Mary’s zinnias.
Vibrant bursts of color that bordered the garden.
On these still chilly days of springtime it’s nice close my eyes and remember…
The warm summer winds rushing through the cornfields on the farm.
A peaceful sound I’ll never forget. I could sit there for hours. Still and silent in the midst of the growing season. The air infused with a pleasant, you-could-almost-taste-it kind of sweetness.
Late July.
When heavy, humid air would settle in for weeks it seemed. Long stretches of sunshine bright and blazing over the fields. Acres of stalks, tassels whishing in the wind.
Best sweet corn in the county.
She sat in a lawn chair by the old, wooden wagon parked out front. Under the sprawling limbs of the 100-year-old oak tree.
Resting in the cool of the shade, hoping for another breeze.
Passers-by stopped to fill a paper bag with summer’s bounty. Sweet, yellow goodness to garnish the dinner table.
More than the corn, sometimes I think they stopped for the sweetest smile in town.
Mary’s smile.
Warm and friendly.
Generous and kind.
Mary is Emma’s great-grandmother on her father’s side.
And she was 96 when she died last Thursday.
…
…
My sweet Louise has her own fond memories of the farm.
She remembers Easter egg hunts on that big, grassy lawn. Pastel pinnacles of spring. Hidden in lilac brambles. Under bushel baskets.
And the summer of her 5th birthday.
Surrounded by cousins. And family that loved her. An illuminated birthday cake that floated down the river under a cool canopy of trees in May. The river that ran through her great grandparent’s property.
And the sound of voices singing in joyful unison.
In celebration.
We remember Mary with this same kind of joy today.
A celebration of her life, well-lived.
She had a tender voice that matched her heart. And a laugh that lit up the room. I recall spending summer afternoons with Mary on the covered porch.
Laughing.
Talking.
Glasses of ice-cold lemonade.
During one of those front-porch conversations, I remember her telling me a favorite joke. In all of my years it is the only joke that I am able to remember the punchline.
Maybe because Mary was so present.
Maybe because her eyes shined so bright.
Maybe it was because her genuine heart was wrapped in a goodness that she unboxed every time we came to visit.
I remember cutting zinnias for the glass pitcher that sat on her kitchen counter. The one beneath the east window. Where beautiful morning sun came streaming through.
Mary showed me how to gather the seeds in early autumn.
She wrapped them in a small paper sack, folded over twice, and passed them to me. Holding my hands as told me how to sow them at home.
That I might have a piece of her garden to take with me.
Who would have guessed that all of these years later, those zinnia seeds would become seeds of love for this ~ her family.
Seeds of relationships that have been trampled on for the last decade. Seeds that have been neglected. Often forgotten.
It would take all this time for the roots of Mary’s love to take hold.
But she was always patient.
Now, in her passing….her love has carried on and begins to bloom again.
Romans 12:2
Do not conform to the pattern of this world, but be transformed by the renewing of your mind. Then you will be able to test and approve what God’s will is – His good, pleasing and perfect will.
My darling Emma lost her first great-grandmother when she was only six years old.
In that time of childhood innocence and simple, unbounded faith, her experience with death was vastly different.
She went with me to attend the viewing. I wanted her to have closure, and to understand the finality of her beloved grandmother’s place in this physical world.
I will never forget our drive home that followed.
My Sweet Louise was smiling as she looked out the window.
I watched her from the rear-view mirror. That adorable girl, snug and safe in her pale yellow car seat. The one with flowers the way she liked.
When I asked her what she was smiling about, she replied:
“Mommy, I was just thinking about grandma and how happy she is now. She’s in heaven. Having pancakes with Jesus.”
This was her, then, concept of heaven.
To this wide-eyed, amazing child there was nothing better in her world than Jesus and pancakes : )
…
Somehow, adolescence changes things.
Time changes things.
Now, nearly ten years older, losing a great-grandmother seemed much more complicated.
It came with so much more.
More memories stored up through the years.
Some memories like glistening treasures. Finding pleasure in pulling them out again. Turning them to look at them in the light. Glimmering facets.
Shining.
Brilliant.
Other memories, though, she’d rather leave buried. Deep down inside the trunk of her mind. Memories of the ugliness that sin can bring into a family.
Abuse.
Abandonment.
Despair.
These places she’d like to never again see the light of day.
But that’s not how God’s redemption works, is it?
Not in her life.
Not in mine.
Not in yours.
Instead, He shines a sliver of light to illuminate even the darkest places. Walking there with us, holding our hand. Wanting to teach us how to see our past experiences through His eyes.
In His time.
Psalm 147:3
He heals the brokenhearted and binds up their wounds.
I have watched in awe as I witness God’s divine hand at work once again.
He is using this time of Mary’s departure from this life to bring healing to a family broken.
Where Emma had previously refused to see relatives, Christ is helping her to put her immense pain in the past.
Tied gently with ribbons of forgiveness.
Opening her heart to a place of peace and possibility. He is creating a fertile soil for those seeds.
Those seeds of love that Mary had sown so many years ago.
Seeds planted with prayer.
Watered with wisdom.
…
When I close my eyes I can see her dear face. I see her in heaven. With Emma’s other grandparents, contentedly sitting around a table together.
Smiles and laughter.
A white linen tablecloth spread before them with a beautiful centerpiece.
An antique cut-glass pitcher filled with an enormous, colorful bouquet of zinnias.
Then I hear the joy in Mary’s voice once again, as she asks:
“Please pass the maple syrup…”
My Sweet Louise 
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