Friday Up North

I am sitting in a coffee shop this morning in a town hours away from my family. I have my headphones in, and a really, really good cup of coffee next to me. I was able, fortunately, to be free to travel on the spur of the moment and visit my grandmother who broke her hip last month. My head is swimming from what I have heard in the last 20 hours.

She turned 89 last week--what a way to spend a birthday, huh? She can't walk right now and is in some pretty bad pain. Her mind is quite sharp, though her cataracts interfere with her sight. She is remarkably healthy for her age. At one point she says, "I am the last one left of both of our families. All my siblings are gone, and I wonder why I am still around. I just tell myself that it must be 'cause I am a stubborn old German!"

When I walked in yesterday afternoon, she was watching Animal Planet. She adjusted her bed searching for a bit of comfort and perhaps to look at me better. I asked her how she was feeling and we made some small talk. Did she have many visitors? "Just family." she said. "It's nice to have someone here. Otherwise, I pass the time alone. I am here either way." For the first few minutes she was unsure who I was. I told her I am David's son. Then she recognized me and quickly recalled the last time we saw each other, on our wedding day a few years ago. Before that, it was 1998, the weekend I became a Christian.

And so, this is my extended family. On the spectrum of dysfunction among the American family, we are on the extreme end. The bad end. From a history of lake-piracy (which I found out about only yesterday) to severe physical abuse, my family is messed up! The Bible? Maybe it was in a few of the homes of my family tree--far from my grandma's ancestors who, so she told me yesterday, came over on the Mayflower. (If this is verifiable, and she says the records are there, THAT is cool!) I was beat up a lot as a kid, physically and emotionally--'You little insignificant welp!'--but that was nothing compared to stories from the previous generation. My grandma witnessed some really bad things.

So as I drove up, I pondered how to conduct myself. I have several relatives up here: Aunts and Uncles and cousins...and then here is my grandmother. She is the last one on my father's or my mother's sides. So I think I am simply seeking some connection to my roots; and I want to ask many, many questions. The trouble is that I also want to avoid dredging up skeletons in the recesses of others' minds. I don't want people to visit memories they don't want to visit. I seek to avoid a clumsiness that these kind people would choose to avoid.

I was blessed to have my father's brother and his wife's house to stay at last night. They are Christians. What an awesome God we serve! He provides our needs when we are obedient--and even when we fall--and last night gave many warm moments of conversation. Amidst the warm moments, however, were many cold drafts when my wondering about my family caused my uncle to relate some horrible stories from his upbringing. Wow. I can only say this is a broken world. "Boys! Stand here. ." Over a misplaced hammer (which was, "ha ha ha," found a day later in the trunk of the car)? No apology. That was one story.

That type of stuff shed some light where I was searching. I got a peak into why I don't have a great connection to, or awareness of, my past. I know why I was never told some things; I also see why I struggle in some of the areas that I do. Finally, it gives me a greater empathy for my father even though I still don't really like him much. Why do we still tend to let the negative overshadow the goodness all around?

From this week forward, I will be way more joyful for others who have some great stories to share of their families. It is in times of great pain that we truly know joy; it is in times of great joy that pain cannot harm us. Again, the Bible gives Light in this aspect of humanity.

mashmouth
Feb. 19, 2010
Bemidji, MN