Today I had the privilege of seeing my Grandmother buried.
My Grandmother was a key character in my life. She instilled in me an honesty and an integrity which I can owe no other. I would not be the man I am today without her love and care. I think back now on a time when my sister and I were fighting, I was a very insecure young 14 year old boy. My sisters used to call me a fag and a fairy and pretty much any un-masculine thing they could think of. They would attack my identity at its core and they never held back blows. My father taught me to treat women with respect. I was never allowed to raise my hand, never allowed to use my aggression against a girl. However words were something he often abused. So finally after an onslaught of verbal abuse I finally screamed back at her some of the most hurtful things one could ever say about a girl. I remember her turning and literally running off crying. I had finally beaten her at her own game. Then my Grandmother, who rarely left her room came out. She had hear the whole conversation. I can still see her vividly in her psychedelic robe...
"Are you happy with yourself?" She asked. I didn't reply... I wasn't.
"She said worse things to me!" I finally replied.
"It doesn't matter." She relied before I could finish my sentence. She proceeded to read me the riot act. I was furious. It was unfair. Why was I in trouble when she had said the terrible things she had said... it was more than a year before I finally understood what she was trying to teach me. Two wrongs don't make a right. I always believed that... but I had never put that into context. Life altering. Suddenly I began to realize that no matter how someone made me feel... I was still responsible for my actions.
I could write books about the times in my life where this mean old woman would unfairly punish me when I wasn't the one in the wrong. Oh how I hated that. How I was offended by it. My brother would tell a boldface lied and I would tell a little fib and I'd be attacked in an instance. "Sneaky!" she called me. The audacity! When I got older however... I could do nothing but thank her. She carved character into me without me ever knowing it. What an amazing woman.
When Christ entered my life, my thoughts quickly turned to her and my father. Both whom's health was fading and who didn't know Jesus. I spent the first year of my saved life praying and lamenting over them. I remember once driving home with her... after spending the weekend with my father. She told me about a study she was going to at my Aunt Lorraine's church. She talked to me about God and asked me questions about my beliefs... she was so happy.. almost to tears when she heard my answer. GOD WAS GOOD! She had never known a good God. Only a condemning religious God... she was so excited... I didn't see her for another two years...
This Thanksgiving, her health finally began to fail. The family went to visit her. I wanted desperately to finish the conversation we had those two years ago but she wasn't in her right mind... and I got the impression my family was ready to blow up on me at the mention of Christ. I prayed all night the first night for strength to defy my family and blow them off and just ask her if she wanted to hear it. But when the opportunity arrived... it didn't seem right. She just smiled at me. I never asked... so I figured I would come up and visit another time without the family around so that we could talk, just the two of us.
After Thanksgiving we all headed home. The following Tuesday, she died.
I was mortified. The idea... of never seeing her again was crushing. It didn't hurt... I had already lamented her death long before she died because she didn't have Christ... but the reality of no Hope... was solemn.
Then when I arrived at her funeral... after the family had gathered... two women went up and shared an experience they had with her. They talked about the study she went to. About how she was "spunky" defiant. Oh boy did they know her. How intelligent she was. How strong she was. Suddenly it came to me where these women were going. Two years go, my grandmother dedicated her life to Jesus Christ. She accepted the King of Kings into her heart. Fully convinced, with a faith that would stagger my own, she faced cancer like the Lion I know she is. Peace was the result. Peace. That smile. All that time, she never told me. How could she. Our family was resentful of the entire idea of Christ. When could she have? Such few opportunities.
Now I know, that one day I will see that strong women again. A testament to my heritage Someone who I am so proud to know I share the same blood with. I came to that funeral broken hearted and left full of excitement. Thank you Father, you are without a doubt, strong enough to save.
My Grandmother was a key character in my life. She instilled in me an honesty and an integrity which I can owe no other. I would not be the man I am today without her love and care. I think back now on a time when my sister and I were fighting, I was a very insecure young 14 year old boy. My sisters used to call me a fag and a fairy and pretty much any un-masculine thing they could think of. They would attack my identity at its core and they never held back blows. My father taught me to treat women with respect. I was never allowed to raise my hand, never allowed to use my aggression against a girl. However words were something he often abused. So finally after an onslaught of verbal abuse I finally screamed back at her some of the most hurtful things one could ever say about a girl. I remember her turning and literally running off crying. I had finally beaten her at her own game. Then my Grandmother, who rarely left her room came out. She had hear the whole conversation. I can still see her vividly in her psychedelic robe..."Are you happy with yourself?" She asked. I didn't reply... I wasn't.
"She said worse things to me!" I finally replied.
"It doesn't matter." She relied before I could finish my sentence. She proceeded to read me the riot act. I was furious. It was unfair. Why was I in trouble when she had said the terrible things she had said... it was more than a year before I finally understood what she was trying to teach me. Two wrongs don't make a right. I always believed that... but I had never put that into context. Life altering. Suddenly I began to realize that no matter how someone made me feel... I was still responsible for my actions.
I could write books about the times in my life where this mean old woman would unfairly punish me when I wasn't the one in the wrong. Oh how I hated that. How I was offended by it. My brother would tell a boldface lied and I would tell a little fib and I'd be attacked in an instance. "Sneaky!" she called me. The audacity! When I got older however... I could do nothing but thank her. She carved character into me without me ever knowing it. What an amazing woman.
When Christ entered my life, my thoughts quickly turned to her and my father. Both whom's health was fading and who didn't know Jesus. I spent the first year of my saved life praying and lamenting over them. I remember once driving home with her... after spending the weekend with my father. She told me about a study she was going to at my Aunt Lorraine's church. She talked to me about God and asked me questions about my beliefs... she was so happy.. almost to tears when she heard my answer. GOD WAS GOOD! She had never known a good God. Only a condemning religious God... she was so excited... I didn't see her for another two years...
This Thanksgiving, her health finally began to fail. The family went to visit her. I wanted desperately to finish the conversation we had those two years ago but she wasn't in her right mind... and I got the impression my family was ready to blow up on me at the mention of Christ. I prayed all night the first night for strength to defy my family and blow them off and just ask her if she wanted to hear it. But when the opportunity arrived... it didn't seem right. She just smiled at me. I never asked... so I figured I would come up and visit another time without the family around so that we could talk, just the two of us.
After Thanksgiving we all headed home. The following Tuesday, she died.
I was mortified. The idea... of never seeing her again was crushing. It didn't hurt... I had already lamented her death long before she died because she didn't have Christ... but the reality of no Hope... was solemn.
Then when I arrived at her funeral... after the family had gathered... two women went up and shared an experience they had with her. They talked about the study she went to. About how she was "spunky" defiant. Oh boy did they know her. How intelligent she was. How strong she was. Suddenly it came to me where these women were going. Two years go, my grandmother dedicated her life to Jesus Christ. She accepted the King of Kings into her heart. Fully convinced, with a faith that would stagger my own, she faced cancer like the Lion I know she is. Peace was the result. Peace. That smile. All that time, she never told me. How could she. Our family was resentful of the entire idea of Christ. When could she have? Such few opportunities.
Now I know, that one day I will see that strong women again. A testament to my heritage Someone who I am so proud to know I share the same blood with. I came to that funeral broken hearted and left full of excitement. Thank you Father, you are without a doubt, strong enough to save.
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