Grandmother

Last weekend I went home for my grandmother's memorial service. It wasn't an unexpected passing: cancer had been eating away at her body for months. But that doesn't make it any easier. In fact, I think because it was cancer (and not old age), I have moments of being angry, of feeling like she was stolen from us too soon. And yet, I know that she lived a wonderful 85 years and came to a point where she was ready to die. 85 sounds old, but to me, she was always young. She had a young spirit to her, a youthful smile.

I spoke at her funeral, a new experience for me. Here are a few highlights of what I said...
My grandmother was a classy lady. She always looked nice, had great taste, and was so graceful. And yet, she was also down to earth. The same woman who dined at the country club also picked up snakes in her garden. Once she saw a large snake slither down her hallway and into her bedroom closet, not to be found. When asked how she could go to sleep that night, knowing the snake was there somewhere, she responded with "I just pretend I'm camping."

The grandkids all remember riding around town with her in her little red convertible, easter egg hunts in her yard, choosing our own pumpkins from her garden, and countless Christmases and family dinners at her house.

My personal favorite memories...
She and I used to get up early when we were on vacation at the beach. Before the rest of the family woke up, we would go for walks on the beach, looking for sand dollars.

When I was 16 and learning to drive, she arrived at my house one day and had me drive her around to do her errands so that I could practice driving.

In college when I got a tattoo, she told me that she had one, too. After a month or two of me not knowing if I should believe her or not, one day she came to my house. She lifted her skirt to reveal a rose tattoo on her outer thigh. Then she said, "I showed you mine, now you show me yours." I did, and she made a few comments about how nice it was. Then, with a sly smile on her face, she said, "Mine comes off with soap and water, how are you going to get yours off?"
(I didn't tell that story at her funeral)

That's a bit of who my grandmother was.

Now I am coming to terms with the finality of death. Yes, I know that as Christians, death does not get the final word. For that, I am deeply grateful. But for now, in this world, death is final. I can't call her or send her a note. I won't see her at Christmas. I can't ask her questions about that picture of her playing pool surrounded by soldiers. I can't have her tell me the story of how she and grandfather first met. She can't teach me how to make a quilt (although she did help me start one when I was in college). I don't know if it's fully sunk in yet. At her funeral, I kept expecting to see her--her family and friends were all gathered, surely she should have been there.

Many of her friends approached me afterwards and told me that they'd heard so much about me and that she was so proud of me. I wanted to ask them to tell me everything she'd said, as if I could get one last word from her, one last message. Instead, I just smiled.

I asked my mom if it was wrong for me to think I was Grandmother's favorite, because sometimes I do. But then, I started thinking about each of my cousins, and how I've seen them each interact with her. And I could imagine them each thinking the same thing. And I guess that's another gift that she gave each of us--that feeling that we are each loved deeply and are so special to her.

This post is long, and significantly more meaningful for me than for anyone else who might read it, so I suppose I should end.

Here's to my grandmother, a woman I hope to emulate as I grow older.

Reserved Parking

Maybe you have noticed that many parking lots now not only have parking reserved for those with disabilities, but also for new or expectant parents. This is nice, although it doesn't affect me.

But, the other day I pulled into the parking lot of our neighborhood grocery store and saw a spot reserved for "Those who floss daily." I passed it by because, well, I don't. But then there was another one: "Those who eat their vegetables." And then an even better one: "Those with a sweet tooth." Finally, parking reserved for me.

The Art of Camping

In my family, there is a right way and a wrong way to do pretty much everything. And when I say "pretty much everything," I would point to the fact that in the not too distant past, I was told I cut my toast wrong. I have tried to throw off many of these stifling expectations...because, really, I don't think it really matters if I fill up the left side of the sink or the right side of the sink to wash my dishes.

But there is at least one area in which I hold on to the rules with all my might: Camping. There really are rules for camping. And, because I happened to be camping next to a number of people this past weekend who seem not to have been taught these rules, I'd like to share a few.

First, a definition. I know this one is hotly debated, and you are free to disagree. But, really, camping involves a tent (or perhaps no form of shelter). Sleeping in an RV or a trailer just isn't camping. You are welcome to sleep in such vehicles, but don't pretend that you are camping.

Now, onto the rules...

1. Respect others who are camping nearby. So, if you are in a campground, realize that there are other people also camping near you. They probably don't want to hear your favorite music all day. Actually, if they are true campers, they don't want to hear your music at all. And, really, why did you even bring your stereo to begin with? If you just want to sit in a lawn chair, listen to the radio, and drink beer...stay in your own backyard. If you can't stand to be without noise for a whole day, then maybe you're not quite ready for camping. And, really, fireworks at midnight? People are trying to sleep...or at least enjoy their own campfire. Oh, and I, personally, don't want to hear you belch as loud as you can as you're walking by my campsite.

2. If you need to drink alcohol, that's fine...just don't get drunk. Again, if you need to get wasted while you're camping, you probably just aren't ready to camp. Stay home and drink your heart out.

3. Leave your campsite cleaner than when you arrived. This includes picking up your beer bottle lids and taking that bag of dirty diapers down out of the tree.

4. Enjoy being outside. Enjoy the fire. Enjoy the food. Read good books. Have good conversations. Take a hike. Be willing to jump in the cold lake. Be helpful and friendly to those you pass in the camp ground.

There are, I'm sure, other rules--like what to use or not use when starting a fire, putting out a fire before you go to bed, and things along the lines of how to not get hypothermia or poison ivy, and how to respond to wild life--but let's just start with these 4 easy rules.

Bugged

Things that bug me...

• Paying $4.50 to try a new drink at a coffee shop and having it be seriously disgusting...and then paying another $1.50 (all that's left in my wallet) for a peppermint tea that I don't really want, because I want something hot to drink. GRRR.

• The use of the phrase "lady friend." Seriously, can we please stop using this phrase unless we are talking about people in their 70's? Especially when talking about someone in his 20's, as in "Well, now that he's got himself this lady friend..." (actual quote)...because it makes me think of leisure suits and cougars.

Funny, those are the only two things I can think of right now that bug me. Bad expensive drinks and lady friends. (And drinking bad expensive drinks with your lady friend). But apparently, they really bug me, because I just had to write about them.

I have been negligent in writing lately. Many thoughts and ideas have competed for their chance to make it onto my blog, but only when I am nowhere near my computer.

So, a few updates...

We have moved! Last Sunday we officially ended our two years of living on campus. With the help of some very generous friends (and a stranger or two), we packed up, loaded up, cleaned out, and moved in. Our new place is a cute little two bedroom house with hardwood floors and tiny closets (at least, compared to the giant space I had for clothes in our old place). There's a bit of a retro mirror in the kitchen--right in the corner of the cabinets. Jon's comment on this was: "That's convenient--I know you'll want to make sure you look good while you're making my dinner." Relax, my feminist friends, Jon does a good portion of our cooking. So far, we are enjoying our new abode. Visitors are welcome...as long as you're not a creepy internet stalker.

A recent adventure of mine was to attend a conference in Grand Rapids for a worship grant the school had received last year. It was such a refreshing and life-giving few days. One thing that really struck me was everyone's eagerness to connect with each other. Usually at these types of conferences, people are given name tags and tend to wear them for the first day. At this conference, everyone wore their name tag until the bitter end. When I'd sit down next to someone, there was instant conversation about real issues surrounding worship and ministry. Have you ever networked at a conference in your swim suit? Yeah, well, I did. The first night there was a poolside reception...which I thought would mean standing around the pool talking...oh no, it meant taking turns on the water slide! Slightly a strange experience to meet people at a conference and talk shop while you're swimming. "Hi, nice to meet you, I'm in my swim suit." It was a great conference. I came home with lots of ideas and things to think about...and lots of new books. I'll be spending the next month reading as much as I can about worship because I am teaching a course on the theology of worship this year.

Other than that, I am planning my upcoming ordination service, trying to figure out why we own so much random stuff (and why Jon has all of his bank statements dating back to 1994), and enjoying the warm weather (summer had FINALLY arrived here).