Gone

I miss her more than I had planned on.

When she left us in December, there was a palpable sigh of relief. Her passing had not been fit for a saint. If a life lived merited the death you endured, hers would have been injustice defined. But Paul was beheaded. James was flung from a rooftop, and upon surviving it, was beaten to death with clubs. And Peter was crucified upside down. She would not want me to compare her with Christ followers as legendary as these, but she's not here to object.

It was Christmas and we came home and were forced into activity. I put her on a shelf in the back of my mind and from time to time would note that I was handling it well. Although she moved to Nashville several years ago, I still didn't see her very often. I didn't talk to her almost every day like I do my mom. How big of a hole could she make?

A hole the size of China.

The more time that passes, the more I feel her creep back into my mind. The realization that she really is gone is hard to hold onto. The moment I feel myself take hold of that reality, it floats away. How can she be gone?

At the little church where Birch is interim pastor, I've met a lady. She's about, I'm guessing, 93 years old and she maybe clears four feet. Her name is Ms. Martha and she and her family had us over to Sunday lunch two weeks ago. She cannot see well and has lived almost a century, but she is never in a room unnoticed. She packs a wallop. She has known my children only for a minute, but sticks out her hand and beckons them with ownership, "Come here, my little children." "Where are my little children?"

When we left that Sunday, I turned to Birch in near tears. "I just spent the afternoon with Grams. What a gift!" And while I know, I mean I really know, that she is not my Grams, she is in all the ways that matter. She loves her family. She loves her Jesus.

And even though these days her absence is larger than it was the night we sat with her in her death, I'm here to bear witness to things she would say if she were here: Love each other. Don't be silly. Only buy what you need. Trust Jesus. Chicken gizzards are delicious. Laugh until you cry. Study your Bible. Work hard. Rest. If there's even a bite left, save it. Tithe. Pray for the lost.

She's gone. And gone with her is a mountain of wisdom. Gone is her example of faith and strength. And while I know she wouldn't trade a moment of Heaven to be back here, today and yesterday and the day before that, I missed her. She would "nonsense" all this sentimentality that I've written. And I miss that too.