A New Season

Well for those of you who even follow this.. you might notice some changes. One would be that I deleted a lot of the older post; mostly it felt refreshing to start over. My sister (whom I affectionately call kissy or pookers) has mentioned that I needed to update something. So, in an attempt to keep those of you who are physically distant, but not far from my heart...These updates are for you. 

You might notice that I chose to leave the information regarding my grandmothers funeral and well, I just couldn't bring myself to delete that. That was the beginning of a dark season in my life. We all go through them and well it seemed like years of changes were slammed into a quick 11 months. That event marked that season and I can honestly say that my life is different and MUCH better. I am a little scared and at the same time made new. I finally have a deep understanding of God's grace in my life. An understanding I challenge anyone to find. You will be overwhelmed. 

Many things have changed and life is just getting started. It feels good, really good actually.  So here is to a new blogging start.  I will leave you with some photos of a trip from 2003 to France and Belgium with some of my favorite people. 

  

Home.

Today, there is something that feels different. 3 months ago we buried my grandmother – actually to the day. I have experienced more emotions related to grief this past week than I’ve had in a while. The sadness can be so exhausting and crippling. At this point there is not a day that goes by where I wouldn’t do anything to see my grandmother again. I can almost feel her hand touch mine, as she did so often in the last few years of her illness.

But still there is something about coming home. My parents live only an hour from my house and on a good day it only takes about 45 minutes. But the drive is my favorite part. I usually leave at night and drive alone, something that I have grown accustom to. The roads are quite and there is the final 15 minutes where I finally enter the valley. Looking out into the distance I can begin to point out each one of the lights in front of me. I can show you where the different “cities” in the mountains are just by the cluster of lights and their placement in the black sky. I am sure that if you didn’t know the mountains were a large part of the valley – well in the night you would have no idea that they are there. But I know. And I know where things end and begin so much so that everything feels like home. From the crystal clear sky, to the mountains, to the rows and rows of orange groves… it all tells me that I am home. A place so familiar, I feel like myself even in the midst of my absence from it.

Matoeska.

Matoeska. That is what my grandpa called my grandmother for their 63 years of marriage. It means little kitten in Flemish.

I was asked to speak at her funeral. An honor that I will never forget, here is what I said.



Blessed are the pure in heart, for they shall see God. When I think of grandma, I think of graciousness, strength, beauty, kindness, gentleness and love.

I did not really understand the special relationship I had with my grandmother until I went off to college in the fall of 97. For 3 years we spent time writing letters back and forth. It was always on that random tuesday that I would walk to the mailboxes and see a card in there. Being like every college student, anxious for a piece of home, I was so excited that a letter from my grandmother had arrived. Someone was thinking about me. Enough to write it down and tell me. and she did faithfully. I never doubted whether or not my grandmother loved me. I always knew. and yet she would still take the time to ask me what more she could do for me. I wish now that I would have told her then that it wasn't what she did for me, it was just that she was there. and she was always there. I am not quite sure when it happened. it just seemed like all of a sudden I looked at my grandmother and I knew that there was my kindred spirit.

I have very few memories of holidays that don't include heading to grandma's house. In fact, it became normal. and while most of my friends grandparents lived "far away" or they had never really developed a relationship with them. Mine lived right down the street, maybe even less than a mile. As a little girl I remember going for walks around 40th street and golden. Exploring the word around me hoping to find some sort of treasures. I would tell myself what a romantic idea it would be to walk to grandma and grandpa's. I always knew that if I did there would be some sweets and a car ride home. As a teenager I remember thinking that our family was strange. Walking in the front door at a family function one would be faced with a loud, crazy and rambunctious family. And of course, as much food as anyone could imagine and Grandma would be sitting on the couch at the center of it all. Now, as a quasi-adult my perspective has changed a bit. I embrace all the things that I thought made us weird. I recognize the comfort that one woman brought to an entire family, to those she would fight for and that she unconditionally loved. She made the holidays full of food, warmth, laughter and smiles. I remember walking through the door and being flooded with smells of dinner and kisses of welcoming. I was lucky that my grandparents lived close. I always knew the door was open. I can't help but think of us united so tightly through one person. and when I think of our family it is her face that I see.

Years have past since we lived "just down the street", but i will never forget the smiles that would flood my grandmas face when she would see me walk through the door. i will never forget hearing her say, "oh my goodness" when she realized it was me on the phone or seeing her blow me a kiss as i left the house. In every way she showed me her love. I can remember coming over for many dinners and learning how to make Belgium stew. We would finish eating at sit at the dinner table for what seemed like hours I think these were my favorite times when we would sit and just talk. I would hear about her being a "rascal", she would tell story's from her life, the lessons that she had learned along the way. She continued to amaze me and I could never hear enough.I began to realize through these times just what a special role she played in our family. She would always say that she was so blessed, but really I think it was the other way around. We were blessed.

Toward the first part of this year I had been gong through many transitions. Life has been confusing and simple. And finally it all makes sense. Or maybe I have just come to realize that I don’t need it to make sense. That each day is a gift meant to be shared by those you love. I understand that life is precious and love is something to hold onto. My grandmother taught me what it meant to really love. A few months ago I had the chance to take care of her for a night, something I thought I was never capable of. I had been asked a few times over the years and always said no. but this time I said of course. I knew that she needed me. On my drive back home, i sat there a little overwhelmed. Because of my encounter with this amazing woman finally I knew what it meant to love someone in the way that my grandmother did all these years. you see that weekend it wasn't about me, it was about her and what I could do for her. She had lived that example all her life. I can't even comprehend today how much i will miss her. She has left the biggest impression on this little heart of mine.

I will attribute my dad with saying this, the greatest example you could leave behind is that of a life well lived. Today I look back on the life that my grandmother lived and I am inspired to do the same. to live and to love.