A 20 Year Anniversary

This past Monday, April 7, 2008, marked the 20th anniversary of the first death that I ever experienced. It also was the first death of someone very close to me. On April 7, 1988; my grandma, Marion Stonina entered eternal life. It seems to me that she died during the night and that it was near the end of the week, but I do not remember for sure. I did not know my grandpa on my dad's side of the family, so my only connection with my dad and aunt's mom and dad was through my grandma--obviously.

Over the last few weeks I have been reflecting on those 20 years. How much has changed in our family, our nation, and our world. We have endured in this time violence that we never thought would come upon our shores as a nation: Rise in school shootings, Oklahoma City, 9-11, etc. Our world has come ever closer together with the advent of the Internet, and global communication and cell phones.

But as I look over these last 20 years I think about the changes in our family. Both me and my sister graduated from high school. I got a degree from Northwestern College in Pastoral Studies. I graduated from North Park Theological Seminary, and I am now a pastor in Michigan. My sister has gotten married and has 2 boys with a baby on the way. We have learned to drive. We have had our first jobs, made our first paychecks, and moved away from home. Since grandma's death we have had to gather as a family for several other deaths, including one of her sisters who died last August.

But there are also many good times to think about as well. I remember a grandma who put on a spread at Easter and Christmas and Thanksgiving that rivals anything our family does now. I especially remember the cookies and the rosettes at Christmas. Grandma's house was always fun to go to at Christmas. I know of no one that decorated their Christmas tree so full that you could not even tell that it was a tree. There were also those times that I remember during other times of the year as well. Going to grandma's house was a treat and something special. It was fun and even though she could not play hopscotch or run around the yard with my sister and me (she lost a leg when it was severed by a train when she was little) she was still fun to be around. Every once in a while I still hear her voice.

I know she was committed to Christ, because who else, as the story is told, could convince her Roman Catholic priest to do the wedding of my dad and my Mennonite mom. She was committed to Christ in other ways as well. I remember going into her bedroom, which was just off the kitchen, and seeing the crucifix on the wall, last year's palm branch neatly folded into some shape and the candle holders and the crucifix next her bed. On the wall at the foot of her bed were her pictures of her family--her children when they were young, a wedding picture, a family picture, and pictures of her grandchildren--which were displayed in many other places throughout the house as well. I like to think that there was a time in the evening and the morning, and perhaps at other times as well, that she would spend time in prayer and thus a silent witness to the Christ to whom she served.

I wish she had lived a little bit longer, so that she could have seen her grandchildren grow up a little more and to see her children grow up a little more; but our loss is heaven's gain and I know that for me I am thankful for the memories that I do have and that I did get to know her, for a little while.

Thank you God!