Friday, November 9, 2007

My grandmother "blossomed" this morning

Dorothy Nell (MawMaw) "blossomed" earlier today. An excerpt from Max Lucado's Traveling Light explains it like this:
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Aging is God's idea. It's one of the ways he keeps us headed homeward. What if we looked at the aging body as we look at the growth of a tulip? Do you ever see anyone mourning over the passing of a tulip bulb? Do gardeners weep as the bulb begins to weaken? Of course not. We don't mourn the passing of the bulb; we celebrate it. Tulip lovers rejoice the minute the bulb weakens. "Watch that one," they say. "It's about to blossom."

Could it be heaven does the same? The angels point to our bodies. The more frail we become the more excited they become."Watch that lady in the hospital," they say. "She's about to blossom."

These bodies are weak. They began decaying the minute we began breathing. And, according to God, that's a part of the plan. Every wrinkle and every needle take us one step closer to the last step when Jesus will change our simple bodies into forever bodies. No pain. No depression. No sickness. No end.

This is not our forever house. It will serve for the time being. But there is nothing like the moment we enter his door. ..By that moment only one bag will remain. Not guilt. It was dropped at Calvary. Not the fear of death. It was dropped at the grave. The only lingering luggage will be this God-given longing for home. And when you see him, you'll set it down...you'll drop your longing when you see your Father. Those you love will shout. Those you know will applaud. But all the noise will cease when he cups your chin and says, "Welcome home." And with scarred hand he'll wipe every tear from your eye. And you will dwell in the house of your Lord - forever.
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God led me right to this exact page when I picked up this book a little while ago. He is so faithful to give me words when I am at a loss for them. On Sunday I had the honor of telling my grandmother that her first born, my dad, has been waiting for her in heaven. See, she's been sick for a while and when Dad tried to visit her one last time before he died, she didn't recognize him for all the weight he had lost. She had not known and understood that he had died before her. I thought she needed to know. I thought it might help her to let go. So Sunday, I looked into eyes that so strongly resembled my dad's eyes and I told her that her son was waiting and wanting for her to come. I told her that he would wrap his big arms around her for a hug and that his cheeks would be huge from the smile on his face. She looked into my eyes intently and made several quiet noises and at one point she even tried to lean a little toward me and make a longer, louder noise. She understood. I could tell by the look in her eyes. How horribly sad to lose a child, but how joyous for him to greet you when you make it home. I know they are very happy together now. As I looked down upon the face of my grandmother last night, and whispered a last little whisper, I thought about what a beautiful moment she had come to. Just a little bit longer. Almost there. For just a few more hours. And then home with my father and our Father and so many that love her. How beautiful. She blossomed.

4 comments:

carrie said...

Very beautifully written. You and your family are in my prayers.

tamara said...

I am thinking about you and your family. She is at rest now.

Erika said...

I know they are very happy now. Your family is in my prayers.

Gina said...

This is so beautiful, I don't even know what to say. But I can only imagine the joyous reunion they had. Thank you for writing about this - something so personal - it is a perspective that I rarely hear, but want to hear so much more of.