I am reminded of them every day. When I wake up in the morning, I see on my nightstand the picture of my grandpa holding Zachary while my grandma lovingly looks down on my son and holds his tiny hand. When I go to get Zachary's breakfast, I see on my refrigerator the Bible verses I have written on index cards and I think about how my grandpa had a stack of verses on weathered cards that he studied every day. I think about my grandma when I have a cup of coffee and I tap out the beat to "Peas Porridge Hot" on my mug with my fingernails like she used to do.
My grandparents where an influential part of my growing up years. I learned many lessons from them, individually and also as a unit. My Mema taught me how to wear make up, walk in high heels, set a table and make mashed potatoes. My Pepa instilled in me a love for words when he would challenge my lexicon with new vocabulary. The best was when I came up with a word that he had to look up in the dictionary. Pepa tested me on my Bible verses for Sunday school and encouraged me to get my master's degree. Together, they taught me the importance of education, quality time, what a solid and God-centered marriage should look like and not to take myself too seriously. "Don't sweat the small stuff," Mema would say, "And it's all small stuff." Then she would give me a wink.
My Mema went to heaven on Sunday, September 21, 2014. On her way, she was reciting the 23rd Psalm and had no fear as she knew she would see her Lord soon. Though my Pepa had been suffering from Dementia for a while, he seemed to feel the void of his soul mate in this life and joined her a few months later on Wednesday, December 17.
In my 31 years, this was the first time I had to deal with death on a personal level. Though I knew that my Mema and Pepa were in heaven and that death is a natural part of life, I was filled with grief, especially after my grandma died. There were many mornings where I would tap out my Mema's tune on my coffee mug and halfway through start crying, unable to finish the childhood rhyme. Once I even called my grandma, even though I knew she wouldn't answer. I couldn't really believe that they were really gone. I hated it when people would tell me "they were in a better place." I gritted my teeth when I would hear about their full lives and all the people that they touched. I wanted to scream when I heard that I was fortunate to have had them for as long I did. I already knew all of this. It didn't make my grief disappear or even lessen. I cried because I was selfish and wanted them with me. I cried because I loved them and I missed them. I cried for all the "lasts" that I never knew were "lasts" in the moments with them. I just cried.
This Sunday is the final day of Advent. Our church had a beautiful service complete with the choir and an orchestra. Our pastor even had on a full suit instead of his usual Oxford shirt and slacks. We sang classic Christmas songs and our pastor spoke about the importance of the name of Jesus. And today as I heard these songs and words, I cried for my grandparents again. But this time, it felt different. I didn't feel sad. I felt hopeful.
Christmas is a time of hope. Over two thousand years ago, Jesus humbled himself and came down to earth as a helpless baby. Can you imagine how frustrating that must have been? God in the flesh, trapped inside the body of a baby boy, unable to care for Himself and relying on a young girl - no more than 14 or 15 - to care for his needs all so that he could grow up without riches or fame only to be hated and crucified by those He came to save. Jesus did all of that so that death could no longer be a great divider. Jesus obediently went to the cross to die for our sins because He loves us so much and didn't want to be separated from us in death.
That night when Mary and Joseph settled into the stable that would soon become holy ground, our Savior was born and so was hope. As I sat in the pew and looked up at the manger display in front of the church, I imagined myself there with the young couple. I pictured myself asking to hold the Prince of Peace and Mary gingerly handed me her precious bundle. As I slowly brought His face to mine, my tears flowed down His cheeks. This sweet little baby boy was going to suffer for me and mankind so that someday I will be able to worship Him again with my grandparents by my side.
I sang the familiar Christmas songs this morning but I focused on their words in a new way. Though they were songs I had heard every December since I was young, I realized that we don't just sing them because it is tradition but because it is a promise of hope. Tears welled up in my eyes and I thought about my grandparents who were at that moment also praising the Lord but on the other side of Glory.
I still miss my Mema and Pepa every day and probably always will, but today the Lord showed me that the grief of losing my grandparents was just one of the reasons why he sent his Son to this world as a little baby that first Christmas so many years ago. So that He could conquer death and so that we will be reunited in heaven. I could feel my heart twisting and yet expanding with this love that He showed to us. For while we were still sinners, God sent his only Son. That whoever shall believe in Him, will not parish but have everlasting life. (John 3:16)
What an amazing Christmas gift of hope.
