This is Our Story

The day that I was so sure was a few years off came early.  My Grandma, Helen Fern Erb, became a resident of heaven on Tuesday, February 16.  She spent her last days on vacation in Clearwater Beach, with the love of her life (my Grandpa) by her side.  

The shock is starting to wear off, and it almost seems a prophecy that was waiting to be fulfilled.  It was their twentieth year at Clearwater.  Grandma turned 87 on February 15.  They were scheduled to depart Florida for their home in Iowa on February 17.  Grandma was not fond of changing plans, and I can’t wait to see her again in heaven and verify what my gut is telling me……this woman wasn’t going to die on her birthday, and she certainly wasn’t going to cause a change in plans for their return to Iowa.    

The family gathered this week to honor her. Grandma was an only child who left a legacy of 6 children, 21 grandchildren, and 16 (and counting) great-grandchildren. She would have been thrilled with the 400 people who attended her visitation, and the 200 people at her funeral.  She would have laughed at the story my Dad (her firstborn) wrote and the pastor read.  My prayer is she felt appreciated and understood by the eulogy I delivered. 

Family gathered around Grandpa the evening after the funeral. The shell shock of losing his wife seems far worse than the fighting he survived during World War 2.  For the first time ever, there are breaks in conversation, moments of silence that had never before existed in my Grandparents living room.  My Grandma LOVED to talk, leaving my Grandpa unable to get a word in edgewise.  He never seemed to mind, resorting to his newspaper or birdwatching to break up the monotony of conversation. 

Now he looks longingly out the window towards my Grandma’s grave, just on the other side of the ravine.  And after a few minutes shares the story of how they first met.  With a little prompting, we hear about his childhood, the war, his lifelong best friend, and family road trips.  He finishes at 10:15, a full forty-five minutes past his bedtime, and declares, “Somebody should write this all down.”  

It’s good to remember during times of mourning.  Remembering seems like a prayer of thanks for all the blessings that God has bestowed.  And remembering is nothing new.  The Israelites “remembered” when God acted on their behalf by piling rocks to form an altar.  So, in a similar way, my hope is to create an altar of stories.  Each story honoring the incredible heritage I’ve been given, as well as the God who dreamt up each character, setting, and storyline.  

Big Daddy Weave sings it best in their song “My Story”:

If I told you my story You would hear hope that wouldn't let go If I told you my story You would hear love that never gave up If I told you my story You would hear life but it wasn't mine
If I should speak then let it be Of the grace that is greater than all my sin Of when justice was served and where mercy wins Of the kindness of Jesus that draws me in To tell you my story is to tell of Him This is my story this is my song praising my Savior all the day long

Remembering a Wonderful Woman

I had the honor of giving a eulogy for my Grandma Erb this week  I rehearsed on the drive from Colorado to Iowa, determined to keep my emotions at bay during the service.  My Aunt Brenda encouraged my cousins to take bets on my speech, and the odds didn't seem in my favor.  My weakness was apparent, which is where God thrives.  I made it on and off the stage without falling and was able to share the entire story without breaking down into a ball of tears.  Whew:-)

A hurricane hit Clearwater Beach two weeks ago.  It wasn’t featured on the national news or even the local news for that matter.  The hurricane (or stroke if you’re a stickler for medical terminology) hit my Grandma Erb with a force that reached all the way to Colorado and took my breath away.  I had just seen her at Christmas.  She was so full of life and stories.....Having recently heard of a gender reveal party, she declared that she had “seen it all” and that there couldn’t be anything more ridiculous!  It seems I was just swinging with her on the patio.  A Fareway grocery bag full of freshly picked green beans was nestled between us.  We both worked away at snapping them while she leaned over and shared snippits of gossip with me as if I were her lifelong girlfriend.  

I wasn’t always so close to my Grandma Erb, which was surprising since I grew up a mile down the road in the house that she grew up in, and I spent a large portion of my formative years at her house.  There were lots of toys and treats, but as I grew older, and more girly, I couldn’t identify with this woman who put practicality above style.  She would tug the comb through my long, tangled hair.  She never bought my birthday present from the stylish kids’ store in town.  She was a wonderful grandmother, but I didn’t feel I had much in common with her.  

The years passed and I became a wife and a mother.  Grandma still sported the same knit tops, seasonal vinyl table cloths on her kitchen table, and a twenty-year-old geranium that she kept going year round.  We were visiting Iowa and had big news to share.  Our family would be growing by two—TWINS!  Having birthed twins of her own, Grandma’s reaction to the news was to burst into laughter and declare that she would NEVER want to do that again!  Little did I know that this brash statement was the point where my heart would finally converge with hers.  

I had three boys in 22 months and six weeks later we moved across the country.  Life was hard.  Grandma had three stair-step boys, and then surprise twins!  She couldn’t figure out why canning was so hard that summer, until it was time to deliver and they discovered a bonus baby.  Grandpa worked midnights at a factory and farmed during the day.  Grandma was raising five kids virtually on her own.  Her life was hard.  She didn’t mince words with me.  “I did it, so you can do it too.”  And she was right.  I discovered a strength and resolve in myself that assured me I had received more than Grandma’s “twin” gene.  

The difficult days of mothering shook lose the superfluous parts of me.  I began to understand this practical Grandmother of mine.  She raised six children and multiple foster children in a house with one bathroom.  She lived her entire life on a farm.  Her childhood memories included the great depression.  World War 2 was the reality of her teenage years.  All of these striped Grandma of the traits that weren’t truly her.  She was simply the woman God created her to be.  A woman who worked harder and loved her family more than anyone else I know.  

Grandma’s work ethic was always  beyond reproach.  Just this last Christmas, she made potato salad, sloppy joe’s and sewit pudding for 50.  She was constantly canning, freezing, knitting, embroidering, and feeding. Her house was always busy with grandkids looking for fun and snacks, and farmers coming in for a glass of ice tea and a bit of neighborhood gossip.  Things slowed down a bit as the grandkids grew up, and farmers retired.  But there’s a standing pizza party on Friday nights, and the patio continues to be a gathering place on summer evenings.  

And so my mind is spinning and I catch my breath.  This woman, who has been a matriarch of steel for our family, has been called to her new home in heaven.  Our entire family is trying to grasp this as reality.  It doesn’t seem possible that my strong, outspoken Grandma who just hosted the entire family for Christmas is now no longer among us.  What could God’s plan be in all of this? 

I’ve been studying the book of Daniel recently.  Daniel 2:21-22 reminds us that God “changes the times and the seasons.  He sets up kings and deposes them.  He brings wisdom to the wise and knowledge to the discerning.  He reveals the meaning of deep and hidden things.  He knows what lies in darkness and light dwells with him.”   Daniel was no stranger to heartbreak and uncertainty.  He was taken prisoner from his homeland by the conquering Babylonians as a teenager, yet his faith in God remained intact.  We use flannel boards to teach our children his story because he trusted God despite a future that appeared dismal.  

My heart questions the timing of Grandma’s death.  Although she was 87 years old, it seems too early for her to be taken from us.  And I’m faced with the choice to question or to have faith in a God that created such a wonderful woman.  So I’m choosing to dig deep and find the genes of determination I inherited from her, and to use them to hold onto my faith.  

As my heart catches up to my mind’s knowledge of God’s perfect timing, it helps to remember of how fiercely independent Grandma was.  It brought her joy to serve her family.  It brought her joy to live in her own home, rocking in her favorite chair.  She loved to eat lunch at the Whistlestop.  She looked forward to her weekly breakfast with lifelong girlfriends.  She loved outings to see Christmas lights or to eat at the best café two counties over.  She was constantly traveling to visit friends in Chicago, family in Branson, or the beach in Florida.  Her face lit up every time one of her children or grandchildren stopped in for a visit.  She loved conversation…..And suddenly I catch a glimpse of God’s love for Grandma, and His perfect timing in taking her home to be with Him.  She never had to give up these things she loved so dearly.  

This realization helps assure me that God is in control.  His promise in Jeremiah 29:11 is to prosper us and not to harm us, to give us hope and a future.   Wouldn’t it be something if each of us chose to live out a future that shines the best parts of Grandma into the world?   Her devotion to her husband; her determination; her no-complaints work ethic; her unconditional love of family and friends.  It seems the perfect way to honor a woman who gave us so much.  The hurricane has passed and it’s time for the sun to shine again, through each of us.

Our Matriarch of Steel

A hurricane hit Clearwater Beach yesterday.  It wasn’t featured on the national news, or even the local news for that matter.  The hurricane (or stroke if you’re a stickler for medical terminology) hit my Grandma Erb with a force that has reached all the way to Colorado and taken my breath away.  I just saw her at Christmas.  She was so full of life and stories.  Having recently heard of a gender reveal party, she declared that she had “seen it all” and that there couldn’t be anything more ridiculous!  It seems I was just swinging with her on the patio.  A Fareway grocery bag full of freshly picked green beans was nestled between us.  We both worked away at snapping them while she leaned over and shared snippits of gossip with me as if I were her lifelong girlfriend.

I wasn’t always so close to my Grandma Erb, despite growing up a mile down the road and spending a significant portion of my formative years at her house.  There were lots of toys and treats, but as I grew older, and more girly, I couldn’t identify with this woman who put practicality above style.  She would tug the comb through my long, tangled hair.  She never bought my birthday present from the stylish kids’ store, Engledingers.  She was a wonderful grandmother, but I didn’t feel I had much in common with her.  

The years passed and I became a wife and a mother.  Grandma still sported the same knit tops, seasonal vinyl table cloths on her kitchen table, and a twenty-year-old geranium that she kept going year round.  We were visiting Iowa and had big news to share.  Our family would be growing by two—TWINS!  Having birthed twins of her own, Grandma’s reaction to the news was to burst into laughter and declare that she would NEVER want to do that again!  Little did I know that this brash statement was the point where my heart would finally converge with hers.  

I had three boys in 22 months and six weeks later we moved across the country.  Life was hard.  Grandma had three stair-step boys, and then surprise twins!  She couldn’t figure out why canning was so hard that summer, until it was time to deliver and they discovered a bonus baby.  Grandpa worked midnights at a factory and farmed during the day.  Grandma was raising five kids virtually on her own.  Her life was hard.  She didn’t mince words with me.  “I did it, so you can do it.”  And she was right.  I discovered a strength and resolve that assured me I had received more than Grandma’s “twin making” gene.  

The difficult days of mothering shook lose the superfluous parts of me.  I began to understand this practical Grandmother of mine.  She raised six children and multiple foster children.  She lived her entire life on a farm.  Her childhood memories included the great depression.  World War 2 was the reality of her teenage years.  All of these striped Grandma of the traits that weren’t truly her.  She was simply the woman God created her to be.  A woman who worked harder and loved her family more than anyone else I know. 

Grandma’s work ethic has always been beyond reproach.  Just this last Christmas, she made potato salad, sloppy joe’s and sewit pudding for 50.  She was constantly canning, freezing, knitting, embroidering, and feeding. Her house was always busy with grandkids looking for fun and snacks and farmers coming in for a glass of ice tea and a bit of neighborhood gossip.  Things slowed down a bit as the grandkids grew up, and farmers retired.  But there’s a standing pizza party on Friday nights, and the patio continues to be a gathering place on summer evenings.  

And so my mind is spinning and I catch my breath.  This woman, who has been a matriarch of steel for our family, is lying in a hospital bed by the ocean.  Our entire family is trying to grasp this as reality.  It doesn’t seem possible that my strong, outspoken Grandma who just hosted the entire family for Christmas can now be so lifeless.  What could God’s plan be in all of this? 

I’ve been studying the book of Daniel, which reminds us that God “changes the times and the seasons.  He sets up kings and deposes them.  He brings wisdom to the wise and knowledge to the discerning.  He reveals the meaning of deep and hidden things.  He knows what lies in darkness and light dwells with him.” (Daniel 2:21-22)  Daniel was taken prisoner from his homeland by the conquering Babylonians as a teenager.  Talk about heartbreak and uncertainty, and yet his faith in God remained intact.  We use flannel boards to teach our children his story because he trusted God despite a future that appeared dismal.  

The future of my Grandma seems dismal right now.  And I’m faced with the choice to question or to have faith.  So I’m choosing to dig deep and find the genes of determination I inherited from her, and to use them to hold onto my faith.  God is in control of this situation.  He has plans to prosper us.  He has plans for our hope and our future (Jeremiah 29:11).  I am determined to hold tight to this sweet promise.