Unbelievably, after five days with no food or water, it was still rising.
But this time, just a few short hours later, her chest was no longer rising. In the wee hours of the morning on April 1st, 2020, all of her pain, all of her struggle, and all of our watching and praying was over.
My relationship with Grandma felt like getting to a party too late only to find crumbs where an adorned cake once stood. I was so craving a piece of cake. Instead, due to a combination of learned pretense and generational divide, then later, dementia, my only choice was to savor the crumbs.
Growing up, I didn’t see my Grandma often and knew her very little. As I became an adult however, I began to form my own relationship with her. The woman I began to know was beautiful, funny, and energetic. She was one of the hardest working women I knew. She would have had to be to survive a divorce in the 1950’s and purchase her own home as a single mother. One of eight children, raised on a farm in rural Kentucky, she went on to become the first female in management at General Motors. A perpetual list maker, she never sat still. If she wasn’t on the golf course, she was wearing a pair of heels, serving in philanthropic roles, headed out for a day of shopping, or enjoying dinner and dancing out on the town. She always had lipstick in hand and a tissue to blot, not even venturing to the mailbox without it. She was the picture of poise and civility and loved to lavish her grandchildren and great-grandchildren with gifts. But beneath her exquisite exterior was a woman deeply hurt. This caused her to be unnervingly calculated at times as she subconsciously tried to right the wrongs done to her and prove her worth. I longed to know my Grandma free of festering pain and pretense. Our conversations often left me pondering the same question: Is it possible to be fully known and loved?
The Bible reveals that the answer to this question is yes. But can this actually be believed? If so, can a truth like that make a difference in my life?
Psalm 139 says, "O Lord, you have examined my heart and know everything about me…You are acquainted with all of my ways."
In one sense, it is comforting to know that there is at least one person who really knows us. On the other hand, it is terrifying to know that there is one person who really knows us. He sees beneath our exterior, into the depths of our hearts.
Psalm 14:2-3 says, "The Lord looks down from heaven on the entire human race; he looks to see if anyone is truly wise, if anyone seeks God. But no, all have turned away; all have become corrupt. No one does good, not a single one!"
At the very beginning of humankind, the moment Adam and Eve ate of the tree of the knowledge of good and evil, there was birthed in all of us a propensity to sin and hide. There had been a garden full of trees with fruit of every kind and only one tree of which they could not eat. But, alas, the forbidden fruit is what they chose. Following their choice, shame entered their world and they hid.
From then on, we have followed in our early parent’s footsteps. We do this in a variety of ways and to various degrees. We hide away the bad, unsure, doubtful, sneaky, hard-hearted, selfish, and faithless parts of who we are. In essence, we walk away from God and His ways and try to form a righteousness on our own that will be good enough for heaven. We attempt to live life according to our ways.
Is there someone who can break this vicious cycle?
Romans 5:17 says, "For the sin of this one man, Adam, caused death to rule over many. But even greater is God’s wonderful grace and his gift of righteousness, for all who receive it will live in triumph over sin and death through this one man, Jesus Christ."
We can’t form a righteousness of our own to make us good enough for heaven. But we can receive the gift that God gives—His righteousness—found in the perfect Man, Jesus Christ.
Each spring, as the tulips are beginning to bloom and pastel candies fill the shelves, believers all over the world remember “Good Friday”—the horrible day in history when Jesus Christ, the King of kings, was falsely accused, mocked, scourged, spat on, abused, and nailed to a cross.
Our God left heaven to do that.
As I watched my Grandma slip away, I couldn’t escape the thought that my God faced death for me. He not only faced it, He conquered it, for me and all those who would believe. I do not know a greater love.
Romans 5:8 says it this way, “But God demonstrates His own love towards us, in that while we were still sinners, Christ died for us.”
My Grandma struggled to believe these truths for most of her life. The broken parts of herself and the pain she experienced seemed to be something to hide away. Ironically, the bits and pieces of her that I began to know made me love her all the more.
Years ago, when I was in college, I had an unexpected exchange with Grandma. I had sent her a letter seeking financial support and prayer for a mission trip I was going on to Brazil. I met with dozens of people and never had an encounter like the one I had with Grandma. She told me in no uncertain terms that she would not support me. She was offended that her precious granddaughter would call herself a sinner. In a later conversation, she told me she didn’t believe Jesus could have paid for all the sins of the world on the cross. He couldn’t have experienced everything she went through, she said. And plus the horrors she had seen in Africa were enough to prove to her that God couldn’t be good.
Looking back, her willingness to bare those vulnerable parts of her soul to me, admitting questions we surely all will face, is a precious memory and one that caused me to pray for Grandma and desire to know her all the more.
As our relationship grew, I learned of her deep heartache in relationships with men. My heart broke, but my love for her grew. It was an honor to read to her the children’s book, How Much Is A Little Girl Worth?, during her final days on earth. I wanted her to die knowing how treasured she was. I wanted her to know that the messages from her abusers were lies.
Over the last five years of her life, I would delicately tiptoe onto the topic of needing personal forgiveness for our sins. There are so many questions I don’t have answers to, but on this point I am sure. On my own, I could never be good enough to stand before a holy God.
Very early into her time at the nursing home, while sitting at her bedside, I said, “Don’t you just feel so messed up, Grandma?”
“Oh, yes!” she replied. It hadn't been easy to break her back and never come home again. The fear, the anger, the confusion. It was all so painful. Just like so many things before.
“Grandma, that messed-up part of us, all the wrong things we think and do, that is what sin is, that is what needs saving.”
She looked into my eyes with a knowing look of agreement before I lost her gaze and her mind drifted away. A different woman was emerging from underneath the beautiful outfits, makeup, and pretense that had been there before. In her place was a woman who struggled in the same ways I do. Why can’t I let this resentment go? Does anyone really love me or appreciate me? Why do I feel so insecure?
One day, we wheeled Grandma to the chapel at the nursing home where she lived. The kids were with me and running circles up the ramp, across the stage, and then leaping off the steps while my eldest played the piano. I decided I didn’t want to leave anything unsaid so I asked Grandma point blank if she would like to receive what Jesus did for her—His perfect life lived on her behalf and His death on the cross, taking the punishment she deserved. She looked up at the stained glass window and then back at me and said, “Well, I thought I already did.”
I immediately rejoiced with her. It was an honor to watch her soften and open to the beautiful truths of the Bible, even as her dementia took more and more of her away.
I will never know if Grandma returned to the Lord at the end of her life, or if it was her first time to come to Him free of pretense, tradition, and cynicism. All I know, is that the Grandma I visited over the last three years of her life, was not the same Grandma I had known all my life before. She was no longer hardened and defensive at the name of Jesus. She was open to God’s Word and welcomed me reading it.
Before we left the nursing home that day, I asked her if we could pray together. I don’t remember how it happened, but Grandma ended up praying. The kids all gathered around and she spoke a prayer over them. I had never heard her pray before that day. She spoke beautiful words flowing from a beautiful woman who had finally learned she was loved, not for how she looked or what she bought us, but simply for who she was.
One of the last discernible things Grandma said to me was, “Oh, Melissa, none of that [wealth, jewelry, fancy things] matters.” Physically, she was stripped of all of her earthly belongings. But instead of becoming calloused and bitter, the Grandma I saw, softened and became a witness to the truth of God’s Word, “For you were made from dust and to dust you will return.” I watched as she took a humble stance before her Maker.
Ecclesiastes 7:2 says, “It is better to enter a house of mourning than a house of feasting, since death is the end of every man, and the living should take this to heart.”
Most of us aren’t dementia patients in a nursing home, but due to an unforeseen worldwide pandemic we have been stripped of so much our hearts held dear. I pray what is left points us to the source of our true value. It is not found in our appearance, our titles, our jobs, or our wealth, but in the person of Jesus Christ.
How much are we worth? Worth Jesus giving His life.
I pray we all take to heart the brevity of our days and learn afresh to live humbly before our Maker. In Christ, death is defeated and our God reigns. May we learn from my Grandma and not waste another second wondering the answer to the question, “Can we be fully known and loved?” In the face of Jesus Christ, we hear the answer our hearts crave—a resounding “Yes!”
But this time, just a few short hours later, her chest was no longer rising. In the wee hours of the morning on April 1st, 2020, all of her pain, all of her struggle, and all of our watching and praying was over.
My relationship with Grandma felt like getting to a party too late only to find crumbs where an adorned cake once stood. I was so craving a piece of cake. Instead, due to a combination of learned pretense and generational divide, then later, dementia, my only choice was to savor the crumbs.
Growing up, I didn’t see my Grandma often and knew her very little. As I became an adult however, I began to form my own relationship with her. The woman I began to know was beautiful, funny, and energetic. She was one of the hardest working women I knew. She would have had to be to survive a divorce in the 1950’s and purchase her own home as a single mother. One of eight children, raised on a farm in rural Kentucky, she went on to become the first female in management at General Motors. A perpetual list maker, she never sat still. If she wasn’t on the golf course, she was wearing a pair of heels, serving in philanthropic roles, headed out for a day of shopping, or enjoying dinner and dancing out on the town. She always had lipstick in hand and a tissue to blot, not even venturing to the mailbox without it. She was the picture of poise and civility and loved to lavish her grandchildren and great-grandchildren with gifts. But beneath her exquisite exterior was a woman deeply hurt. This caused her to be unnervingly calculated at times as she subconsciously tried to right the wrongs done to her and prove her worth. I longed to know my Grandma free of festering pain and pretense. Our conversations often left me pondering the same question: Is it possible to be fully known and loved?
The Bible reveals that the answer to this question is yes. But can this actually be believed? If so, can a truth like that make a difference in my life?
Psalm 139 says, "O Lord, you have examined my heart and know everything about me…You are acquainted with all of my ways."
In one sense, it is comforting to know that there is at least one person who really knows us. On the other hand, it is terrifying to know that there is one person who really knows us. He sees beneath our exterior, into the depths of our hearts.
Psalm 14:2-3 says, "The Lord looks down from heaven on the entire human race; he looks to see if anyone is truly wise, if anyone seeks God. But no, all have turned away; all have become corrupt. No one does good, not a single one!"
At the very beginning of humankind, the moment Adam and Eve ate of the tree of the knowledge of good and evil, there was birthed in all of us a propensity to sin and hide. There had been a garden full of trees with fruit of every kind and only one tree of which they could not eat. But, alas, the forbidden fruit is what they chose. Following their choice, shame entered their world and they hid.
From then on, we have followed in our early parent’s footsteps. We do this in a variety of ways and to various degrees. We hide away the bad, unsure, doubtful, sneaky, hard-hearted, selfish, and faithless parts of who we are. In essence, we walk away from God and His ways and try to form a righteousness on our own that will be good enough for heaven. We attempt to live life according to our ways.
Is there someone who can break this vicious cycle?
Romans 5:17 says, "For the sin of this one man, Adam, caused death to rule over many. But even greater is God’s wonderful grace and his gift of righteousness, for all who receive it will live in triumph over sin and death through this one man, Jesus Christ."
We can’t form a righteousness of our own to make us good enough for heaven. But we can receive the gift that God gives—His righteousness—found in the perfect Man, Jesus Christ.
Each spring, as the tulips are beginning to bloom and pastel candies fill the shelves, believers all over the world remember “Good Friday”—the horrible day in history when Jesus Christ, the King of kings, was falsely accused, mocked, scourged, spat on, abused, and nailed to a cross.
Our God left heaven to do that.
As I watched my Grandma slip away, I couldn’t escape the thought that my God faced death for me. He not only faced it, He conquered it, for me and all those who would believe. I do not know a greater love.
Romans 5:8 says it this way, “But God demonstrates His own love towards us, in that while we were still sinners, Christ died for us.”
My Grandma struggled to believe these truths for most of her life. The broken parts of herself and the pain she experienced seemed to be something to hide away. Ironically, the bits and pieces of her that I began to know made me love her all the more.
Years ago, when I was in college, I had an unexpected exchange with Grandma. I had sent her a letter seeking financial support and prayer for a mission trip I was going on to Brazil. I met with dozens of people and never had an encounter like the one I had with Grandma. She told me in no uncertain terms that she would not support me. She was offended that her precious granddaughter would call herself a sinner. In a later conversation, she told me she didn’t believe Jesus could have paid for all the sins of the world on the cross. He couldn’t have experienced everything she went through, she said. And plus the horrors she had seen in Africa were enough to prove to her that God couldn’t be good.
Looking back, her willingness to bare those vulnerable parts of her soul to me, admitting questions we surely all will face, is a precious memory and one that caused me to pray for Grandma and desire to know her all the more.
As our relationship grew, I learned of her deep heartache in relationships with men. My heart broke, but my love for her grew. It was an honor to read to her the children’s book, How Much Is A Little Girl Worth?, during her final days on earth. I wanted her to die knowing how treasured she was. I wanted her to know that the messages from her abusers were lies.
Over the last five years of her life, I would delicately tiptoe onto the topic of needing personal forgiveness for our sins. There are so many questions I don’t have answers to, but on this point I am sure. On my own, I could never be good enough to stand before a holy God.
Very early into her time at the nursing home, while sitting at her bedside, I said, “Don’t you just feel so messed up, Grandma?”
“Oh, yes!” she replied. It hadn't been easy to break her back and never come home again. The fear, the anger, the confusion. It was all so painful. Just like so many things before.
“Grandma, that messed-up part of us, all the wrong things we think and do, that is what sin is, that is what needs saving.”
She looked into my eyes with a knowing look of agreement before I lost her gaze and her mind drifted away. A different woman was emerging from underneath the beautiful outfits, makeup, and pretense that had been there before. In her place was a woman who struggled in the same ways I do. Why can’t I let this resentment go? Does anyone really love me or appreciate me? Why do I feel so insecure?
One day, we wheeled Grandma to the chapel at the nursing home where she lived. The kids were with me and running circles up the ramp, across the stage, and then leaping off the steps while my eldest played the piano. I decided I didn’t want to leave anything unsaid so I asked Grandma point blank if she would like to receive what Jesus did for her—His perfect life lived on her behalf and His death on the cross, taking the punishment she deserved. She looked up at the stained glass window and then back at me and said, “Well, I thought I already did.”
I immediately rejoiced with her. It was an honor to watch her soften and open to the beautiful truths of the Bible, even as her dementia took more and more of her away.
I will never know if Grandma returned to the Lord at the end of her life, or if it was her first time to come to Him free of pretense, tradition, and cynicism. All I know, is that the Grandma I visited over the last three years of her life, was not the same Grandma I had known all my life before. She was no longer hardened and defensive at the name of Jesus. She was open to God’s Word and welcomed me reading it.
Before we left the nursing home that day, I asked her if we could pray together. I don’t remember how it happened, but Grandma ended up praying. The kids all gathered around and she spoke a prayer over them. I had never heard her pray before that day. She spoke beautiful words flowing from a beautiful woman who had finally learned she was loved, not for how she looked or what she bought us, but simply for who she was.
One of the last discernible things Grandma said to me was, “Oh, Melissa, none of that [wealth, jewelry, fancy things] matters.” Physically, she was stripped of all of her earthly belongings. But instead of becoming calloused and bitter, the Grandma I saw, softened and became a witness to the truth of God’s Word, “For you were made from dust and to dust you will return.” I watched as she took a humble stance before her Maker.
Ecclesiastes 7:2 says, “It is better to enter a house of mourning than a house of feasting, since death is the end of every man, and the living should take this to heart.”
Most of us aren’t dementia patients in a nursing home, but due to an unforeseen worldwide pandemic we have been stripped of so much our hearts held dear. I pray what is left points us to the source of our true value. It is not found in our appearance, our titles, our jobs, or our wealth, but in the person of Jesus Christ.
How much are we worth? Worth Jesus giving His life.
I pray we all take to heart the brevity of our days and learn afresh to live humbly before our Maker. In Christ, death is defeated and our God reigns. May we learn from my Grandma and not waste another second wondering the answer to the question, “Can we be fully known and loved?” In the face of Jesus Christ, we hear the answer our hearts crave—a resounding “Yes!”
