Several weeks ago my grandma passed away and we went to her funeral.  It was wonderful!  That's a strange thing to say about a funeral but it really was wonderful.  While our family will miss my grandma she led a long life that brought glory to God.  We were all very happy for her that she is now with Jesus.  It was exactly how a Christian funeral should be.  Not a single person doubted where she was, her life was not cut short, her death was not tragic.  It was as it should be. 

My grandma had 11 children.  One died when he was a little boy, another, my Papafather, died when he was a man.  My grandma had over 100 foster children and she adopted one of them.  She gave her earnings to missions.  My grandpa had been a country veternarian so my grandma was his secretary. 

I wrote a letter to my grandma several years ago and I was asked to read it at the funeral.  Each of my aunts were asked to read one of the letters they had written to their mother as well.  This was my letter. (I read the original at the funeral but I've edited it here now that I've learnt me how to write better and I've omitted the opening paragraph.)

Dear Grandma,

You have encouraged all of your children and grandchildren to let you know what of your possessions they might like to have based on sentimental value.  I have spent a great deal of time thinking about it.  What of your things is a cherished memory to me?  What of your things is something that leaps out at me screaming of a time that I have carried with me as a symbol of happiness, joy, contentment, and faith?

Over the years you have given me some of these things.  I love each item, they have special places in my home.  I hope to someday give them to my children and grandchildren.  This summer I really couldn't think of anything.  I wandered around your house, looking and remembering.  I like the stainless steel pitcher used for milk; it has always been there, full, a symbol of God's provision.  I like the spider above the bathroom door, a symbol of whimsical fun.  I like the books on the shelves, worn, a symbol of the minds searching for truth, fantasy, and escape.  I like the treasures in the curio cabinets, symbols of trips, gifts, jobs, and awards to all of those I love.  How can I choose one thing, to remember you, Grandpa, and the rest?  What could I possibly choose?  Which of these things has the most meaning to me?  Finally I thought of it.

What means the most you cannot give.  It is already mine.  You gave it so long ago and you continued to give it without even knowing you were.  You can't give me the smells of the farm, or Grandpa's office.   You can't give me the conversations already told around a long table.  You can't give me the laughter of so many children coming and going, playing in fields of grass, haystacks, and basements.  You can't give me the warmth of times spent on couches and beds telling stories.  You can't give me the beauty of the songs and hymns sung.  These things are already mine in my memories.  These are the things I think of when I think of you and your home.  All of these things pieced together have made a quilt in my mind. 

You have spent so many years piecing quilts!   You asked me what you could give me.  I already have what I want.  I asked myself, what could I give to someone who has given me such a gift?  All I have to offer is my writing and words.  To tell you how much all of these years have meant to me.  To tell you that your life, the objects in your home, your children, all fit together like pieces in a quilt.  I am aware that the quilt isn't new, it is worn, has frayed edges, has stitches that have come undone.  Maybe through prayer and effort each of these things can be repaired.  The quilt still won't be new, but it will be better, whole, stronger.  Your life has brought glory to Him in the beauty of the quilt made.  It can't be hung on the wall, or spread on a bed, but the warmth of it can still be felt.

I love you Grandma.

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