Clinging to God

“I lift my eyes up to the hills. Where does my help come from? My help comes from the Lord, the Maker of Heaven and earth.” (Psalm 121:1-2)

It’s so easy to rely on everyone and everything but God until you’re in a place and situation where the only thing you can do is cry out to God.

My grandma passed away yesterday. She had been in and out of the hospital for the past three weeks, and from what I understand had just been moved to a nursing home for therapy and care until she was strong enough to go home. She died in her sleep, just before my grandpa arrived to visit her. As my mom said during our brief conversation on the phone, God had a plan in it – and waited until no one in the family was there. Grandpa was home, Dad was home, Mom was in Florida with friends and Jason was home. And me, I’m on the complete other side of the world.

I want to believe that Grandma had put her faith in Jesus before she left this world. I have cried so many tears for her and uttered so many prayers over the past hours, days, weeks, months and even years. Just in the last few weeks there have been people on six different continents praying for her. Six! That’s everywhere but Antarctica! That has to mean something, right? Even hours before she died, mom and a friend fervently prayed that someone in the nursing home would share Christ with her and lead her to the Lord.

“And the prayer offered in faith will make the sick person well; the Lord will raise them up. If they have sinned, they will be forgiven. Therefore confess your sins to each other and pray for each other so that you may be healed. The prayer of a righteous person is powerful and effective.” (James 5:15-16)

I don’t know what God’s answer to those prayers was. I like to think that like the persistent widow, whose requests were answered by the judge because she did not give up in asking, that the Lord heard my prayers and they were answered. I so pray that my prayers were His will, as we know He desires that none shall perish and that if we ask anything according to His will, we know that we have those requests for which we have asked. But here, miles and hours away from family – from my grandpa who is in complete despair after spending his whole life loving and depending on my grandma – from my dad, an only child who now has to make difficult decisions and be the stronghold for the family – from my mom, whose faith is upholding so much and desperately wants to see my grandpa trust the Lord – here, all I can do is Trust in the Lord.

During our ministry with the primary age kids at our church in Illinois, we learned a song with the words of Proverbs 3:5-6: “Trust in the LORD with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding; in all your ways acknowledge him and he will make your paths straight.”

Over the last 16 hours since I heard the news of my grandma’s death, that song has resonated in my heart. In the numerous responses that have poured in from friends and supporters from the e-mail we sent out, one of our friends had quoted that very verse. Then today I pulled out a book from a dear friend titled, Treasures for Women who Hope, and the bookmark inside had that same verse on the back. I am desperately trying to trust in the Lord right now. I’m trusting Him to draw my grandpa, and the others in my family who do not know Him, close to Him. Trusting that He reveals Himself to them in ways that they cannot deny His goodness and love. Trusting Him in the decision of whether to stay here or to go to be with my family at this time. Trusting Him because my understanding is so limited. Trusting Him because without that, I have nothing.

A few months ago I wrote a blog about my grandmother. Read that here: http://pastorllama.blogspot.com/2010/07/full-circle.html

A Time to Mourn

If you would have told me this morning that I would write two blog posts today, I would have thought you were nuts (here's the other one).  But, you would have been right.  Anyway…

“Rejoice with those who rejoice; mourn with those who mourn.”

~Romans 12:15

I knew today would be different the moment I walked into church.  We were late, and we walked into the side door as the church was singing “How Great Thou Art” in Kikaonde, the local language.  This hymn has been a favorite of mine for as far back as I can remember.  When singing the refrain, I feel as though my soul really is singing.  So even though I did not understand the language in which they were singing, I sang along in English.

But this hymn is more to me than my soul’s song to God.  It reminds me of my grandmother who passed away in 2005.  It has been 5 and a half years since she passed, but sometimes it feels like just yesterday.  At her funeral, we recessed to the choir singing “How Great Thou Art,” and now I can’t hear that song without thinking of her.  I praise God that she knew Him, but sometimes the pain of missing her comes, and I can’t help but pause and cry.

This isn’t the only song that does this to me, either.  Another favorite of mine – “Here I Am Lord” – has taken on multiple layers of emotion as well.  It is a song representative of our call into the mission field.  It has been a favorite of Tiffany’s for longer than I’ve known her.  In fact, she processed to it at our wedding.  But our wedding would not be the last time she processed to this song.

My cousin Michael was killed by a train in September of last year.  I posted a blog about it back in the fall, but the hole is still there.  At his funeral, the family processed into the sanctuary to “Here I Am Lord.”  Although I have not heard this song today, or even recently, I am daily led to prayer for my family as I have a memorial card for Michael serving as a bookmark in my Bible for my daily devotions.

So, why am I getting emotional about Grandma and Michael today?  Because I received an email this afternoon from my best friend.  His paternal grandfather passed away on Friday.  And so I am mourning with him, just as he mourned with me when I lost my grandmother and my cousin.  My heart goes out to him and his family as they look to God to comfort them during this time (which He promises to do; see Matthew 5:4).  The pain will be real, but so is the comfort they have in knowing that Grandpa Allen is with Christ in heaven.

Our prayers are with you, Allen family.  Please know that, though we cannot be with you during this time, we love you dearly and are with you in spirit.  May God wrap His arms around you, holding you close and reminding you that He is ALWAYS there.  Always.

Full Circle

As I combed Grandma's thin white hair around the bandages where the doctor removed patches of skin cancer, I remembered her combing my white-blonde preschool-age hair, unsure what to do with this little girl she was watching while Mom and Dad were away on a week's vacation. A tomboy herself, Grandma only had one child, my dad, and all his cousins were boys.

Despite her reservations and inexperience with little girls, she never had any problem treating me as her little princess, though I think it brought her great comfort that I liked playing with Dad's old lincoln logs and was willing to run around in the yard with my brother and the neighbor kids. Even so, she bought me dolls and dresses and at the age of three or four, a beautiful little yellow coat complete with puffy balls on the end of the hood strings and a muff to keep my hands warm. Grandma took us to the zoo and the Science Center; I accompanied her to the beauty shop and the grocery store. She'd send us out to play and call us in for peanut butter and jelly or homeade soup. We licked off the cookie beaters and when I asked for the whole turkey leg at Thanksgiving dinner when I was probably 6 or 7 years old, that's what I got.

Even at a young age, I knew Grandma had arthritis. I didn't really know what it was, just that her fingers were all sorts of knobby and crooked. We were thrilled to have her walk down the aisle at our wedding four years ago - at that point she was still pretty strong. As Jason's wedding neared last fall, we weren't sure whether or not she would be able to handle the drive. But she was there, smiling through the pain and the growing discomfort from incurable incontinence. And though she desperately would have like to dance at the reception, she was overjoyed that Grandpa could dance with that little girl that she once really didn't know what to do with.

My grandpa is a good man. Having grown up in the depression, he's incredibly frugal, but also incredibly generous and charitable. He has always made it very clear how much he values solid education, proper grammar and a good book. A man who keeps a dictionary at his side when he reads the daily paper (picking out all the errors as he goes), he used to pay Jason and me each a dollar for every book report we wrote for him. Grandpa recorded educational programs and gave them to Mom and Dad. One of the first times he met Luke, he said "did you know Tiffany graduated Summa Cum Laude?" He was tickled pink when he found out that Luke had as well.

A smart man, and an honest man - and a man with a bit of an ornery streak. Especially in our regular battles on the cribbage board. And as we drove to St. Louis for the doctor appointments yesterday, everyone else on the road was either an imbecile or a cowboy.

Grandpa is a stellar golfer and quite the fisherman. Having worked for the IRS, his understanding of money and taxes baffles me. He keeps up the yard, and reads anything and everything. But other than his famous oatmeal, he's never cooked a day in his life and wouldn't have the slightest idea when it comes to starting the laundry - he's never had to because Grandma has always taken great care of him. Now Grandpa is slowing down a bit. His reaction time has slowed, and his memory is slowly fading. He beat himself up because he couldn't remember the name of one of his medications. When we play cribbage he has a harder time counting his points. And I'm not sure how many times he asked me yesterday how many miles I have on my tires on my car.

I love my grandparents. As I've spent more time with them recently - real, conversational, caring time - I've learned what truly fascinating lives they've led. Grandpa tells me stories of his time in the military. They talked of their first homes, and how their town is evolved, and as we drove past the local lakes, they talked of how they used to walk to the town swimming holes and spend the days there in their childhoods.

There is such a richness to these times, but it is oh so bittersweet. Grandpa is 87 and Grandma just turned 85. I can no longer crawl into their laps or hug them tightly. Grandma can hardly lift her arms and sends Grandpa out for most of the errands. She still cooks, but the basic chopping and lifting and moving around are getting increasingly harder. Many of their friends have long since passed, so much of their social time occurs during their trips to St. Louis to visit with doctors of every sort and variety. Time is at a minimal - although it feels as though it stands still when we begin to talk. And for the first time, Grandpa and I were able to talk in depth about my Jesus. How I wish I could say his Jesus. I wish and pray that Grandma and Grandpa would come to know the goodness, the love, the saving grace of Jesus Christ. I know God can move mountains, and His timing is perfect - and I pray He moves those mountains in due time.

Because time is fleeting, and I can't stand the idea of not seeing my Grandma and Grandpa pain free, worry free, praising God in eternity.

(Photo 1: Grandma at our rehearsal dinner in 2006; Photo 2: Grandma Sunday night as she tried on hats to find one to cover the spot where the doctors would shave part of her head and remove the skin cancer patch the next day - this is not the hat she chose!)