"She lived her loves." Reflections on Grandma's life

Yesterday we remembered and buried David's grandmother, Margaret (Peg) Mary Theising--October 27, 1916 to December 4, 2010. She lived 94 years of a full life. David and I have had many conversations, reflecting on Grandma (she was a grandma to me, as well) and her impact on our lives. Yesterday, David put words to what we witnessed in her: "She lived her loves."

Grandma lived her loves. She took effort and initiative to pursue and enjoy what brought her the most pleasure: family and friends, good food, fishing, nature, ceramics, nice things and good books. (Up until a few months ago, Grandma was a regular patron of the Mooresville library, often reading a couple of books a week!) Many of David's and my loves today were influenced by Grandma and Grandpa's loves. (They introduced me to a love of birds, for those who know that about me.) What we love says much about us. What Grandma loved gave shape to her beautiful soul and beautiful life.

Two hours before Grandma died, David witnessed a peculiar, once-in-a-lifetime sight. He was shoveling snow, heard a loud, wild sound above his head and saw 50 or more white egret flying in an arc. They were heading southwest (the direction of Mooresville). After we found out that Grandma had died, he reflected on that experience and wrote this poem. He gave me permission to share it with you.

I am 

sad

yet happy

The life

lived before me

lives on

Replenished

Exhaled

A wild migration

accompanied

by 50 great winged ones

The simple and true one

gone

Positivity, optimism

departed

Yet lingering long,

an unforgettable

perfume

remains,

surrounds,

breathed in

as a kiss.

Another artist

of exotic cooking,

ceramics and canning

A reader of stories

who mended her mind

with determined pleasure

A woman in waders

or furs

risking desire unafraid.

My history

merges with so many others

with her

most of all

today.

Her story woven

in treasured

memories, photographs,

furnishings and trinkets.

A life has a halo

an after effect

that changes

we who watch.

Changes we who are touched

by a grace

seldom seen.

Breathe again

united to deeper loves

Rest in renewed

peace

Strengthened and carried

to love

and live

Unrestrained,

unfiltered

both

here and

where-ever

The first volume

finished

The pen returned

the tale savored

and retired

with a smile.

12/5/2010 (Grandma Theising is gone.)

 

Thanksgiving Reflections 2010

I'm full. Very full. And it's undeniable that I ate too many carbs and calories over the holidays. But the fullness I'm talking about isn't from over indulging. It's from enjoying an unusually wonderful time with our family this Thanksgiving. We're at a sweet time--all four of our kids are young adults, all living in Indianapolis and we are experiencing the pleasure of adult relationships. We have one adorable grandson, Eli. He's fourteen months old and we are absolutely smitten! We followed tradition and ate turkey and pumpkin pie and hung leaves on our Thanksgiving tree. We listened to David pray and read a poem he wrote. We played a game and watched Toy Story 3. We laughed, told stories, snuggled and teased. We reenacted the rituals that have defined our Thanksgivings for many years. I am full because I participated in them. I am full because I am so grateful for my family.

30 Days of Smell

Day 19: Campfire


Last night, as I laid my head on the pillow, a cloud of smoky smell drifted by my nose and floated off into the air, carried by the cool breeze floating in through the open windows. In other circumstances, the scent of smoke would have alarmed me. It didn’t last night because I knew immediately what it was from. Over the weekend, we went camping with some friends, partaking in the ritual of campfire (no s’mores, however) and sleeping under the stars. I had forgotten to change our pillowcases.

After we came home on Saturday and I took a shower, I remember smelling the strong aroma of campfire as the water rinsed over my body. It’s interesting how we can be covered in the stench of smoke but not know it. It seeps into our pores, absorbed by our hair and clothes. Smoke soaks into us like a filmy residue, often difficult to eliminate—as those who have had a house fire can attest.

Do you remember the story of Daniel and his two friends who were thrown into the fiery furnace? After they were brought out, unscathed by the fire, “the high officers, officials, governors, and advisers crowded around them and saw that the fire had not touched them. Not a hair on their heads was singed, and their clothing was not scorched. They didn’t even smell of smoke” (Daniel 3:27)!

I thought about this story, as I smelled lingering smoke. I have been through a few fiery ordeals in my life. I wonder if the “smell of smoke” still loiters. Can you smell it on my clothes and in my hair? Do you catch a whiff of it in my singed heart? I do. I still notice an occasional waft of sarcasm and cynicism related to a blazing trial of a few years ago. I don’t know that, like Daniel, I have come through absent of the smoky residue from the ordeal—although, as time goes on, I see far less charring and more of Christ’s healing and wholeness.

As you think about the times you have gotten close to the fire, absorbed the smoke from difficult trials in your life, when do you still smell the scent? Does it drift off you at night as you lay your head on your pillow? I am mindful of my need to keep turning to Jesus to cleanse and restore me so that I don’t smell of the dregs of my own fiery furnace. How about you?

30 Days of Smell

Day 18: Hospital


Walking down the hallway of the surgical floor, the permeating smell of antiseptic-adhesive-gauze—the smell of a Band-Aids—registered with my olfactory sense. Even now, I can recall it, a familiar smell, not altogether pleasant or repugnant, but one that makes my stomach stir.

We were there to pray with a very dear friend who underwent a daunting, extremely serious surgery. At 30 years old, an athlete her entire life, she needed to have an operation to reconstruct her hip. As I visited the hospital, twice in two days, I noticed the hospital smell. I’ve known people who can’t stand that particular odor—it brings back too many bad memories or incites too many overwhelming fears. Not for me.

I do have strong, difficult memories of hospitals and they all do seem to smell the same. But for me, I think of a hospital as a sacred shelter, a place where sick people can be held in stillness so that others who know how to care for them can do so. I feel a profound gratefulness for hospitals, for all the care we have at our disposal in this country—at least many of us.

In another hospital only a few miles from my friend, two of my daughters stood vigil with another 30-year-old woman. This one is fighting for her life. She has cancer and yesterday took a surprising and devastating turn. Her family and close friends gathered to form a circle of support, their aching, breaking hearts clasped together.

When I smell hospital, I envision holy ground. As a pastor, I have prayed many times with people in the hospital. For me, it is a place of healing and sometimes a place to walk with God and another through the valley of the shadow of death. I have no doubt that the Spirit hovers amidst the blend of medicinal smells, ministering through the prayers of those who bleed them, doing the work of healing and in some cases extricating—extricating spirits from their earthly bodies, releasing them to their eternal home.

Would you mind taking some time right now and praying with me for these two women? Pray for those you know whom are sick, perhaps in a hospital. Ask the Spirit to anoint them in the healing name of Jesus.

“Are any of you sick? You should call for the elders of the church to come and pray over you, anointing you with oil in the name of the Lord. Such a prayer offered in faith will heal the sick, and the Lord will make you well.” James 5:14, 15

30 Days of Smell

Day 17: Sour


When we talk about the sense of smell, we must inevitably acknowledge the many unpleasant smells that accost our nostrils—and one of those sickening smells to me is “sour.” You know what smell I am referring to? Sour—as in sour milk or cottage cheese; sour towels; and sour from the odor of vomit. It is by far one of the most off-putting smells. And right now, sour is lingering on my sofa!

On Monday morning, our dear sweet pup, Bongo, decided to help himself to a tub of butter when I wasn’t looking. I had just opened it—of course. So, he consumed about 8 ounces of real butter with canola oil and then proceeded to vomit, spontaneously with out any warning, for the next 48 hours. (And you know what comes after vomit…) One of the places he projectiled was at the end of a sofa in our family room.

I immediately tried to remove the contents and smell by washing it with baking soda and water. No improvement. Then I took the cover off (it is at the dry cleaners) and washed the inside of the cushion with all-purpose cleaner. Still only a little improvement. Today, I will try again, though I’m not sure I know what product I will use. Any suggestions?

Sour. A putrid smell develops because of something going bad — staying too long in a refrigerator, a closed hamper or a living being’s stomach. But what about stuff that stays too long inside our hearts? As I ponder this smell and am guided by the Spirit to let this sense teach me, I think of how certain attitudes sour within me and when I vomit them, they smell vile.

Anger stuffed inside comes out sour and accusing. It often has a rancid smell as it brews in my heart and turns rank. Bitterness and resentment has the same shelf life—it doesn’t take long when left inside, closed up in the dark recesses of my heart, to turn bile-like. A critical spirit is another attitude that just this week the Spirit opened my eyes to, a souring disposition stewing inside me that in a matter of time will explode.

Attitudes turn sour because they are kept bottled up until they erupt like vomit, often onto the nearest person we can find to blame. The secret to keeping these feelings from turning noxious is to confess them to God before they turn sour. No matter how awful they are, whom they are directed toward or what language through which they are spoken--honest, ruthlessly raw confession is the best anecdote for removing sour smells from our own heart. In the presence of God, we have a Gentle Counselor who listens without judgment, glad that we trust him enough to share our rank, stinky thoughts before they spoil.

So, what feelings have you stuffed inside that are about to turn sour? Take some time to write in your journal or take a prayer walk and come clean before God.