Evendays

I’m writing today about my Grandma T. My dad’s mom died on Saturday morning at about 6:30. She was 94.

"I am the resurrection and the life. He who believes in me will live, even though he dies; and whoever lives and believes in me will never die. Do you believe this?"

Grandma T. nurtured a culture of belief that continues in her children. She brought daughters and sons into this world. They are God’s faithful children. And they brought faithful children into this world. And we share the hope that when Jesus comes back, he will find faith on the earth… Perhaps because of grandmas like Grandma T.

When I think of Grandma, I think of:

A dusty Antique Shop and a roll of Mercury dimes in the cash register…
An Easter egg hunt in a small backyard in Sacramento…
Hats… and cleaned, pressed clothing and cameo pendants…
Postcards from Turkey, ceramic whirling dervishes and bronze scribe kits carried long ago by messengers…
Cousin Rick and weeds and ice plant and rolling down a steep Scott’s Valley slope…
A Christmassy-cold garage with ten cousins NOT sleeping…
Earthquakes and moon landings and Days of our Lives…
Correct grammar and proper vocabulary (“crap” or “crud” did not fall into the latter)…
Stories of Greece and Europe and Pacific islands so far away…
Frozen oatmeal cookie batter, and baked cookies in a jar on the steps…
Orange marmalade, pickled artichokes and okra…
Afghans and quilts and homemade presents…
A call on my birthday…

But most of all, as a grandson, I think of her faith and her desire to bind us to the heritage she had received from her parents and grandparents. Of secret conversations and confessions. Of doubts and of certainties. Of regrets and grace. Of life as it could have been and life as it is. And of hope. For there was always hope.

I last saw Grandma T. on August 19, 2006 just before we left for Switzerland. We prayed and hugged. She blessed us with her words and touch. We said goodbye.

Our hearts go out to granddad, especially to dad and aunts and uncle who said goodbye to their mother, but who are at peace with it all.

Now there is in store for me the crown of righteousness, which the Lord, the righteous Judge, will award to me on that day—and not only to me, but also to all who have longed for his appearing.

Last week the mailperson rang twice. Once on Wednesday and once on Thursday. Sherri from TN had sent us two cardboard boxes loaded with food that we can’t find here, or just can’t justify springing for. It was completely unexpected, and the Doritos are already gone…

There were Reeses pieces, pumpkin in cans and pre-prepared graham-cracker crusts. There were original Pringles (I’ve seen them in the stores here) and mini-Reeses peanut butter cups (unheard of in Switzerland, but still Wife’s favorite after 22 years away). There was a bottle of some famous barbeque sauce (delicious) and Cheetos (the hard, shriveled kind, I think they call them crunchies, another Wife favorite), corn syrup (impossible to find here) baking soda and powder (impossible to find in medium quantities). There were five kinds of cookies (many we’ll discover for the first time), some quick prepare foods and assorted candies. There was a box of dark brown sugar (does NOT exist here) and nuts and Captain Crunch (which we’ll eat for weekend breakfasts) and Clif Bars.

We will be eating through the goodies with self control and discipline over the next couple of months. Thanks Sherri. You went far beyond the call of friendship!

Sherri from TN knows Wife loves to run. Two running magazines were included in a recent care package, one on ultra-extremist-crazed marathoners and the other for avid runners.

Little known running fact: Some runners have to be told to stay in bed till at least 5 am. It’s not healthy for you to start a run at 4 am after just a few hours’ sleep.

There is normally nothing for me in these magazines. But then I turned to the “Finishing Kick”, the last column in Running Times (November 2006), where Rachel Toor penned a sweet article: Your pace or mine? Leading others to their goals can be better than reaching your own.

Toor’s a member of the Clif Bar Pace Team. She purposely runs marathons slower than she’s able, carrying a wooden dowel with a balloon indicating her projected finishing time. Marathoners can then set their pace to one of the pace runners (3:10 to 5:30) and have a more enjoyable marathon experience (if it’s possible to use “enjoy” and “marathon” in the same sentence).

She writes of the fun she’s had helping runners meet their goals. She tells of the kisses, hugs, even communion between those who cross the line together. And she always waits at the finish line for those who fall behind, congratulating them when they finally finish the race.

Have you noticed that people who live significant lives often imitate Rachel Toor? They will set a pace, not a torrid one, but just right so that they can accompany others and help them achieve their goals. They’ve found the balance between personal drive and real, honest, humble service.

Running 26 miles in less than 4 hours is not my idea of fun. But staying with others and enduring with them until the finish brings more joy and is, according to Toor, more compelling than a Personal Record or a Shiny Metal Object.

If in our own service we do not make the podium, but we accompany others to the finish line… I think God sees that as significant.

Familiarity can kill faith. Hold it. Let’s try again. Expectations that have not been formed by God can kill faith.

Jesus goes to mom’s for the weekend and heads to the synagogue on Saturday. Mark tells us there’s a big crowd come to hear the Rabbi.

They are surprised. “Where did he get his wisdom? Where does his power come from?” Then, murmured truths smother their astonishment. Ungodly expectations undermine the plan of God.

“He’s the carpenter! He’s Mary’s son. We know his brothers. We’ve seen his sisters grow up…”

Behind the statements of truth is the prideful rejection of the humble servant and the heart-breaking fact that if they could not accept this elementary humbleness, they could never accept a bleeding, crushed, hanged-on-the-tree Messiah.

Mark is addressing a weary church, Christians familiar with the story they’d heard a 1000 times. He’s not fighting unbelief, but rather bland, sterile, already-been-there belief.

As teachers, Mark surprises us, for the evangelist does not meet our expectations. ("Tell us something new, Preacher! Put a new spin on it.") Rather, he recounts the “Beginning of the Gospel of… the Son of God.” He reforms expectations by retelling the story with conviction that expectant faith in the Servant will, once again, take hold of the children of God.