She would have been 98 this month. One of my most vivid memories of her is sitting in her recliner, magnifying glass in hand, reading her bible. This bible.
Having my grandmother’s bible is a treasure. I hold it in my hands and I wonder how many prayers have been said holding it. How many times her eyes read these verses.
She was steadfast and hard-working. In the ways a farmer’s wife and mother of thirteen children would learn to be.
She set her course and rarely wavered. Some called it stubborn. Perhaps there was some of that. But to me she was determined and resolute.
When I was in grad school, she sent me a bunch of cigars in an old box. Crumbling as I unwrapped the tin foil. There was no note of explanation. When I called her to inquire, she simply said “I saw on 60 minutes that it was becoming fashionable for young women to smoke cigars. And I remembered I had some in the attic.” And that was that.
She heard it. She remembered. She acted. And I’m sure nothing could move her from her decision to mail 30-year-old cigars to me.
I have inherited many characteristics from my mom’s side of the family. Being steadfast is not one of them. At least not in the same magnitude.
And yet, as I hold her bible in my hands. As I wait for the coming, for Advent. I think I may have just a sliver of her unswerving focus that rises up. To be steadfast, immoveable, always abounding in the work of the Lord. (I Cor 15:58)
As I wait, I see that her steadfast love was just a glimpse, a shadow of his. For the Lord is good and his steadfast love endures forever. Forever.
Amen.
