The Waiting Walk

She wore many hats, and had many titles, but I always called her “Grandma.” 

I always felt like I had a special connection with her for two reasons.  First, I was her very first grandchild.  And second, my name, Elizabeth, was chosen because of its connection to hers – Betty Jo.  I’ve always loved being named after my grandmothers.

It hasn’t even been a year since we said goodbye to my grandfather. They had been married for 68 years.

I have so many wonderful memories with my grandparents. To have lived 44 full years with all four grandparents still alive and well and independent… this is a blessing most people are not privileged with. I do not take it for granted.

One of the things I think of most when I remember my grandmother is her questioning. She had the same questions that so many of us have, but she said them out loud. I see now how, especially in her generation, this was unusual. Questions about God and His love. Why do bad things happen to good people? She would hear stories on the news, or things would happen to her family or friends, and she would wonder – or loud – why God let that happen. Why, if God is so loving, did that child lose his parents? Why did the baby die? Why did the bad guy get away with the crime and the innocent bystanders get hurt? Why? She would talk about how when she gets to heaven, she is going to be having words with Jesus, and she will be asking Him some real hard questions, and she’s going to need some answers…

It seemed bold and almost inappropriate in a time and culture where we hush our doubts and fears, choosing instead to nod and smile and just focus on love, on trusting God.

I think the fact that I remember this so vividly about my grandmother is a reflection of where I find myself these days just as much as it is a memory of her. I currently have lots of questions floating around. My questions are different than hers – I feel pretty confident in God’s goodness these days.  My questions are more about myself and who I am really, to my core.  About my purpose here and now.  Questions about religion and about my ancestors and how their lives and choices affect me and my choices and how I will affect my children…  Questions about how to change the world for the better when so much around me seems uncaring and even harmful. And I just want to say I think that it’s OK to have ALL these questions. To wonder where God is when it hurts.  To be confused by evil. Or by religion.

Perhaps even more memorable than the questions themselves was the spunk Grandma showed and her boldness in saying them out loud.  I remember once when I was probably in my late 20’s hearing her make a declaration. “I’m old enough now that I get to say whatever I want to say, and if people don’t like it, they can just deal with it.”

I thought it was hilarious at the time.

I want to emulate it now.  

It can be scary to share your opinions, your questions, in public. It can even have devastating effects in an unsafe circle.  I love that none of this ever stopped Grandma from speaking out.

As I reflect, I wish and hope most of all that Grandma was able to come to a place of peace with Jesus about those big WHY questions. I hope she knew that He didn’t mind her asking. He was never horrified or offended by anything she said.  I wish, I hope, that she was able to feel that sweet assurance here, knowing deeply that even if we don’t have answers, we are still safe in Jesus.

I look forward to the day that I will see Grandma again.  The day that all her questions can finally get the answers they deserve.  I want to be there to see Grandma make good on that appointment with Jesus, where she will get to ask all those hard questions.  I can just imagine it now.  Though maybe, that side of eternity, a lot of the big questions we have now won’t feel quite so big anymore.  I think that will be OK too.  

The anxiousness of unanswered questions will fade into the peace of understanding.

Contentment will replace confusion.

Grandma’s last few months were hard.  They were filled with physical and emotional pain, but also with humor – and she could be funny! – and with some big questions.  I am thankful she is no longer having to struggle with those hard things.  But the gap she leaves in our lives is wide.  The pain of missing her is real.  But her legacy is beautiful.

So, if you hear me asking some big, hard, complicated questions? Don’t worry. God is big enough to handle them. He can handle yours too – I know I’m not the only one with these questions. It’s just that lately for me, I feel that spunk coursing through my veins that makes me think maybe now, I’m the one getting old enough to say what I want to. And anyone who has a problem with it can just deal with it. 

It’s my turn… my privilege… my duty… to be the one asking the hard questions.

Out loud.

Just like Grandma.