Dwelling In The House

"...surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life, and I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever." Psalm 23

We said good-bye to Grandmother yesterday.

It was really, by no means, a sad good-bye. The family is grieving, yes, as we all do during times of personal loss of a loved one. But Grandmother was 97 years old and had long been ready to go see Jesus and her long lost loved ones that had gone on before -- most of them several decades before. It was her time.

It was the first real touch of death of a loved one for Coby and Melody, and it was tough. I remember growing up -- I was probably about Melody's age actually -- when my great-grandfather died. I don't ever remember seeing him alive, but I will forever remember the thoughts I had when I saw him at the funeral home. It was surreal. But a few months later my grandfather passed away, and that really hit me hard, even at the tender age of nine or so.

Grandmother passed away peacefully last Wednesday night, in the nursing home where she'd lived the last few years. Up until about a month or so ago, you'd never have known she was three years shy of a clean 100. Actually, about 2 1/2. She was as strong and active as I'd ever seen from someone of that age, but the last couple of weeks her tired body just gave out. She was struggling the last couple of days of her life, and we were all dreading a long-drawn out, suffering type of passing, but when the end came, she simply relaxed and went on to heaven.

We fully believe Grandmother never knew she was gone. She was immediately taken up to heaven and greeted first by Jesus. That's what the Bible promises us, for people who are His children. And Grandmother was definitely that. She was as sweet as you could ever imagine, and she loved being who she was -- that is, a mother and grandmother.

Jeannie was very close to her, as were all her grandchildren. To others outside the family, she was Eugenia -- the country girl who was raised in a different time, a different era. As the pastor said at the funeral, life was different back then, and Eugenia came through that period and was now living in a world that, really, has changed so much it's hard to understand.

But to the family, particularly my wife and kids, she was simply Grandmother. All my blood grandparents passed away several years ago, but I was perhaps closest to my Mamaw, my dad's mother. When she passed, no matter that she was in her late 80s and had been stricken with Alzheimer's for years, which basically took the person we knew and loved for so long away from us, it hurt. There was the feeling of near-relief, but I knew that she was in a better place, a place she'd longed for for years.

Grandmother had become "Grandmother" to me as well. She treated me just like anyone else and was as good to me as gold. I will miss her personally, and not just because she cooked the greatest fish or hot-water cornbread or pot of turnip greens you'll ever taste. I'll miss her because she made sure I never wore a hat at the dinner table. I'll miss her because she always said what she thought, at any moment, and said it with conviction -- but never seemed to hurt anyone's feelings by doing it. I'll miss her because my wife loved her with every bit of her being, and now Jeannie's hurting and has to overcome the loss. I'll miss her because of who she was.

Grandmother is living forever, though. She will live in our hearts forever here on earth, but she will live forever in the House of the Lord. And somewhere up there, although it's been less than a week but seems like an eternity, she's already cooking deep-fried cornbread and turnip greens, and drinking a Pepsi.

Dwelling in the House.

Just How Big Is A Mustard Seed?

"Then the disciples came to Jesus privately and said, 'Why could we not cast it out?' He said to them, 'Because of your little faith. For truly I tell you, if you have faith the size of a mustard seed, you will say to this mountain, 'Move from here to there,' and it will move; and nothing will be impossible for you." Matthew 17:19-20

I had one of those moments again this week, for the trillionth time in my 39-year-old-and-counting life.

Nope, not a senior moment. I'm still a few years away from those I hope.

This was a moment that happens all too often in my life. It's a struggle I have to deal with almost daily, actually.

Faith. It's my weakness. I have started to learn over the years that it's part of my makeup, my personality, the way God Himself created me I guess... to want things done a certain way. What I really mean by this is simply that I want to control things. I like life to cruise along on the open highway, with soft music coming into my ears and no roadblocks or highway patrol ahead. I don't like traffic lights because they slow me down from where I'm supposed to be going. I don't like drivers who go below the speed limit because, again, I can't get to where I'm supposed to be going fast enough. That's just the kind of person I am.

That's why I was having a miserable start to the past week. It all started, really, with working Saturday night down in Seguin at an ETBU football game, then driving (or riding, actually) throughout the night and finally putting my head on my soft pillow at home around 5:30 a.m. or so on Sunday morning. That knocked out church, as it turned out, altogether, and I hadn't regained enough strength sufficiently enough to get up off the couch and go that night either.

So lack of sleep might have had something to do with my foul mood. It didn't help matters that Jeannie came home from church with the car smoking, literally, well, almost literally. The temperature gauge was all the way to the H and upon further inspection, there was a pool of water/coolant on the garage floor. Nothing was left in the radiator or coolant reservoir, a sure sign that something was amiss with the Camry.

Now, I know how to do one thing with a car -- put gas in it. That's it. So I began searching for a mechanic on Monday, which is like searching for a dentist to do root canal without anesthetic. You know it has to be done, but by gosh, you know it's gonna hurt something fierce.

That's when I had my moment. We were riding on empty in the bank account again, as always it seems, between paydays. Jeannie and I get fired up about two days before payday every couple of weeks because we know our purgatory is about to end if only briefly. Then a couple of days later reality sets in and we trudge on through to the next date circled on the calendar.

But with all things considered this weekend, I'd had enough. Hundreds of dollars, if not thousands, were going to be needed to fix the vehicle. We didn't have ten in the bank account. I was staying home from work for the day because Abby was enjoying another runny nose and cough. I had all kinds of work to do on Mondays, which is my busiest day in the office with paperwork and catching up from the weekend. And on, and on, and on --

Things weren't going according to my plan. And I don't like that. In no uncertain terms I mentioned this to God, quite loudly, in the comfort of my own home. Why can't we catch a break? Why can't we ever get ahead? Why does this have to happen to me, Lord? Why don't you ever let me in on what you've got going up there?...

I got no answer, again. I am battling with that personally now, and I ask for all my friends and family who might read this blog occasionally to remember me in your prayers. I know God is there. I know He listens to me. I just wish every now and then I could get something audible in return, something I can hold on to and know that everything is going to be alright.

But wait a minute. That's just not how God operates. You see, and I'm trying to learn this and hold on to it, but my own flesh -- my personality -- is screaming for something else, but God doesn't want us to know what He's doing because then it takes faith out of the occasion. God gives us every little blessing He has to offer, more than we will ever know, see or imagine. I am guilty of this as much as anyone, of taking God for granted and just expecting him to give me and my family our health, our home, any sort of measly little wealth we might have now or forever.

But he doesn't come right out and tell us this. Why? Because he wants us to trust him. He wants us to have faith in Him. It doesn't take much -- just enough to grow mustard apparently. In case you're wondering about the title, a mustard seed is pretty small. But Jesus went on to say that faith the size of a mustard seed can move mountains.

A mountain got moved for me this week. Yesterday, I got a call from the mechanic and that problem I was expecting to have with the only vehicle we own that can transport my whole family at once -- water pump, oil leak, blown engine, for all I knew -- was just a leaking gasket and something called a freeze plug. Total cost: $169.17. And it just so happens that my lovely, popular wife was bringing home some extra cash this week from her gig at ETBU, so when you ring it all up, we've got a few hundred extra dollars to spare as of this moment.

I didn't see it coming Monday. Or even Tuesday, for that matter. But God never had any doubt. He's the Master Mechanic. And once again I feel as small as a mustard seed for knowing, but not believing.

Thank you Lord, for coming through again. That keeps the coming through ratio at 100 percent for life.