile and laugh more familiar and warm to me than a summer sunset. And Grandpa, with his fading grey comb-over and his unmistakeable sense of humor that reminds me of little girl sleepovers and snuggles around the iron stove in their basement.

My grandpa is in his early 70s. He grew up on a small farm in Illinois in a tiny rural community where he milked the cows at 4am and walked to school in the winter. He loves Jesus with all his heart, and is determined to bring as many people to know Him as he possibly can. He is the humblest, quietest man I know.

This is the man of whom I possess my earliest memory. The man who sang silly songs to my sister and I, and told us jokes that made my grandma shake her head and say, "Oh, Kyle!" The man who taught me that early morning breakfasts of "gobledy-gook" and orange juice was the secret to a happy morning. The gentle hands that swung a wood-splitting ax and poked flaming coals to warm the house, but that were always eager to hold the Bible and remind me of the goodness of God. The man who showed me that ticking Grandma awake at 6am was fun, and that "sleepin' at the foot of the bed" was a secret delight. He took me to my first movie in a theater -- Chicken Run -- and promptly fell asleep twenty minutes into the film...but that's not surprising, considering his ability to "drop his marbles" at any time and through anything.

My grandma is in her late 60s. She attended the local high school, and can still sing almost all the words the fight song. She married young, just like I did, and still loves her husband with all her heart after almost 50 years of marriage. I've seen the way she looks at him...I want to love my husband the way she does. When I was little, I used to stand next to her in church and listen to her sing the hymns; I wanted to sing about Jesus as beautifully as she did. She is an amazing woman who loves Jesus with all her heart, and has taught me so many things about being a godly woman and a godly wife.

This is the woman who read books to my little sister and I, recording them on cassette tapes that I still love listening to, even today. The woman who made me tiny models of all the characters from Winnie-the-Pooh (my favorite since I was a baby) by hand, and played the record of the same name when she changed my diapers or bathed me in the metal sink in the basement. The woman who made me dresses, quilts, and jumpers, hand-made with love poured into each stitch. She taught me how to sew; even though I didn't show a lot of appreciation for it then, I look back on those moments now and wish I could get them back. Grandma made us puppets out of brown paper envelopes and various bits of bric-a-brac, recorded Shirley Temple movies when they came on TV, and watched Milo and Otis with us over and over and over again.

Grandpa took me on my first missions trip to Costa Rica when I was 13.

Grandma held Hawaiian tea parties on the back porch with our American Girl dolls and Macadamia nut pancakes.

My grandparents are my heroes. Two of my greatest examples.

I want them to be proud of me.

Because I am proud to be their granddaughter.