Grandma

I just received a phone call from my father telling me tht my grandma died. She had a stroke several years ago which robbed her of a lot of living, so it didn't necessarily come as a surprise. There have been many times when my father has called and I was fearful it was going to be "that" call. As soon as I answered the phone tonight I knew. I could hear it in his voice. I'm thankful she's whole again. I'm glad she's in God's presence with Grandpa there, too. 

But loss is never easy. I feel alone in it right now. I feel like there's been too much crying of late. 

I'm grateful for all the good memories, though. When I was little, my grandparents watched me on their farm during the times my mom was teaching. I spent a lot of formative years with my grandma. Her kitchen is at the front of my memory. The smell of Swedish rye bread and molasses. The cookie jar which was always kept filled, and which I learned to open steathily to sneak out an extra treat. Sitting around the table and learning to pray "Come, Lord Jesus." Her bringing "lunch" (the mid-morning and/or mid-afternoon snack) out to the men as they worked in the field: it was often cinnamon rolls, coffee cake, or cookies along with a thermos of coffee. Those were the only times I drank coffee (with plenty of milk, of course). Her garden--especially tomatoes in the summer. For some reason, tomatoes were sometimes sprinkled with sugar instead of salt. 

She was a quilter. For my high school graduation she quilted together scraps from my grandfather's jeans and coveralls. I still have it. She loved her family. We spent many holidays and family birthdays together. Often it was a picnic with fishing involved. She was a hard worker. She was a woman of faith. Even though she couldn't carry a tune, she still sang the hymns. 

I wish she had been well to play with my sons. She had a stroke before they were born. Still, when they would visit her, she would often smile. When my oldest was younger, he would occasionally sing her a song like "Jesus Loves Me" or "Away in a Manger" and she would sometimes sing along--she seldom spoke otherwise. 

I wish my memories were clearer. I had so many good times with her. She will be missed; she loved greatly and was loved much in return. Esther Wilhelmina Christoffers Wenell, you were a great woman. I was lucky to call you "Grandma."

Transitions

This is going to be a super honest post. And not an easy one to write. I haven't blogged in almost three months. Theyve been a difficult three months. Seventeen years of relationship has come to an end. A month ago I movved into an apartment. It's been the first time almost since I was a baby that I haven't shared a room with someone. It's a big change. And more changes are on the horizon. I never expected myself to be in this place. It's hard, it sucks, it's good, all at the same time.

A large part of the hardness of this (other than what the children are going through--which is by far the hardest to witness), is the loneliness. And not just because of the marriage ending. I lost a church family (which they've made it clear that I'm still welcome there, but it would be a very awkward place to be together still). I feel like most of my friends are gone. And I know the reality is that things are just different. Many came and helped me move. Many visited and called or texted when this first was happening. But I presume what the reality is for most of them, is that they were once friends with a married couple, and now that's not the case. I'm guessing some are more familiar with my sins in the marriage, and though there are two sides to the story--two partners in a marriage and very seldom is only one guilty. And that's okay. I don't need people to be on my side. But it's been hard at times to see her get support (though I'm thankful she has some) and not feel much.  

Thankfully, we've been civil. We divided up things pretty well. We have always parented well. But I don't know how to relate any more. 17 years feels like it didn't matter any more. Those plans for the future don't matter any more. There's a grieving process involved. I'm not sure if I've done that fully yet, but I have done a bit of crying. A lot of crying.

Part of me needs to move forward. Part of me needs to remain in this place of grief and transition and healing and pain. There is so much uncertainty, yet a level of freedom I haven't experienced. 

I'm trying to do the right things and make the right choices. I still fail at times. I will always have moments of failure. These are turning points--of learning from mistakes or of ignoring it and keep on going on paths of my own choosing. That's how it always is, though...we have a choice to learn or disregard or mistakes and keep on repeating our mistakes. I am not perfect, nor will I ever be on this side of eternity. Sometimes I get wrapped up in trying to be perfect which just leads to trouble for me because I can never be perfect--and I don't learn and change enough. So I'm trying. 

So that's where my life is at. In transition. I don't seek pity. I'm not a victim. Nor am I the perpetrator. Just a human being who makes mistakes and has opportunities to learn and live. Even if life isn't headed where I thought it would be. 

I was reminded at church this morning of the old call and response we used to use with summer staff at Bible camp all the time: God is good; all the time. And all the time; God is good. There are opportunities, even in hard transitions, for God to be good. I just need to keep my eyes open and seek them and not get sidetracked by feeling victimized by life's difficult transitions.