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.