This post has stewed in my head for about a month and a half now, and I’m ready to give it a go. On April 13 of this year, my grandmother Marie passed away and went to heaven. I ‘d lost a grandparent when I was five, so these emotions weren’t new, but they were a lot deeper and more compounded as I had 17 more years to spend with my grandma and a greater awareness of what was going on. The events leading up to and following her death are explicit testimonies of a gracious God.
I have to admit I’ve often been skeptical of testimonies that people give in chapel or church when they needed an exact amount of money and lo and behold, they find it in on the sidewalk or something like that. It wasn’t that I doubted these people; I think it was that I lacked the faith to believe in a God who paid close to attention to details (those details being what we do from second to second or minute to minute of each day; life’s “little things”). I know God is more powerful and awesome than I can ever write in a blog, and I know if He wanted to pay attention to details, He could. But I just figured He had more important things to do.
Well, a month and a half ago, I experienced divinely-provided detail after detail. My grandma passed away on a Monday. Her health had been failing that weekend; her death was expected. Periodically throughout the day my mom would call with updates, and I’d go to my car or cower in a corner in the break room and cry. Close to five in the afternoon, my mom called to tell me she had died; I knew what the call was when ”Mom” showed up on my caller ID. Thankfully it was the end of the day, so I quietly left work and drove home.
And here’s where all those little extra things that I doubted could happen happened: This particular Monday was the Monday before AACS, where a billion high schoolers relocate to BJU for the week. My younger brother and sister were among those billion high schoolers. I was probably the only one at school that day who was glad they were all coming. Death exponentially increases the need to be with family. And two of my family members, Natalie and James, were on their way. I feel bad that they had to find out about their grandma while crammed on a van, but they seemed OK when I talked to them. And when they arrived, they immediately made me feel better and very thankful.
We got to hang out together til Thursday when we’d all fly home together, which was another one of those details. I’m not a particularly huge fan of flying, and considering the cirumstances for why I was flying, I would’ve been absolutely miserable. But not with a 17-year-old sister and 15-year-old brother who made it a TON better.
So, we make it home. Things are OK. My older sister had arrived earlier in the week; she and my mom had been cooking and cleaning and going through pictures and making arrangements. My dad is hanging in there. He’s a strong dad, putting his hurt aside to make sure everyone else is OK.
My dad and I went for a drive together. Another detail which I won’t forget. He had just bought a new iPod, and wanted to show it to me. So, it was me and my dad and all his favorite songs growing up.
That night was the viewing. My grandma looked so pretty, and she was wearing the perfect outfit. My brother let me hold onto his arm; there are probably nail marks in it or something. Here is another detail: my grandma hadn’t really left any specific details for what kind of ceremony she wanted, etc. She had kept her membership at a local Catholic church, so my dad arranged for the funeral ceremony to be in the Catholic church, and then for our pastor, who my grandma also knew, to do the graveside service. Well, the priest threw a fit. I could only understand him being upset if he had known my grandma, but he didn’t. So, he said he would have to do both services or he wouldn’t do anything. The coordinator at the Catholic church was able to talk him into just doing the funeral service. But he held a grudge after that. Usually the priest is supposed to go to the viewing and do the Rosary, etc. but he didn’t come. And that was fine with us.
***Later on, I had a chance to talk to my dad in the kitchen. He had told me on Friday that she had gotten saved –three days before she passed away. He was with her in the hospital when she told him that she was afraid to die. He shared the Romans Road with her and the story of the thief on the cross. She said she didn’t deserve to be saved, and he said no one does, but it’s a free gift. So, she looked toward the ceiling and said repeatedly, “Lord, save me.” I was glad to hear this, but I pushed those thoughts aside. I didn’t want to be delusional about her salvation to make her death easier. So, I asked my dad–is it really OK for someone to get saved because they’re afraid to die? And what about all the things she didn’t do her whole life? And now she gets saved right before she dies? And is there some sort of formula of words you’re supposed to pray? He told me to consider the thief on the cross who was saved moments before his death after a life of crime. And then he told me that when she prayed “Lord, save me” she was the most genuine he’s ever heard her. And this is what he said (I made him repeat so I could write it down verbatim) “Lord, save me-That is an irresistable cry in the ears of a merciful God.” He told me if she didn’t get saved, then no one could. She asked God to save her. Period. And then he said, “If that isn’t enough, I don’t think it’s a coincidence that I was in the hospital at one of the only times she was conscious and that she told me she was afraid to die.” So, needless to say, I was confronted with my doubt but SO THANKFUL to God for saving my grandma.
The next day was hard but still there were more of those details to demonstrate God’s presence. Typically, Catholic churches are on the dimmer side and tend to be kind of depressing. Since her funeral was the week of Easter, the church was bright and decorated with Easter lilies and ribbons to celebrate the resurrection of Christ. Those flowers made such a difference. The weather was beautiful; the people were loving and caring. My brother and father were pallbearers, my sister Natalie read a Scripture passage, and my sister Leah read the most beautiful eulogy—Thank you Leah. You were so brave, and everyone needed to hear the beautiful details about Grandma.
OK, this is the end. I can only give praise to the God Who gave extra peace to us that week, Who snapped me out of my faithless stupor, Who saved my grandma.
