My grandmother with Addy, in May 2009.

My grandmother passed away awhile ago. I had the priviledge of video-conferencing into the funeral to see and hear everything from Romania. I also wrote this post, which I read during the service. I meant to post it immediately afterwards, but I didn’t. I wanted to find a good picture of her, and I couldn’t. I think that’s how grief works sometimes.

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When I awoke to the news that my grandma had passed away, I started to realize how much more difficult it is to process the death of someone you know well as opposed to someone you don’t. I’ve written about friends and acquaintances that have died before. It was relatively easy to put my thoughts on paper. But when it came to Grandma Dine, I found it hard to express myself.

My grandma was 91 years old. She lived a long life, I’d say. She and my grandfather lived all around the world – San Francisco, Canada, Japan, but lived most of their lives in California. She was stubborn as an ox – a strong woman, as most (i.e. all) of the women in my family are. She had wisdom, I’m sure, but she played her cards close to her chest – figuratively and literally.

I think the hardest part about processing her death is that I cannot be objective about it. I’ve known her since I was born – I’ve seen the good in her, but also the imperfections.

I have some great memories. When I was 8 years old, my grandparents moved to Ripon, and every Tuesday, my grandma would pick me up from school and take me to the grocery store where I’d pick out a comic book and a doughnut. I’d like to think it was to help expand my mind and body, but looking back I’m sure they were both expanding in the wrong direction.

She taught me some grammar: Whenever I would respond to one of her questions a little too casually, she would remind me, “A pig says ‘huh.’ Pull its tail and it says ‘nu-uh.’”

I also have regrets – things I could have said or done. Questions I wish I would have asked to glean some of the wisdom of her years. Honestly, it’s not as if these things would’ve made her live longer.

And so, I’m grieving. We’re grieving, as a family, even half a world apart.

And it hurts.

It seems to me that something as universal as death wouldn’t be so universally painful if it was really “natural.” Acceptance of death as normal or right or good smacks of an “it is therefore it ought to be” fallacy. For me, death appears as an enemy, a distortion of who we were really made to be.

We sit here and say, “She lived a long life” as if 91 years is long enough.

I believe we were created for more. That’s what I get from my faith. I believe that there’s a God who has defeated death, and soon He will put an end to it. And in that day, we will be as we ought to be – fully human – without suffering, without death.

That’s the way we were designed.

So was this passing expected? yes. Will I celebrate it? no. Never. I will never celebrate death. I will be thankful for the time I had with my grandma. I will grieve her passing and her missing from our family. But I will only celebrate when I see her again.

My comfort, right now, is that Heaven is real. I know that my grandmother is reunited with my grandfather. I hope they are listening to Tchaikovsky and dancing together. They’ve waited long enough to be together again.

Enjoy, Grandma. And rest. We will meet again soon.

In memory,
Dine Burtt Pedersen

My niece is dead.

There is no subtle way to say this. She was just a baby. There’s a list a mile long of things she never had a chance to do, achievements she never completed.

I never got to hold her.

I’ve sat here, half a world away, looking at images of this sweet girl. I’ve sat here and I’ve wept. And my pain is minuscule compared to that of her parents.

Why would this happen to her? to them? It’s not fair. When this kind of nonsensical pain is so evident in the world, I understand why people don’t believe in God.

But He is there.

I can’t sit here and quote Bible verses attempting to explain why this happened to Eisley. I won’t quote Romans 8:28 or James 1:2 to Eisley’s mom and dad. It’s trite. It minimizes their pain, as if this is supposed to be a happy time in their lives. This is the worst – the unthinkable, unimaginable pain is something they should not have to experience.

Attempting to answer “why” is an exercise in futility, but answering “who” isn’t. Jesus is with them. Spiritually, yes – the Holy Spirit indwells them, but more than that. Their family, friends, everyone who has come alongside them is doing physically what Jesus would do. “Mourn with those who mourn. Weep with those who weep.” Jesus wept when Lazarus died; the Father’s weeping at the pain of all His children. Those of us who can be near them are actually being Jesus to them. So they can have some reprieve of the pain, some measure of comfort, but it doesn’t bring their child back.

What hope do we have, then?

That this life isn’t it. That when the Bible speaks of a New Heaven and a New Earth it’s not just blowing hot-spiritual air at us. It’s speaking to us of reality. That *this* life is the shadow, and the coming life is the really-real. It’s there that we’ll find ourselves alive and singing. It’s there that we will live life to the fullest. We’ll know more than we’ve known before; do more than we’ve done before; love more than we’ve loved before. But we’ll hope no more. Because our hope will be fulfilled.

It’s there that I will see my niece. It’s there that her parents will hold her, and get to hear her voice say, “I love you mom and dad.” She will smile, walk, discover, create, love, and worship. There’s a list a mile long of things my niece is going to do and achievements she will accomplish.

My niece is alive.

And she’s waiting for us.

Eisley Hope Klein Hutchinson.

Image: impawards.com

What if all the newest movies were heretical accounts of Biblical stories?

What if churches weren’t allowed to meet in any schools at all?

What if every pastor of a large church committed “moral failure”?

What if it were illegal to say “Merry Christmas”?

What if Christian churches were forced to do Gay Weddings?

What if church meetings had to be held at night time, with the shades drawn, in small homes?

What if Christians were being burned alive to light the roadways to Washington D.C.?

***

Would Jesus cease to be King?

Would God cease to be Good?

Would the commands of Jesus be null and void?

So we do not lose heart. Though our outer self is wasting away, our inner self is being renewed day by day. For this light momentary affliction is preparing for us an eternal weight of glory beyond all comparison, as we look not to the things that are seen but to the things that are unseen. For the things that are seen are transient, but the things that are unseen are eternal. 2. Corinthians 4:16-18

We can choose to focus on the chaos around us, or we can choose to focus on Jesus.