She is grace

 

4 years. That’s how long it’s taken me to sit down and write these words. As my grandparents have passed, I’ve created written testimonies of the legacies they’ve left behind rather quickly and easily. As a form of therapy. But it’s been 4 years since my grandma passed, and I’m just now writing about her legacy. Why? It’s definitely not because lived a life of insignificance. Far from it. But there aren’t really words to describe the kind of legacy she left.  Her legacy was a different kind of legacy than most. While most legacies are lived loudly and openly, hers was lived in silent service and foundational relationships.

               She lived a life of service. She was a housewife. And a mother hen. And grandma extraordinaire. And she served in serving groups at church. And was always in the kitchen helping at the large Cooper family gatherings. She always kept a clean house. And food in the crockpot whenever we’d go visit. And she would let us grandkids live with her for part of the summer. And whenever her husband, or children, or grandchildren needed help with something, she gracefully stepped into whatever role they needed her to fill – without even really being asked – no matter what stage of life they were in. And when my grandpa’s physical health started deteriorating on him, she became his caretaker. She seemed to find her purpose in serving. Anyone and everyone. And thrived there. And she did it all without any fanfare. She served in the silence.

               Perhaps even more than that – or maybe because of that – her life was full of foundational relationships. She was a joy to be around. And I don’t just say that because I’m biased. My grandma had a lot of friends. And not just other little old lady friends. She had some of those. But she also had farmer friends. And middle-aged friends. And even some high school friends. And I don’t mean just acquaintances either. They were her friends. They’d drive out to the farm, sit at her table and visit with her. They’d invite her to tea parties. They’d buy her little gifts that made them think of her. They’d drop everything and come to her aid if she needed help with something. Most of her friendships were the deep, meaningful friendships that are hard for most people to come by. But for her, they seemed to be the norm.

               It’s been hard to pinpoint what, exactly, gave her the ability to form so many foundational friendships with seemingly such ease. And I’m not sure I’ll ever actually figure it out. But I think at least part of it was that she was exceptional at meeting people where they were at. I don’t think she ever met someone she didn’t like – or if she did, you’d never know it. She was kind. And compassionate. She didn’t judge them. Or expect them to be anything different than they were. She was just there to listen. To learn. And to serve. In whatever role they needed her. With grace.

               It’s hard to put her life legacy into words. Because it was formed in the little cracks of everyone’s life that she seemed to fill in without anyone truly realizing it. It was found in the silent service she provided wherever she went and for whomever she was with. It was created through living a life of unwavering grace. It was built so much into just who she was in the normal, wear and tear of an everyday life. And she was extraordinary.

Live Well, Leave a Legacy.

There are so many memories I have of my grandma. Since we grew up only a half mile down the road from her, my brother and I spent countless hours at her house. Especially during the summers when she wasn’t teaching and we didn’t have school. It wasn’t unusual for Derek and I to ride our bikes down the road to Grandma and Grandpa’s house where Derek would spent the day getting into trouble with Brent while I stayed in the house with grandma and baked.

Photo Credit: Visionari Studio

While I could spend all day walking down memory lane, as I’ve started to lose people who are close to me, I’ve started to become increasingly interested in thinking about the legacies they leave behind, instead of just the memories I have. The things that made up who they are that will live on through the memories that everyone who knew them shares. The things that their children, they children’s children, and everyone who knew them strive to be more like.

One of the things that makes up my grandma’s legacy is her tenacity to take her grandkids on adventures and let us be kids. She never shied away from baking with her granddaughters, even though sometimes I think she ended up with more flour on her table, counters, and floors than were in the cookies. And somehow, the more granddaughters in the kitchen, the bigger the mess. She also never instituted a ‘no ball in the house’ rule on the boys. As long as they stayed in the dining room, all was good. Whatever we were doing it seems she implemented the bare minimum of ‘rules’ needed to keep us safe (or fiscally responsible) which left plenty of leeway for us to still just be kids. There was no shortage of bike rides (just stay within 2 telephone poles!) or garage sales (you can pick out ONE THING) or sleepovers (just don’t wake grandma and grandpa) or trips down the slip and slide (don’t get anyone else wet if you don’t want to get wet!). And there was even a cousin camping trip one summer with some added help and supervision from Aunt Karen. She never seemed the slightest bit intimidated by anything we could dream up that we wanted to try. And she wasn’t afraid of letting us be kids and the messes that frequently go along with that.

Another thing that makes up my grandma’s legacy is her ability to find the humor in pretty much any situation. Even when it was at her own misfortune. In fact, I think she laughed the hardest when it was at her own expense.  Like when we used to go to the lake every summer and she tipped the canoe in the shallow water and ended up on her butt in the lake. I don’t remember how long she sat there, but I know it took her a while to stop laughing long enough to stand up. Or when we were stuck in road construction on our way back from our camping trip, and my Uncle Brent leaned back in his seat, read the words ‘Airbag – see other side’ on the sun visor in the car, looked over to the other side of the car at my grandma and said ‘Yep! There it is!’ I don’t have many memories of her being mad or upset. But gosh can I remember plenty of times that she laughed until she cried at things she very easily could have been mad or upset about but chose not to be.

But I think the thing that she’ll be most remembered for, is her hospitality. It wasn’t uncommon for ‘extras’ to show up to our family holidays. And not just new boyfriends or girlfriends of her grandkids. Anyone and everyone was welcome at her table. And she had the uncanny ability to make it seem like they belonged there just as much as anyone else. In fact, the year we had our friend Ben living with us, we told him he could come with us to Thanksgiving (and later, Christmas) at her house. He hesitated because he didn’t want to intrude, but we convinced him to come along. That Thanksgiving, he ended up being one of FOUR ‘extras’. He had no idea at the time because all of the ‘extras’ melded right in with the family. She frequently had get-togethers for friends and family visiting from afar and opened up her home for them to stay if needed. A few years ago, I read a quote that said “When you have more than you need, build a longer table, not a higher fence.” It’s something that’s stuck with me as a trait that I want to achieve. And it’s something that my grandma embodied through and through. And when she ran out of room at her table, she put up another table. And another table. And another table. And set some place settings at the kitchen island. No matter how many tables and chairs she had crammed into her kitchen and dining room, there was always room for more.

In so many ways, my grandma was a shining example of what it looks like to live a good life. Carefree. Happy. Adventurous. Welcoming. She was endlessly generous with her time and with her talents. I spot pieces of her legacy living on in each of her kids and in her grandkids. But I’m not sure any of us embody all of it quite like she did. I can only hope to reflect some of the pieces that most influenced me in hopes that I can live well, and someday leave a legacy like hers.