Lessons Learned in the Land of After... Advent Hope

Grandma and Granddaddy were extra special for the cousins. When we were there, they had all the time in the world for us in the midst of their busy days. Trips to the Post Office became an adventure when Granddaddy hit the bump at the top of the hill just right so our stomachs would fly up. Chinese Checker games with Grandma were lessons in losing and winning with passion. When one cousin needed a Sunday dress for church, it was no problem. Grandma made the pattern and the dress, lavender lawn with little white flowers, in one day. I asked her for a matching dress but she had used all her material. We amused ourselves on the farm and in the house, showing up for meals and falling into the old iron beds at night worn out from the sheer pleasure of being at Cloverly.
When Granddaddy died, our family made the long journey to Virginia from South Georgia to a new place, Cloverly without him, a world without him. My soft spoken, tender hearted Grandaddy was gone. This was my first experience with death and Grandma gave me a never forgotten lesson on how to live in the Afterward. We arrived at the funeral home in Walkerton, Virginia and walked into the chapel where an open coffin lay at the front. Afraid of the unknown, my sister and I sat in a pew, watching and waiting. After a little while, Grandma came and took us by the hand to lead us to the front. Talking in her normal voice, she began to explain death to us so when we reached Granddaddy’s body, the fear had subsided.
Her generation grew up with death a visitor to the home. Her mother died at home as did most of the people in her time. The rituals and practice of death began early for her and she had the words we needed to hear, the hope we longed for without even knowing what our hearts were aching for. Granddaddy’s body was a shell, she said, a shell that gave him a home to live in while he was here on earth. When his body died, all that was left was the shell but Granddaddy was still alive. He was in our hearts and he was with God. We were comforted and learned to live in a land without Granddaddy present in body. The true lesson she taught us that day was hope… death is not the final word nor is it endless separation. It is both ending and beginning but the love flows on without ceasing.
“We who have fled for refuge might have strong encouragement to seize the hope set before us…a sure and steadfast anchor for the soul, a hope that enters into the inner shrine behind the curtain where Jesus has gone before…” Grandma helped me see beyond the curtain that day, lifted the hem a little so I could hope again, gave my soul an anchor that has held steady all the years since as other losses came my way.
Thanks be to God for the sustaining gift of hope, a clear eyed, no nonsense hope that knows the odds and hopes anyway. This hope has lifted the hem of the curtain and sees beyond the grief and loss to a new day, a new life, and Love that knows no end. In this dark Advent season, I seize hope again as I wait on the Lord… not so patiently but I wait nonetheless. My lantern of Hope is dim and flickering this year but it still lights my path as I wait. Help me hold on, Hope of the Hopeless, abide with me until I find rest in you. Amen.