Beauty of Life

Part of the beauty of our lives, 

is that we survive it all; 

the mistakes, 

the happenstance, 

other people's choices.

Speaker for the Dead

Ever read Orson Scott Card's Speaker for the Dead? It is the very end of the Ender Games series. So Ender goes where asked and researches and speaks the full truth of the dead's life. The beauty in the speaking is finding the humanity in the mistakes and lives of the dead.

I feel that I am attempting to do that for my Grandmother, preparing to share her history at her celebration of life. But, unfortunately, I do not have the time to interview all involved and search up the truth of all her actions. For much we know only as much as public record searches will reveal. Which on the parts of her life she spoke the least about, so do the records.

Unfortunately, we end up editing her life. How sad, to edit a life. Some may feel we are doing this to make it "Acceptable" or"safe". but that is not the purpose. All of her mistakes, all of her hard times made her into what she is. They all gave her experience and will ultimately work for her good.

But, unlike Ender, I only have about 10 minutes to speak, not unlimited time. But I will endeavor to speak her truth, which like all lives, ultimately point to the beauty of the great plan, the plan of happiness, of redemption through Christ of both sin and death.

Grief

Today I helped to pick flowers for my Grandma's funeral.

There is something about standing, your head bowed while trying to make decisions for something you always knew you'd have to face, but never hoped to.

We flipped through flower books, casket sprays, stand displays, table arrangements. Choosing colors, themes, flowers, that reflect the life and heart of the one you dearly love. We started the night before, working with the family that are flying in in a  few days, hearing their ideas, sharing pictures.

Grandma was pink. Not light pink, not bright pink, but all pinks at once and intermingling. She was as pure and innocent and gentle as a daisy, blooming on roadsides, in fields. Authentic in her truth, no matter where she told it.

Standing next to my mom, being gentle in our words as not to draw tears. We worked together, again in preparations for her funeral Celebration of Life. I am glad to have my mother with me. We provide comfort to each other. At least I didn't lose my mom. One day that will most likely happen, but for now, I am side by side with her, as we work through this process. As I learn how to do it one day for her.

There is something interesting about grief. How well it hides, perhaps behind your ear, until it breaks forth into songs of sorrow, joy, redemption. Breaks forth into tears, the leak unbidden, from the deep wells your eyes have become.

It is like a weight that hangs on your back, maybe in your heart, that you carry it with you and it doesn't disappear when you shower, and you can't get under it with soap either.

I suppose that over time, the weight gets easier to bear, we strengthen from the carrying of it, but at the same time it puts the extra stress on your knees, our hearts.

Grief isn't easy, but somehow it happens, whether we try to ignore it or not. Somehow it is just one more scar that adds character to our personality.

But yet, in the end, does it make a difference if we grieve? Does joy swallow up sorrow? Does gratitude replace uncertainty? Is human frailty made strong in Christ? Does death lose its mighty sting in the resurrection?

Shall we all not dance again together, in the streets?