She gave me my first sewing machine and many practical unmentionables. She also gave me metabolism vitamins and many a Christian dating book. There was never a celebratory occasion that she wasn't rife with gifts for me or whomever happened to be the honoree. She often told me that she was praying for me, and I believe she was faithful to do so. When we lived in Florida, I remember she would always look forward to having neighbor kids over to her house to tell them about Jesus. I even remember her gathering craft supplies from bins in a closet so they could take home a specially hand-crafted memento. Every card she sent or gave me was not full of her own words of encouragement, but a simple signature (and maybe a "praying for you") because the words of the card itself said what she wanted to convey. The woman packed 900+ boxes for Operation Christmas Child over the last decade or so! Every child for whom she gave was exposed to the Gospel--all NINE HUNDRED. Practical. Thoughtful. Generous. That's the Grandma I will strive to remember. But as with any human, that's not the whole story. The truth is that I felt like a lot of times I wasn't living up to her standards. I wasn't the perfect granddaughter who went out of her way to spend time with her, and honestly, I felt like she didn't really understand me. I didn't get married young and give her great-grandkids to enjoy. I didn't become a missionary to a foreign land like she was. I didn't stick around the family or come visit as often as she probably would have liked. Now that's a lot of assumptions right there. A lot of transference of my own expectations and certainly a lot of pride. I am ashamed to admit that I was actually okay with this arrangement: me avoiding her as a way to have some semblance of power in the relationship. Fear was the driving force for my evasion. Those walls of supposed protection to keep her out were not completely without justification from where I sat. Good intentions on her end often spewed forth in negativity on my hyper-sensitive heart, which resulted in my efforts to fortify the barriers around it. I remember the first time I realized that I have her cheek bones. That thought was quickly followed by one about cosmetic surgery to change them to distance myself from her even more. What a despicable thing to have considered! Especially because she was a physically lovely woman. And then there was the moment it dawned on me that I like to give gifts too. I love for them to fit the occasion and be "just the right thing." It was starting to become a scary thing, our similarities. The real kicker was when I realized that she too had a heart for sharing the love of Jesus in a creative way. Bins of craft supplies can be found in my closets too. How was I supposed to cope with what was staring me in the face? I am a lot like her. My Grandma was a hard person for me to love. At the funeral, I heard a woman describe my Grandma as her best friend. It was as if the Lord was reminding me that the same person can elicit a completely different response from one person to another. Maybe I failed to love her because I was incapacitated by my fear that she would be passively biting with her words or disapproving in her response to me. Maybe when I was around her, I lost sight of the shield that the Love of God provides for me. Regardless of how I felt she was toward me, I did not as Jude says: "keep [myself] in the love of God" (v. 21). And instead of being able to feel safe and secure in His arms, I only felt vulnerably exposed and took everything as an attack. That is not the way I want to live or love. So, what did I learn about love from my Grandma? Small things add up, kindness counts, and the smallest act of thoughtfulness has profound reverberations; and therefore, none of it is wasted. Sometimes giving what is needed is better than giving what is wanted. And GIVE. From whatever resources you have, you reflect the abundant love of Christ when you are generous with your time, money, energy and talents. And you know what else? Persevere. Keep yourself in the love of God so that you can best share it with others. Grandma, I know you are thoroughly enjoying heaven right now. I just wanted to say thank you for teaching me so many things directly and indirectly about love. Jesus, thank you for using your daughter Fayette to impact your younger daughter, and I ask that you that you would help me apply these truths for your glory.
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For better or for worse, I have one of those faces that is incapable of hiding its true emotions. I used to resent that; now I accept it as a gift from the Lord, thanking Him for ensuring that I would ever be vulnerable yet remaining safe in Him. That's a pretty great place to be. It's actually part of what I am learning about love. I know what insecurity, fear and anger, and anxiety look like on my face, but when those emotions are redeemed by the Love of God, then peace, rest and confidence are compelled to make the right kind of lines all over it. Yes, this last month, I barely recognized myself. Where was this joy coming from? Why did I just want to talk to Him about everything? Is this the fruit the Word talks about that comes from abiding in Him? I should be freaking out about being homeless again soon; why isn't fretting the ticker tape of my everyday? Something is going on, and I think it has a lot to do with the CERTAINTY of His Love for me. I read this verse in 2 John the other day right at the beginning where John says that he was writing to a church "whom [he] love[d] in truth." Something about that struck me. There must be a way to love in falsehood if there is a way to love in truth. I feel like this is not necessarily new information. It lines up with the exposure the Ephesians undergo as seen in Revelation 2:4 "You have abandoned your first love." John was rightfully identifying (and by extension encouraging them to correct) their misguided placement of their affection. In some ways, who can blame them? Isn't there fierce competition for our affection these days? We divest our energy and attention nearly every moment until we are spread thin in every regard (emotionally, physically, spiritually, mentally) and given Him our leftovers rather than our firstfruits. I have been guilty of this kind of second-rate, dare I say, chintzy kind of love. But the kind of love that John had for the church was utterly SINCERE. Totally genuine not only in words, but in practice. It was real. (That he had to clarify its sincerity only proves how much times have not changed.) This led me to my next realization: Love can only be real when it comes from the Author of it. There is no other actual source of love. All others pale. I need to know how He loves me if I am ever to love Him back and show it through the viaduct of the people He puts in my path. Isn't it crazy how Scripture somehow seems to gain truth strength as you mature in Christ? Like, how simple is this: "We love because He first loved us" (1 John 4:19). What was once merely a cause and effect has now become this ever-expanding phenomenon as I recognize the contrast between Source and Object. I am so thankful that He was willing to show me the authenticity of His love for me at the cross, to show me all of the literal and sacrificial nuances, spreading His arms wide open to be able to embrace me. I would be remiss if didn't mention the verse I have been chewing on in Ephesians: "Walk in love as Christ loved us and gave Himself up for us as a fragrant offering and sacrifice to God." (5:2) The aroma of His love that pleased His Father was not a mystery. He made it VERY CLEAR that we were the ones for whom He was willing to die. While we were dead, he died so that through His life we too could have life (See Romans 5:8, 6:4). Love really is a matter of FACT. That's TRUE love. That's MY Love. |
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