faith – Page 20 – Lemon Drop Pie

Mom, faithful reader of my blog, told me once, “You write too much about breast cancer!” I know she would tell me now, “You write too much about my death!”

That may be true, Mom, and you, dear bloggy friends, are on the receiving end of all my angst-ridden posts.

You have been so comforting and supportive as I travel through the grieving process. I hope you continue to bear with me.

My Grandma Emma died before many of her grandchildren were born, but I know for a fact that all of her grandchildren will know her immediately when we see her in heaven. We have heard so many stories about her from our fathers and mothers, our aunts and uncles, that when we, too, are taken to our heavenly home, we will instantly recognize our loving Grandma.

Yes, this sounds way too schmaltzy, but I believe it with all my heart.

And so, another story about Mom, so that Lily and Emmy will recognize their Grandma in heaven.

Mom sang this song to me as a little girl, and I sing it to Emmy every night before bedtime:

Two little eyes to look to God,
Two little ears to hear his Word,
Two little feet to walk His way,
Hands to serve Him all the day.

Mom spent all her days praising God. If I were to write a list of all the ways Mom praised God from day to day, it would be a long, long list.

Last Sunday, I walked up to communion at our church, and burst into tears. Up at the railing, I knelt upon the cushions that Mom designed and helped to needlepoint. They begin with Alpha, and end with Omega. I wish I had pictures to show you the beautiful Bible stories on these cushions.

Mom also designed and made banners to praise God. At her funeral, Dad hung up all the banners she made for their latest church.

Mom shows the fruits of the Spirit on this banner. (Galatians 5:22) The Spirit gave Mom all of these gifts, and I pray that some day, I will receive these gifts as well.

Christmas is going to be rough this year. With the loss of my mother on November 23, I have good days and bad days. Emmy might have said it best when she told me this morning, “Daddy is happy and Mommy is sad.” I certainly don’t think I’m sad all the time, but Emmy has seen me crying a lot, and that’s the first thing I’ve done to cope with grief:

1. Cry it out! When I hear a carol on the radio that reminds me of Mom, I let the tears roll. I’ve never been one to hold back tears, and now’s not the time to keep them in. Whether it’s a sobbing, wailing, tear-filled session which happened when I read Mom’s last emails to me, or just a couple of teardrops sliding down my cheek while singing “Away in the Manger” to the girls, I let tears flow.

2. Doing what I can. I bought Christmas candy for my Sunday school students, a birthday gift for Lily’s friend, and contributed to Lily’s preschool teachers’ gifts. My Christmas cards, however, are going to be late. I didn’t bring treats to Lily’s preschool Christmas party, or give her classmates a goody bag. I didn’t set out to intentionally do these things; in fact, I was still deluding myself the night before the party that I could run out to the store in the morning. It just didn’t happen.

3. No guilt! And so, I’m not going to feel guilty.The Christmas cards will be mailed soon. Lily’s class had plenty of cookies and candy that the parents had bought for the party, and I was not the only parent who hadn’t brought goody bags for the kids.

4. I’m not obsessing. Did you notice? My last three posts were not about grief!

5. Giving myself permission to not feel sad. I saw a Hallmark commercial last night, and it showed a grandmother receiving a card from her daughter. It was just corny enough that I didn’t want to cry, or let myself think about spending Christmas without Mom. I decided I couldn’t be sad every time someone’s mom was mentioned.

6. Letting my faith give me comfort. This is a little slow in coming. When I think about my faith, and that I believe Mom is in heaven, it doesn’t comfort me. I want her here, with me. I’m not ready for heaven to have her yet. But it’s beyond my control, and I’m struggling with the fact that Mom is truly gone. What comforts me more is knowing that in the long run, my faith will get me through this difficult time, somehow.