When I was little, my grandma called me her “joy boy.” To be fair, I was the first grandchild, so I had that going for me. Grandma taught Sunday School to little kids and even drove a few to Emannuel Baptist Church. Their parents didn’t have the means, but Grandma cared about them and set aside time to do it. She even baked treats for the kids and their families (and me, of course). She took the words, “Suffer the little children…” to heart and did her best.
Grandma sang hymns while cooking, cleaning, or washing dishes. She started her day “the happy way” with Paul and Jim on the radio. She prayed for us. She lived a life of humility and gratitude. Her love made a difference in my life. She made an indelible impression on my soul.
Grandma died in 1986. She had battled cancer for a couple of years and knew she wouldn’t be on this Earth much longer. She prayed that God would let her see one more spring. I’m grateful God honored that prayer. At her funeral, the pastor offered an invitation, as Grandma had requested. I don’t know if any of her family or friends accepted Jesus that day, but I believe she made a difference in their lives too. Not long after she died, Grandpa changed. The once skeptical, sometimes snarky retired Army Captain started taking bus tours with church groups and near the end of his life wrote to us about seeing Jesus sitting at the foot of his bed, reassuring him, “don’t worry, everything will be alright.”
As Easter approaches, my memories of Grandma remind me that Joy matters. In this time of holier-than-thou church people, judgmental trolls, hateful rhetoric, manufactured outrage, and unbridled anger, it’s important to remember people who loved others regardless of their situation. Grandma knew it was important to take care of children. She read Bible stories to them. She prayed for them. She tried to offer them hope, no matter what their home environment might have been.
Grandma saw to it that I went to church and vacation Bible school. I may not be a Bible scholar, but I got a good start. I wonder how many kids are not introduced to what I call “wholesome religion.” It seems some are taught “who God hates” rather than “For God so loved the world…” [John 3:16] It seems our president can’t recite that verse. But I can’t boast. Although I was Grandma’s “joy boy,” I’m far from perfect.
CS Lewis wrote a book called, “The Great Divorce.” It’s about the wide chasm, the great divorce, between heaven and hell. Like Lewis, I believe we choose heaven or hell. The “Kingdom of God” is among us, but only if we decide to be a part of it. Grandma chose Joy – optimism – faith that God would make everything right in the end. Others choose to complain, judge, resent, or condemn. I’m not saying Grandma was always in a good mood. I’m saying that she tried to hold fast to what she knew to be good.
Lewis portrayed hell as a tiny crack in a sidewalk of heaven, a gray, shadowy place where people lived so far apart from one another that they never interacted. He saw it as a place of loneliness chosen by those who can’t stand what other people think, say, or do. It’s an existence devoid of God – goodness – where all the inhabitants have left is complaining, judging, resenting, and condemning. In Lewis’ book, they are offered one last chance to give up their self-centered ways for just one moment and think about something else, something other than themselves.
If we are offered heaven – forgiveness, peace, love, and joy – will we accept these gifts freely, or will we hold on to our complaints, judgements, resentments, and condemnations? Lent is a good time to stop acting like we are qualified to be God. Maybe we should try to be more like my grandma instead.
MurrayWorks 