We all know that life is not forever. I read about it all of the time. Verses like Psalm 103:15-16 come to mind: "As for man, his days are like grass; he flourishes like a flower of the field; for the wind passes over it and it is gone, and its place knows it no more." I think about death often, both as an anxiety of what if I die before my kids grow up, but also in the reality of Jesus' death on the cross, and how his death and resurrection offers the promise of life beyond this life.
But just as my babies started to exist in a moment, where once they didn't exist, so also life ceases to exist when it once has.
At the beginning of February, I lost my grandma. She was a sweet little lady who had been suffering from dementia for the last five-or-so years. Even though she was not quite as sweet, and not quite the same lady she was previous to dementia, as I started having kids I felt more connected to her than ever before. She had eight babies. And she told me multiple times each visit that she loved every one.
I told my grandma and grandpa of our newest baby-to-be at my grandma's 90th birthday party in November. My grandpa said, "I remember how this goes. Every so often we would call a family meeting together to tell the kids there was going to be another baby. Your mom and Aunt Kathy caught on quickly to these family meetings and would say, 'I bet there's another baby coming,' before the announcement was made."
Something about this little story of my grandma and grandpa and their adventure in raising eight kids made me happy. He understood a big family. And he won't think it's the slightest bit weird if ours grows beyond three kids.
My grandparents were married 67 years. That is incredible. Some people don't live 67 years, but they spent 67 years united in marriage. Because marriages today last about 7-14 years, many people have lost hope in the institution of marriage altogether.
But my grandparents' marriage gives me extra hope in my wedding vows. My grandpa held true to his promises of "in sickness and in health" and "until death do we part." He took care of my grandma throughout the dementia, even though she morphed into a person that had a very different personality than the woman he married. And it was only in the last week or two of my grandma's life that she needed more help than he could offer and she was moved into a memory care facility.
I think this kind of love is beautiful. It is beautiful because it ultimately is real love. It's not that gushy kind of love that I remember from when I was dating Tim. It is difficult, gut-wrenching, selfless love that has absolutely nothing to do with you and has everything to do with the person you love.
I think this kind of love is scary. It is scary because it is hard. It's not pretty. It takes everything out of you. As I've watched my grandparents over the last couple of years, I've often wondered what will my marriage look like when Tim and I are old. Watching my grandpa gives me hope that God's grace to love and serve will be there.
At the beginning of February, I lost my grandma. She was a sweet little lady who had been suffering from dementia for the last five-or-so years. Even though she was not quite as sweet, and not quite the same lady she was previous to dementia, as I started having kids I felt more connected to her than ever before. She had eight babies. And she told me multiple times each visit that she loved every one.
I told my grandma and grandpa of our newest baby-to-be at my grandma's 90th birthday party in November. My grandpa said, "I remember how this goes. Every so often we would call a family meeting together to tell the kids there was going to be another baby. Your mom and Aunt Kathy caught on quickly to these family meetings and would say, 'I bet there's another baby coming,' before the announcement was made."
Something about this little story of my grandma and grandpa and their adventure in raising eight kids made me happy. He understood a big family. And he won't think it's the slightest bit weird if ours grows beyond three kids.
My grandparents were married 67 years. That is incredible. Some people don't live 67 years, but they spent 67 years united in marriage. Because marriages today last about 7-14 years, many people have lost hope in the institution of marriage altogether.
But my grandparents' marriage gives me extra hope in my wedding vows. My grandpa held true to his promises of "in sickness and in health" and "until death do we part." He took care of my grandma throughout the dementia, even though she morphed into a person that had a very different personality than the woman he married. And it was only in the last week or two of my grandma's life that she needed more help than he could offer and she was moved into a memory care facility.
I think this kind of love is beautiful. It is beautiful because it ultimately is real love. It's not that gushy kind of love that I remember from when I was dating Tim. It is difficult, gut-wrenching, selfless love that has absolutely nothing to do with you and has everything to do with the person you love.
I think this kind of love is scary. It is scary because it is hard. It's not pretty. It takes everything out of you. As I've watched my grandparents over the last couple of years, I've often wondered what will my marriage look like when Tim and I are old. Watching my grandpa gives me hope that God's grace to love and serve will be there.
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