The Better Country
[I shared the following at my Grandma's funeral this past week. She passed away at the age of 94; and though she is much-missed, I am thankful for a life well-lived.]
When asked to share my memories and thoughts about Grandma, I sat down and tried to write as many things as I could, to try to distill the essence of who she was, and what she meant to all of us. Which isn't easy to do for such a remarkable woman. A devoted wife. A loving mom. A proud grandparent of 19 grandchildren and 14 great-grandchildren.
Grandma was a consummate traveler--a true adventurer at heart. And when I remember her, I can't help but think of the places she loved. And how these locations each shine their own light on the remarkable woman that she was.
First is North Dakota, where she was born in 1913, and where she breathed her last. Life on the plains wasn't easy in the early 20th century, without electricity or running water. When we would visit in the summer sometimes, us grandkids would giggle about the two-seated outhouse on the farm. At least until we had to use it.
The time she spent in North Dakota made her tough, resiliant, and tenacious. She wasn't afraid of hard work. Her family didn't have much, so they had to make do. She learned to be thrifty. Grandma LOVED garage sales: a trait she passed on to both of her daughters. A trait that I didn't always appreciate growing up, riding around in the back of the station wagon on Saturday mornings. But if you ever saw her eyes light up as she described a bargain she'd found, you couldn't help but catch some of her enthusiasm. She even bought a house at a garage sale once. So it is probably fitting, that my last memory of her is from this past May, when she drove down to Ankeny with mom to visit our own sale. Even though she wasn't strong enough to get out of the van for stops, that didn't keep her from enjoying garage sales. Just riding along was enough. She was a tough lady.
Then there is Florida, where she and Grandpa loved to spend the winter. She like to call herself a "snowbird", and it is understandable considering how much she hated the cold. She was always looking out for us grandkids, making sure we were dressed warm enough--even if it was 70 degrees and sunny. Our winter-time treks to the "sunshine state" are treasured memories.
Florida reminds me of her hospitality. It didn't matter if we rolled in at 10:00 at night. There was always a welcoming hug and then a spread of food on the table within minutes of arriving. And when you awoke the next morning, it was to the crackle of bacon, and her quiet preparations as she made a breakfast fit for a king.
She seldom went to the beach (it was too cold), but that didn't keep her from packing us a feast of salami sandwiches, Bugels, and Shasta pop. Late at night, we would play cards. Pinochle was their favorite, and she was a competitor who didn't like to lose, scolding Grandpa when he overbid a hand and snagged her as his partner.
You can't remember Grandma without thinking about Norway, where she spent much of her childhood years, and returned to numerous times throughout her lifetime. She had a quiet, reserved personality. But all you had to do to get her talking was ask her about Norway, and watch her face light up with animated expression. She loved to tell stories of growing up in the "land of the midnight sun". She was adventurous, and loved the ocean, and deep-sea fishing.
And she learned to cook, attending culinary school for a year. Who can forget her homemade lefse or kringla? Or all the Christmas cookies with hard-to-pronounce names like "krumkake" or "futtigman"? The "cinnamon and sugar rice" with a walnut waiting for the winner of the Marzipan pig. Or her special egg-nog? (NOT Norwegian) She appreciated her history and culture, and was always looking for ways to pass it along to her children and grandchildren. She was strong and independent, and just a bit stubborn too--a Norwegian, through-and-through.
And of course there is Iowa, where she moved with the rest of the family when Cleo retired from Swift and Co. in Chicago. She traded shopping on Michigan Ave. for rural life on the farm, never missing a beat. Adell, Greg, and Lois got married and started having kids. Lots of kids. And she always made each one feel special, with a birthday card each year. $1 for each year of your age, signed "Mor Mor" and "Mor Far"--another Norwegian touch.
Iowa also makes me think of the last 10 years or so, when she moved in with my parents after Grandpa died. She was such an unselfish person. Always gracious, never wanting to be a burden or be in the way. If you offered her your chair, she was quick to tell you to stay put. She loved the "Home and Garden" channel--especially anything to do with remodeling. But if you were watching golf or football, she would watch right along with you. She was a true servant, always putting others ahead of herself. When I think of Iowa, I think about the heritage she leaves behind. Of her example as a committed wife, loving mom, and caring Grandma. Of her legacy of family and faithfulness.
Grandma was the consummate traveler, and now she has taken her final trip--to a place better than North Dakota or Florida. More exciting than Norway. More peaceful than Iowa. A place you won’t find in her stack of “National Geographic” magazines.
Hebrews chapter 11 gives us an insight into this final journey when it talks about another life-long traveler, Abraham. He was called to leave his homeland and to wander the wilderness in tents. Why? Because he was "looking forward to the city with foundations, whose architect and builder is God."
When death arrives, sorrow can make us lose sight of the better country that is ahead. Whether we die at 14 or 94, life is fleeting--a mist that appears and then vanishes. And death doesn't seem like something to be hopeful for.
But Hebrews 11 says: "All these people were still living by faith when they died. They did not receive the things promised; they only saw them and welcomed them from a distance. And they admitted that they were aliens and strangers on earth. People who say such things show that they are looking for a country of their own. If they had been thinking of the country they had left, they would have had opportunity to return. Instead, they were longing for a better country--a heavenly one. Therefore God is not ashamed to be called their God, for he has prepared a city for them."
Abraham had a hope that was greater than this life, for a home that would last. And we can share that hope, if we reach out for the life offered to us by Jesus. We can share that hope if we believe in His death on a cross that brings forgiveness from sin. If we believe in His resurrection that gives assurance of a future life beyond the grave.
Grandma always looked forward to Sundays. Even though her age kept her inside, she would put on one of her nicer outfits and eagerly await her favorite preacher on TV--John Hagee. It was a highlight of her week, to hear the Scriptures preached. Her faith caused her to look beyond the frailty of this life, to count herself among the aliens and strangers of earth.
If we are looking forward to the better country, then every joy and happiness we find now is just a sampling of what awaits. Every satisfaction is just a little taste of the banquet that will be spread before us.
If we are looking forward to the better country, then every sorrow--even death--is a bittersweet reminder of the city with strong foundations, where there will be no more death or mourning or crying or pain.
If we are looking forward to the better country, then we too are travelers, like Grandma. Waiting patiently for our meeting with our Saviour, and for that great reunion with the travelers who have gone before us.
When asked to share my memories and thoughts about Grandma, I sat down and tried to write as many things as I could, to try to distill the essence of who she was, and what she meant to all of us. Which isn't easy to do for such a remarkable woman. A devoted wife. A loving mom. A proud grandparent of 19 grandchildren and 14 great-grandchildren.
Grandma was a consummate traveler--a true adventurer at heart. And when I remember her, I can't help but think of the places she loved. And how these locations each shine their own light on the remarkable woman that she was.
First is North Dakota, where she was born in 1913, and where she breathed her last. Life on the plains wasn't easy in the early 20th century, without electricity or running water. When we would visit in the summer sometimes, us grandkids would giggle about the two-seated outhouse on the farm. At least until we had to use it.
The time she spent in North Dakota made her tough, resiliant, and tenacious. She wasn't afraid of hard work. Her family didn't have much, so they had to make do. She learned to be thrifty. Grandma LOVED garage sales: a trait she passed on to both of her daughters. A trait that I didn't always appreciate growing up, riding around in the back of the station wagon on Saturday mornings. But if you ever saw her eyes light up as she described a bargain she'd found, you couldn't help but catch some of her enthusiasm. She even bought a house at a garage sale once. So it is probably fitting, that my last memory of her is from this past May, when she drove down to Ankeny with mom to visit our own sale. Even though she wasn't strong enough to get out of the van for stops, that didn't keep her from enjoying garage sales. Just riding along was enough. She was a tough lady.
Then there is Florida, where she and Grandpa loved to spend the winter. She like to call herself a "snowbird", and it is understandable considering how much she hated the cold. She was always looking out for us grandkids, making sure we were dressed warm enough--even if it was 70 degrees and sunny. Our winter-time treks to the "sunshine state" are treasured memories.
Florida reminds me of her hospitality. It didn't matter if we rolled in at 10:00 at night. There was always a welcoming hug and then a spread of food on the table within minutes of arriving. And when you awoke the next morning, it was to the crackle of bacon, and her quiet preparations as she made a breakfast fit for a king.
She seldom went to the beach (it was too cold), but that didn't keep her from packing us a feast of salami sandwiches, Bugels, and Shasta pop. Late at night, we would play cards. Pinochle was their favorite, and she was a competitor who didn't like to lose, scolding Grandpa when he overbid a hand and snagged her as his partner.
You can't remember Grandma without thinking about Norway, where she spent much of her childhood years, and returned to numerous times throughout her lifetime. She had a quiet, reserved personality. But all you had to do to get her talking was ask her about Norway, and watch her face light up with animated expression. She loved to tell stories of growing up in the "land of the midnight sun". She was adventurous, and loved the ocean, and deep-sea fishing.
And she learned to cook, attending culinary school for a year. Who can forget her homemade lefse or kringla? Or all the Christmas cookies with hard-to-pronounce names like "krumkake" or "futtigman"? The "cinnamon and sugar rice" with a walnut waiting for the winner of the Marzipan pig. Or her special egg-nog? (NOT Norwegian) She appreciated her history and culture, and was always looking for ways to pass it along to her children and grandchildren. She was strong and independent, and just a bit stubborn too--a Norwegian, through-and-through.
And of course there is Iowa, where she moved with the rest of the family when Cleo retired from Swift and Co. in Chicago. She traded shopping on Michigan Ave. for rural life on the farm, never missing a beat. Adell, Greg, and Lois got married and started having kids. Lots of kids. And she always made each one feel special, with a birthday card each year. $1 for each year of your age, signed "Mor Mor" and "Mor Far"--another Norwegian touch.
Iowa also makes me think of the last 10 years or so, when she moved in with my parents after Grandpa died. She was such an unselfish person. Always gracious, never wanting to be a burden or be in the way. If you offered her your chair, she was quick to tell you to stay put. She loved the "Home and Garden" channel--especially anything to do with remodeling. But if you were watching golf or football, she would watch right along with you. She was a true servant, always putting others ahead of herself. When I think of Iowa, I think about the heritage she leaves behind. Of her example as a committed wife, loving mom, and caring Grandma. Of her legacy of family and faithfulness.
Grandma was the consummate traveler, and now she has taken her final trip--to a place better than North Dakota or Florida. More exciting than Norway. More peaceful than Iowa. A place you won’t find in her stack of “National Geographic” magazines.
Hebrews chapter 11 gives us an insight into this final journey when it talks about another life-long traveler, Abraham. He was called to leave his homeland and to wander the wilderness in tents. Why? Because he was "looking forward to the city with foundations, whose architect and builder is God."
When death arrives, sorrow can make us lose sight of the better country that is ahead. Whether we die at 14 or 94, life is fleeting--a mist that appears and then vanishes. And death doesn't seem like something to be hopeful for.
But Hebrews 11 says: "All these people were still living by faith when they died. They did not receive the things promised; they only saw them and welcomed them from a distance. And they admitted that they were aliens and strangers on earth. People who say such things show that they are looking for a country of their own. If they had been thinking of the country they had left, they would have had opportunity to return. Instead, they were longing for a better country--a heavenly one. Therefore God is not ashamed to be called their God, for he has prepared a city for them."
Abraham had a hope that was greater than this life, for a home that would last. And we can share that hope, if we reach out for the life offered to us by Jesus. We can share that hope if we believe in His death on a cross that brings forgiveness from sin. If we believe in His resurrection that gives assurance of a future life beyond the grave.
Grandma always looked forward to Sundays. Even though her age kept her inside, she would put on one of her nicer outfits and eagerly await her favorite preacher on TV--John Hagee. It was a highlight of her week, to hear the Scriptures preached. Her faith caused her to look beyond the frailty of this life, to count herself among the aliens and strangers of earth.
If we are looking forward to the better country, then every joy and happiness we find now is just a sampling of what awaits. Every satisfaction is just a little taste of the banquet that will be spread before us.
If we are looking forward to the better country, then every sorrow--even death--is a bittersweet reminder of the city with strong foundations, where there will be no more death or mourning or crying or pain.
If we are looking forward to the better country, then we too are travelers, like Grandma. Waiting patiently for our meeting with our Saviour, and for that great reunion with the travelers who have gone before us.
posted by Alan at 5:06 AM
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