Mom, "We really are."
Kathy, "I'm right there with you."
The death of my gramma divided people. People I wish I were like and people like me.
There were people I was surprised not to hear from. There were flower arrangements I was surprised not to receive. There were visitors I was surprised did not attend the viewing or the funeral.
Then there were the rest of the people. People who never met my gramma but prayed her into heaven, some from hundreds of miles away. People who brought baked goods and dinners and sent flowers in their absence. People who drove 14 hours to surprise us with their love and support. People who cried harder than I was crying, arrived early and stayed late. People, in short, who served me better than I have served them.
I do not judge the first group of people, I am one of them. I never consider my presence of any significance, always assuming there are people who mean more to stand beside others. I am wrong. What now occurs to me is the dread of considering, how many times have others been surprised at my absence? How many times have families assumed there would be a meal, a card or flowers from me that never arrived? I think maybe I matter more than I realized.
No one means more to me than the strangers who write on their blogs of my family's loss.
No one means more than my posse who, without fail, show up to minister to me despite what a poor friend I am.
No one means more than anyone else. Including the ones, like I have been, who did not know they meant something too.
I am in no way hurt or disappointed by anyone. I am only pausing to learn from the ones who give from a servant's heart instead of waiting for someone else to serve.
I do not want to be the one who stands to the side any longer. God, change me.
Job 34:4 Let us discern for ourselves what is right; let us learn together what is good.