Yeah, I know it has been a very long time since I posted something here. 2009 didn't have a very good start. I've been struggling for what seems like forever to find the words I need to say and for some reason I thought I had to write this before I could post anything else.
In January, my grandfather passed away at the age of 95 and my family assembled in Ohio during the coldest winter I have ever experienced. We had a difficult commute from Columbus to Upper Sandusky due to a snow storm. The temperatures, for the most part, stayed below zero degrees Fahrenheit with the wind chill on some nights extending into the -30s. Needless to say we didn't spend a lot of time sightseeing. However, on our first trip into town I saw something that I intuitively knew needed to be photographed. The scene--a motionless elephant covered in snow--just seemed too surreal to me. We were on our way to the funeral, so photography had to wait. It was o.k. The elephant was part of the local putt-putt golf establishment and the snow wasn't going anywhere either.
The following afternoon I took my photograph of the elephant. My parents parked in a cleared lot across the road from the putt-putt golf. I crossed the two lane road and stood on the two foot shoulder with my back to traffic. My camera only gave me two shots. It was so cold the battery died.
I didn't realize it at the time, but this photograph of an elephant in a frozen landscape aptly summarizes my relationship with my grandparents. My grandfather baptized me the same week my grandmother died. It was a simple ceremony for my family. They needed a bright spot in their week and my baptism was the vehicle for it. Unfortunately my grandmother's death left an enormous void in my life and her death caused so much pain that asking questions sometimes felt awkward. Most of what I learned about her usually resulted from my doing something that reminded someone, primarily my mother, of her.
I have often wished I was not the grandchild who was baptized under those circumstances, but I'm grateful that my grandfather was the minister who baptized me. I am glad that he lived long enough for me to form my own memories of him. I will remember him as someone who enjoyed long walks, naps, ice cream, and strawberry shortcakes. I will remember that he had diverse interests from theology to the arts to economics and continued to read books, magazines, and newspapers even when his eyesight was so poor that he needed a machine to magnify the text. I will remember that he liked to talk, but also could listen and gave sound advice when needed. I will remember that he greeted each person, even his grandchildren, with the words, "Hello friend."
Today marks the 34th anniversary of my grandmother's death. I'm sorry that my grandfather had to live so long without her, but I am sure that his faith got him through it. I have a copy of a newspaper article published over fifty years ago when my grandparents left their church in Colchester, Connecticut. The article reproduces part of his farewell sermon. My grandfather told his congregation:
"If death cannot break the tie that binds us in Christ, how can separation? Nothing can separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus. This is not only the hope we have of reunion at some future time, though we look forward to this; rather it is the faith that we are together even though apart. We are together in a great faith we hold in common. We are together in a great and far flung work. Though apart we are still in the same gigantic task. We are together in a great company, a company of many generations and of many places. We are together in a true body of love. If we can be together in body through the use of telephone and television, how much more can we be together in the Holy Spirit. As we worship and pray and work in God, we can know we are together in Him."
Farewell sermon indeed. My grandfather couldn't have known it when he gave this sermon so long ago, but it is exactly what I needed to hear.
