Rumination on Paths Already Tread

 It was six years ago to the day that I am writing this, that my grandma called me out of the blue.  Much like today, the sun was out and spring was in full swing.  If memory serves me correctly though, it was much colder. Although the sun took most of the nip away, it was chilly on the porch as I answered her call.  When the phone rang, I had been sitting close to a couple of space heaters while breaking for lunch, so had stepped out to the most likely place that the signal would remain consistent.  

Of what was said, many of the specifics having faded with time, all I can remember with much surety is that she wanted to know how my wife and I's then two month old son was.  He was fine, very healthy in fact, but she had made a point to pray for him and his health.  To this day the physical healthiness that he exhibits still strikes me as an answered prayer, so sincere was her concern.

It was not unusual for me to talk to her on the phone, as we had done such every week for years.  I would call her as I drove to a cafe to write and sip coffee, or she would catch me earlier in the morning as I prepared for whatever the day might bring.  Yet, this almost always occurred on a Saturday.  By no means was the call an intrusion or unwelcome, but even then I remember thinking it odd.

Part of me had passed it off as simply her reaching out after Mother’s day.  We had gotten to celebrate with her and the rest of my family the Sunday before, but since our son was still young, we had left early.  I had meant to say goodbye and get one of her tremendously strong hugs, but it had gotten late and we had had to go quickly in order to get the baby to bed on time.

Regardless, the thing that still stands out the most on that particular day was the thing that was most common.  As the time dwindled away and I had to say goodbye, she told me the same thing she had said every time I talked to her on the phone.

“I love you dear.”

Her voice would soften, and I can’t quite explain how very much such a simple phrase can be felt so strongly.  She didn’t have to say it, as I already knew, but that doesn’t mean it wasn’t appreciated every time she did.

“I love you too, grandma.”

Those would be the last words I would exchange with her in this life.

I didn’t call her that Saturday, as we had spoken the day before, and we were headed to visit family on my wife’s side in Illinois.  The oddity slipped my mind, and the weekend went on.

Yet, on a sunny Monday morning as I walked to a nearby gas station to get a coffee my mom called me.  Her voice immediately told me that something was wrong, but my assumption was that perhaps something had happened to one of our animals.

There, in the middle of the gas station I stood in disbelief as she told me that grandma had passed away earlier that morning.  It had been sudden, and honestly, I don’t remember the rest of the phone call.  The next thing I remember was taking my coffee up to pay at the counter, and the first thought was that I should tell them what had happened.  But what could they know?  She was a woman two states away that they had never met.

Much of the rest of that day was spent by me walking and talking on the phone with various family and friends.  We returned home that night so as to be there for them, as well as to attend the service for her.

It was a miserable time, but all I remember is that I knew where my grandmother was, and that she loved me.  Many of those times, I felt more comforted than I could possibly imagine.  I had not gotten to say goodbye, but even in that there was sweetness.  In fact, I had not said an actual goodbye to her even when I had seen her last.  It was a constant reminder of her and my belief that we are not finite.

Now, I don’t know who you are, dear reader.  I’ve no clairvoyance into what you think of the existence of God, or if you even believe in life after death, but can I tell you that I’ve seen His love.

Maybe I lost you, but I hope not.  My grandma could have shown you, and I’m hoping that somehow I can express it to you as well.  I don’t think words are quite enough, and in fact, Christ certainly did not see fit to merely leave it to words.

So, let me tell you about the wonderful woman who was my grandma.

She was a wonderful person.  Were you and I good friends, or even simply acquaintances, and she were still alive I could take you to the house that she and grandpa lived in.  Though you might not have known her, I can tell you that she would have done anything in her power to make you feel like you were home.  Now, sometimes that is just a phrase, as in to make you comfortable, but with her it was more.  With her, she wanted you to feel free to live as you would in your own house.  You’d dare not ask for anything from the fridge, you’d just go get what you wanted. Are you thirsty? Do you like tea? Coffee? Pop?

I begin to write this, and it occurs to me that I don’t have the time to put it all down here and now.  In fact, I’ve put off writing about this for six years for fear of it falling flat.  How can I tell you of the thousands of memories that made her the person that she was?  Of her singing silly songs to two young and tired grandsons? Of nights spent under the stars just because we could? Of notes inscribed in gifted books that still bring me to tears?

And it is not just me.  I can name many more who were touched by the love that she had been given.  A love that was both gentle and fierce.  No, she was not perfect, she was human after all.  But still, her reflection of God’s perfection was radiant.

I miss her, but I know that love she gave is still here, and what is more it is all around.  It’s a love that was once, and still is, poured out for the whole world.  

So, as I look back on six years, realizing that I’m not even the same person I was then, I want to take a moment to tell you something.  Yes, you, whoever you are.  You are loved.  I hope you know that, and if you don’t I’d love to talk to you about it.

Whatever you do, and however my thoughts have hit you, please hear this simple phrase.  God so loved the world, and as such, you are loved.