rather than wearing something old, new, borrowed and blue for my wedding, i took the opportunity to write a letter of appreciation to each of my old, new, borrowed and blue families, each named after its representative subset. my "old" family is my church family, being represented by a group of folks i lovingly refer to as "my old people." these hoary-headed church members are simply a delight to be around, and i always look forward to sharing their company around a table for wednesday night dinners. in exchange, they shared their joy, their stories, their wisdom, their encouragement, their experience- in short, it was not a fair trade by any means. they were totally ripped off.
at some point in the past year-ish (?) our church began a more intentional push to return some blessing to our elder members, especially those who are home-bound, sick, or living alone, by setting out cards, envelopes, and a list of their names so that we could write them notes of encouragement. if we learned anything in 2020, it was how soul-deadening that level of isolation can be (and also to wash your filthy disgusting hands, but that's another soapbox… ).
anyway, i know personally several of those names, and recognized several others, so i grabbed a members list and a pile of cards, used the excuse to buy cool new pens, and i began my "experiment." i'd try to write a set number each week, and as soon as i heard anyone was calling the church to inquire about what weirdo was stalking them with random cards, i'd stop- or at least sign someone else's name (JK! jk….)
bunny trail: this is what enneagram 5s do. we call new ventures "experiments" so that if it turns out to be a colossal failure we don't have to blame ourselves.
it was awkward at first. because seriously, who does this anymore? what do i say to someone i haven't seen in person for months, or more, or who is decades older, who i don't have much in common with? like, "hey, how are you- i just spent an hour cleaning crayon off every surface in the living room." i doubted anyone would care very much. but maybe they'd still like to remember what it was like to chase toddlers around, or look up the Bible verse i stuck in there, or smile at the animal stamp i stuck in the corner (i just had to. these stamps are too darn cute to not be put on absolutely everything i can).
but then something weird happened. a lady i'd never, ever spoken directly to found me one sunday and said a teary-eyed thank you. the next wednesday 2 women that i did know quite well said the same- one had a mother who received a card; the second was a widow who happened to get her card around the same time of year her husband died. a 94-year old hobbled down the long children's wing to find me, tell me some of her life story and give me a hug. (and then another elderly fellow said how much he appreciated the christmas card, because now he knew who the heck had been writing these cards, so it worked!)
but then something else happened. i got an email from the church secretary saying she didn't send one of the cards because the recipient had just passed away.
and its happened twice more. my "old people" leaving me before i was quite ready to say goodbye- i'd barely said hello to one of them. i was reminded of one of my memory verses, hebrews 12:1- "since we are surrounded by so great a cloud of witness…" that cloud is a bit larger now, and heavy with their love, joy, and faithfulness. ms. clara- she was the first to write a letter of congratulations after my engagement, from her nursing home, no less. she had absolutely pure white hair, enabling her to wear NEON shirts and look AWESOME. mr. lynn- he came every week by the college students' pew, asking each of us if we were staying around after graduation. he was ecstatic when he found out i was. his wife, ms pat- she is getting a card this week. she sang in the choir, and smiled big enough for the entire soprano section. ms. janice took the plunge and joined facebook, tracking and commenting on my posts faithfully until covid called her heavenward. mr morris, ms sandy, ms mollie… ms pat is the only one here i can still write to.
and then this week happened.
i knew it was off to a bad start when i woke up to nik asking what to do with the kiddo who wandered into the work room covered in cute baby barf and asked for mo doos? cuppeese? (more juice? cup please?). as i flushed away my entire day's plans, i received news that someone close to me had a possibly bad medical issue, a sister had tornado watches in effect, and that i would never be able to have that video call to my grandad i was planning.
i was nowhere near as consistent with calling him as i've been with these letters. i knew that he closely followed us on facebook, and thought of him with every post i've made, but it's not the same as a two-way conversation where he can share, too. this is more of a loss than anyone who didn't know him could understand. more than 90 years old, his mind was remarkably intact and every conversation with him brought forth more memories, stories, humorous anecdotes, and thoughts.
once the barfing baby stopped, i was able to clean (eVeRyThINg) up, sit down, and breathe. since i'd already written my week's homebound letters, i've decided to write one more, even though this one won't get mailed, either.
dear grandad,
hey- how are you? i just spent a day cleaning baby barf smell off every surface in … basically the whole house. it's a good thing your great grandkid is so cute. i remember when we first told you she was on her way, and the loss i felt when two days later my monday crumbled with news of grandmother's death. i was glad for the 4-day weekend that let us travel to you for her funeral. well, what do you know? two days after hearing about how you were doing, my monday crumbled.
except not really.
it shook a bit, but stayed upright. this 4-day weekend won't let me come say
the "official" goodbye, but i feel like we've sent those same
thoughts back and forth already. i treasure the picture of you meeting bugaboo for the first time, and the joy on both of your faces. that "hello" memory is so much better than any "goodbye" memory i could get now at your funeral.
i kinda knew. i'm bummed, but not surprised. in fact, my first instinctive reaction was, "finally" (wait before you judge me)! my second was, "i still had that one question for him."
i won't get an answer, but i may as well ask anyway. besides, i already have a couple new ones for you.
first, of course, is "how is grandmother?" i already know the first place you ran to was that heavenly throne and the One who sits upon it. there is no way for you to describe Him, which is why i'm not asking about it. the apostle john did his best, and we all see how that turned out; i doubt even as good a storyteller as you could do better. there aren't words to express the emotions you must have gone through when your faith became sight and your immortal eyes were hit with that blaze of Glory. i imagine that's where you found her. i want so badly to know how she looks and how she's been spending this first part of eternity. was she able to watch you join a heavenly music band for a song or two? did you share a laugh about ditching that walker you both used, before you ran hand in hand down some heavenly sidewalk?
tell me about your "mansion," would you? when i said goodbye to your old home last april, i remember wondering at how small it was- practically a cottage, really. in all my memories it's several times larger! i could hear in every word you spoke that the house was getting smaller and smaller to you, too. just like my "old people," i watched you live out your faith day by day, making excellent use of your time on earth, but increasingly eager to leave it. once grandmother left, no place on earth would ever be "home." that little house was practically a mansion to us- mostly because of the enormous amount of love you and grandmother cram-jammed into it, and i'm just curious what i'll see when i finally get to visit you again.
of much less importance, but still: i have GOT to hear the story behind that freakishly gigantic safety pin on your little shelf of knick-knacks. we'd talked about you telling me about each one as i asked over calls or texts… but somehow we never got around to those. i'm having one of those cliché "ah, what i wouldn't give for one more conversation" moments. i just loved basically every story you ever told (especially the medical ones), and even small or simple every day moments had shades of legend when you told them. and let's be real- a 5 inch safety pin is not an everyday item; i refuse to believe the background story is anything less than hysterical. it's my fault for not just asking ages ago.
as long as i'm asking imaginary questions in an imaginary letter, i'll toss this one in, too: ARE THERE DINOSAURS UP THERE?!? no, but really!! if there's a new heaven and a new earth, and the first one was perfect (at least for a few verses), i'm hoping the new perfect earth has them as well. and if there are dinosaurs, are there cats- cats that look like the ones we've known here? maybe only the ones we liked…. i know animals don't have souls, and there will be perfect joy and peace in heaven, Jesus is all we need… but man, having a pet dinosaur to ride in heaven would be basically the coolest thing ever.
don't judge me. okay, maybe judge me a little bit.
i've got a bunch of your day lilies planted here. there are some on each side of the house, to maximize my chances of not killing most of them. now i just need to put some kind of garden border around them, to maximize the lawn guy's chances of not killing the rest. so far, most of them grew back, even after being mowed down a few times. i'm hoping, hoping it works out, and that they will be a reminder for many, many years to come.
a reminder to ask questions, write letters, learn from and listen to the people close to us, because we are never guaranteed another day to do so.
a reminder that every day is precious and we are called to be good stewards of our time and relationships.
a reminder to "lay aside every weight, and sin which clings so closely," so i can "run the race set before [me], looking to Jesus, the founder and perfecter of [my] faith," to someday join my "no-longer-old people" at the finish line.
a reminder that in the midst of that "great cloud of witnesses" there is now yet another one: one i miss seeing here a little, but look forward to seeing again a lot. once i spend a few thousand years with Jesus, i'm gonna take my pet dino for a walk past your mansion and we'll have eternity to catch up.
tell grandmother i say "hello."
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