Proverbs 31

Thinking about my grandma today. No reason. Just am. Read what follows here at her funeral in February, 2008. Had totally forgotten some of these things. Good to remember.

Every comedy team has two roles: First, there is the comic who tells all the jokes and makes everyone laugh. This first comic is often the one that the audience remembers, the one who seems funnier and more entertaining. The other half of comedy team is made up of the one who is responsible for laughing at all the funny guy’s jokes. Much like George Burns had Gracie Allen and Lucy had Ricky, every comedy duo strikes a careful balance; these acts desperately need both players since one without the other entirely weakens the comedy.

Initially, it would seem that my grandmother had little to do with comedy teams. Initially, it really does seem that way, but, in truth, most of us had relationships with Grandma that were very much like the relationships of these comedy teams. Grandma rarely told a joke herself, but she always laughed at the jokes the rest of us told. And, when she laughed, she had a great laugh – a big laugh, a laugh that made her nose crinkle and her eyes all but disappear as her faced stretched into a smile. She was the very essence of the word “jolly.” Her entire self shook when she laughed, and you couldn’t help but like her when she was so jolly – and when she was, after all, laughing at your joke.

One of my most vivid childhood memories involves Grandma and Grandpa. It is likely such a vivid memory because it very probably happened more than once. In this memory, we were at Grandma’s table in her condominium in Fort Stockton – a table that had been largely extended with leaves and card tables; it was a table filled with wonderful things to eat and surrounded by family. It was a holiday meal, though I don’t remember which one, and Grandma was bustling around making sure that everyone had everything that they wanted or needed. Grandpa was seated at the head of the table watching the entire proceedings. At one point, he said something in German very clearly and loudly to Grandma. None of us had a clue what he said, but Grandma looked at him with a mischievous smile, and said to him, “Oh, Herbie.”  As usual, with this simple endearment and a big grin, she showed her jolly disposition and did only what she knew to do: She appreciated the humor in whatever Grandpa had said.

Another time, our entire family had traveled to Ruidoso. The first afternoon that we were there, Grandma decided that my cousin, Holly, and I needed to rest, so she made us lie down with her. We, however, were not excited about a nap; we were too thrilled about the winter wonderland outside. As soon as we thought Grandma was asleep, we snuck out of the bedroom; Holly even had to gingerly remove Grandma’s hand to get away. We thought we had really fooled her as she napped… that is, until later when Grandma told us she had been awake the entire time. She didn’t laugh at us out loud, but the amusement she found in our trying to sneak out was totally apparent.

 

Last August, when Grandma was in the hospital, I had the blessing of spending some time with her – just she and I. Ironically, she felt really good during this time, and she didn’t really understand why she was in the hospital. She was also totally coherent; she knew me, and she remembered things I imagine she hadn’t remembered in years. She and I talked a lot, which is something we hadn’t done in a good while. She talked of her years in Otis, Kansas, when her girls were about the ages that my boys are now and how they had lived in the garage of their new house while the house itself was being finished. We talked about her years in McCamey, and she shared some memories from living in Fort Stockton. But the thing that sticks out more during this period isn’t her memories, though I did enjoy them immensely. What does seem so evident now as I think about our time together then is that she laughed; she laughed that big, jolly laugh she had when she knew she could do nothing but appreciate the humor. This time was really the last time I remember her laughing such a genuine laugh.

I don’t mean to suggest that all my grandmother did was smile and laugh. In truth, she was so much more: She was the hardest worker I have ever known; she was a devoted mother and grandmother; she was an attentive wife and a loving sister; she was a good friend; and she was a faithful servant to her church and the Lord. At different times, she was also a small business owner and a Sunday school teacher. She was indeed the very essence of the noble woman.

Out of all of these roles that Grandma had, though, her part in having relationships with each of us and being the one whose job it was to laugh was obvious. She laughed with us when she didn’t know what else to say, and she laughed for us when we needed someone to validate us, to support us. Her nearly 92 years comprised a life filled with genuine care for other people; her laughter was only one of the amazing ways that she showed that care. 

During the last few months, Grandma seemed so happy. As any of you who saw her knew, her smile was constant, and she was so contented. She had no worries, no cares; she seemed glad to just BE. In truth, such a state seems an entirely fitting way for her to spend her final months, and, as we gather today to say, “good-bye,” to Grandma, more than anything else, I imagine her exactly that way…smiling and laughing.