For Grandma

Last updated on: March 24, 2014 at 3:56 am by Abra Carnahan

For Grandma 2014-03-24T03:56:14-07:00 Abra Carnahan

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June 9, 1925-March 19, 2014

1 Peter 3:15 says, “Honor Christ and let him be the Lord of your life. Always be ready to give an answer when someone ask you about your hope.” In many ways, my grandmother, Lydia Katherine Meyer Sciscoe, taught me about hope.

I was unable to spend as much time with her as I wanted throughout her life, but she always made the most of the times we were together. Grandma Sciscoe taught me what a Grandma was supposed to be. When we visited, we were always greeted with cheerful hugs – the wonderfully comfortable hugs only Grandmas know how to give. Then we were ushered into the kitchen where she always had a massive variety of foods that she was eager for us to consume. If you weren’t hungry, too bad, you still had to eat. The year I turned 16, I was privileged to stay at her house for a whole month and came home ten pounds heavier. Nobody was going to go hungry at Grandma’s!

When my sisters and I would visit my grandparents, we usually slept in the basement which was where Grandpa’s office was. When I think of those times, I can almost feel the cool air encompassing me and the sweet smell of Grandpa’s pipe. So many hours spent down there, playing games on his stone age computer or seeing how many of us kids could fit on the exercise bike. The smell of pipe smoke still comforts me to this day.

In reflection, almost all the memories I have of Grandma are of her laughing. I do remember Grandma hollering instructions at the football players on TV. I remember that she always had something good around to read. I remember her ready smile. I remember her whole-body laugh. I remember her sitting us down and going through picture books, explaining places and times I’d never been to. Talking about her childhood, about young Grandpa, with a mischievous glint in her eye. I remember countless times she took us on exciting outings. We’d pile into Grandpa’s car (and buckle up, because Grandma had a bit of a lead foot) and we’d go to the zoo, to the party supply store, to the park, the grocery market. Always an adventure because we were with Grandma. Anything was possible! I think she could have made a trip to the dentist fun!

When Grandpa died, I do remember her crying, but her sorrow didn’t stop her from honoring him, from faithfully professing her beliefs, from feeding us, and even from laughing. My memory is as clear as day of my Uncle Greg cracking a joke (as is his way) about the looped dirge the funeral home was playing during Grandpa’s viewing – Grandma burst out laughing. Joy, in the midst of sorrow – spreading out and enveloping us all – reminding us of our hope. That memory has carried me through many funerals over the years, and again, it is comforting my spirit now.

Grandma understood death. She knew that this isn’t really goodbye. I know we’ll see Grandma and Grandpa again. They are just over on the other side of Glory. It’s not really that far, life is but a breath, but that is hard to remember in the face of loneliness. Death feels wrong because it is. Death is not what God had in mind when He created this magnificent world we live in. Sometimes I feel like a kid on the playground arguing that my dad is bigger, but I’m arguing with myself, because I’m trying to make my heart feel what my head knows: That my God, my Father is bigger. He is bigger than you or I; Deeper than the ocean and more vast than the sky above us; More active than a playground full of toddlers; Wiser than King Solomon. He is more powerful than the ultimate villain. Two thousand years ago, he sent his Son, Jesus Christ, into battle, because we needed a hero. We needed someone to save us because we can’t do it by ourselves. He sent Jesus to defeat Death, because He loves us – and Jesus burst forth from his grave victorious.

It is because of this that instead of being overwhelmed with grief at Grandma Sciscoe’s death, I am free celebrate her life. I don’t have to let my sadness overcome all those wonderful memories I have of her, because our loss, like her death, is only temporary. I honor her with my hope.

RIP

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