Shannon S. McKee

musings and moments

Sitting with Grammy

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My sweet Grammy’s 95-year-old body is finally starting to really falter. Always active and self-sufficient, it hasn’t been easy for her to be forced into a position of depending on others and questioning if life still has value when you can’t DO much. Who among us doesn’t try to avoid those questions with every fiber of our beings? 

I remember clearly the first time that I realized that she wasn’t invincible. It was the day she told me she couldn’t golf anymore because of the arthritis in her hands. I remember being both saddened but also sort of pissed off by it. What was this thing called aging that was stealing away her abilities? 

I’ve watched her give up driving. Give up getting her hands in the dirt to plant flowers every Spring. Give up running her own errands and doing the laundry. Give up cleaning her own house the way she wants to. Give up getting her white hair done every other Friday. Give up seeing her pal Ella at church every Sunday. Give up writing letters to her bajillion grandchildren. Even give up being able to get her own dang glass of water. At every step it has been a mixed bag of emotions for me. Grief, joy, anger. 

She is so dear to me that I have often wondered what God is doing in this season. She has been ready to go “home” to be with Him for a couple of years now. Ready to be free and in His presence, fully known and loved without the shackles of sin. A few days ago, I sat with her in the stillness of their den. We didn’t talk much. I mostly held her hand and fed her ice chips. And I reflected on the whys of this season, asking the Lord not to tarry too much longer in taking her. 

Why does He keep letting age take things she loves from her? Why doesn’t He just come for her? Why does He wait when she is so ready? 

I don’t know His mind or pretend to understand the orchestrations of the God of the Universe. The One who is both preeminent and yet intensely personal. I don’t understand His timing. And, frankly, I don’t need to because I can trust His character. I trust what I know to be true about Him. His love and mercy and grace toward a broken and rebellious world. His tenderness toward the weak and forgotten ones. His creative attention to detail. His ability to always judge rightly. 

So, I’ll leave being God to Him. But, even in the midst of my questions, I will certainly admit that I can see some of the beautiful things He has been doing since my Grammy started getting more frail – little clues to remind me that He’s got this. 

  • I can see it my grandparents’ marriage. My Grandad has always been an impressive man, worthy of respect and admiration. But, my love of him has grown exponentially over the last couple of years. The way he is serving my Grammy in this season … it’s breathtaking. He is being so like his Lord right now. I think maybe even moreso than when he was teaching church history and reading Sproul (though he does those things well too). As for her part, she is reveling in his care for her.
  • I can see it when I slow down to sit and just hold her hand. In the stillness. The other day, I was sharing with her about my advent readings from that week – about how Christmas is just the beginning and that Jesus will come back as our Bridegroom. How He’ll scoop up His Bride and have a great feast for her. Grammy hadn’t spoken much that visit. But, the smile that played across her face in that moment… well, I would have missed it in my usual busyness. But, today, I was still and quiet and reflective. And I joined her in a powerful moment of anticipation. 
  • I can see it in the way my aunts who live in the area have taken to caring for her so that she can have her wish of staying at home as long as possible. It’s been something I have treasured as I have watched it play out. A WW2 nurse, wife, mom, grandma and great-grandma, she has spent a good bit of her life caring for others… now, her children rise up to call her blessed and spend their hours caring for her. 
  • I can see it in the way she prays. A year or so ago, she told me that she couldn’t do much anymore, so she’d turn her attention to praying more. I know she prays faithfully for all of us and that her prayers are like incense to our Lord. How He must delight in hearing from her as she cares for all of her people! 

I’m sure there are other things. Things that God is doing at this very moment to bring beauty to this phase of our story as we all prepare to send her home. Things unseen that He is working. But I will take these few things and ponder them, rolling them over in my mind until they are like a smooth stone that I can use to raise my own Ebenezer. All the while trusting the One whose promises are always Yes and Amen. 

When Someday Becomes Today {My Reflections on Barb’s Homegoing}

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Yesterday in the early minutes of the afternoon my friend took her last earthly breath.

For the last 24 hours or so, I’ve been reflecting on the profundity of that thought. One second she was here with us, battling an aggressive brain tumor. In the next, she was with the Lover of her Soul. The One who created her and numbered the hairs on her head – even the ones lost during chemo. The One who for the joy set before Him – the joy of redeeming her – endured the shame of the cross. The One who traded places with her – exchanging her brokenness for His pure righteousness. The One who held her close and strengthened her during the last 8 months of this cancer journey. She is with Him. And THAT is enough for her. For several years now, she has been daily practicing approaching His throne through the grace of Jesus… her vision of Him ever growing but always clouded by living in a fallen body with a stained heart. No more. Now she knows fully. She joins the great throng of witnesses who have gone before her. Those whose faith has become sight. In a moment, just the blink of an eye, the covenant she entered into 7 or 8 years ago, became fully realized. But it’s not over for Barb Carter. Far from over. Now she begins a journey of being invited “further up and further in.” The journey for which we were all made.

For Barb, I rejoice. I’m pretty sure she crossed into the Lord’s presence with little regret.

For those of us left waiting, we wrestle with the loss. Rick often says that when a person dies, we who are left need to do a few things. Among them: celebrating the life and mourning the loss.

We need to be sad. Our lives are changed by her homegoing. Her husband, kids, and grandkids will feel it most acutely. We need to grieve with them and be safe places for them as they process. But, the ripples will extend beyond her immediate family. We’ll all feel it because Barb was the kind of person who touched a lot of lives. The McKees have certainly felt it already – even our teenage kids literally weeping at the thought of life without Barb Carter. I, for one, don’t look forward to walking into Monday night Bible study in January without her bald head peeking out at me.

But, we also need to celebrate her life. Last night, we got some time with part of her family and two of her dearest friends. Over pizza, we recounted some of the things we loved about Barb. And, then, in the car on the way home, Rick and I laughed about soft corn and other funny moments we had shared with her. That kind of reminiscing is important and powerful as we work through our loss.

In that spirit, I want to tell you a few things that have struck me about Barb’s legacy. Things I want to emulate.

  1. Barb invested in people. She and Jeff lived comfortably but not extravagantly. Their treasure was not in “stuff”. It was in relationships. They sacrificed their own material comfort at times, to make sure others had what they needed. As our church’s Women’s Ministry Director, I was constantly hearing from other women who had been impacted by her. She was always having coffee with someone or taking food to someone or giving a ride to someone or helping someone. And, now as the stories about her begin to pour out on FB, you can see a little glimpse of her impact on others. She was especially good at taking people under her wing and bringing them along.
  2. Barb wasn’t afraid to speak truth. Lovingly, but it was truth just the same. She didn’t try to apologize for God or second-guess Him. She trusted Him but also wasn’t afraid when she had questions or was frustrated by Him. She processed her questions/doubts/frustrations in the light of truth. Even if the answers made her uncomfortable. She also wasn’t afraid to speak into other people’s lives.
  3. Barb was ready to “meet her Maker.” She became a Christian 7 or 8 years ago and when she did, she was all in. She spent her days hungering after His words like they were food to satisfy her deepest longing. As her death drew near and she talked about meeting Him, she had already invested hours of study and time with Him. She knew the One she was going to stand before. So, she really wasn’t afraid.
  4. Barb ran her race well. When she and Jeff found out that an extremely aggressive form of cancer would be part of that race, she didn’t waffle or give up. Was she afraid at times? Sure. Disappointed that her life might be cut short just shy of her 50th wedding anniversary? Of course. Did she WANT to leave Jeff and her precious family and large circle of friends? Nope. But, that woman fixed her eyes on Jesus, knowing that He was the author and perfecter of her faith, and she ran her leg of the race faithfully right up until the end. She didn’t wallow in self-pity or make it all about her. She continued to trust God and be others-centered right up to end. Studying the book of Hebrews with her during her last months was such a privilege – I think she was encouraged by it in profound ways and that rubbed off on the rest of us.
  5. Barb laughed. A lot. She didn’t take herself too seriously. In a culture that finds every reason to be offended for every possible aggression – perceived or real – Barb’s approach was a breath of fresh air. Her energy and laughter rubbed off on a lot of other people… and that was a gift to many of us.

Hers was a life well-lived. Let’s mourn and celebrate. Let’s encourage each other all the more as the day draws near for us to join her.

But, let’s not encourage each other with silly platitudes. Barb hasn’t become an angel. She also didn’t become god-like, looking down on all of us all the time and superintending events in our lives. She also isn’t at the pearly gates trying to convince Peter to let her in. We don’t need to pray to her or send her messages. She isn’t bored sitting on a cloud with a harp and wishing she could be here. Instead, let’s encourage each other with truth. Barb’s got a full plate… because, friends, SHE’S WITH JESUS. She’s still just our Barb. But she is in the presence of her God. Without the hindrances of this sin-stained life. She’s in a real place in the heavenly realm with the One who loves her better than any of us could.

And that changes everything.

All their life in this world and all their adventures had only been the cover and the title page: now at last they were beginning Chapter One of the Great Story which no one on earth has read: which goes on for ever: in which every chapter is better than the one before. – C.S. Lewis, The Last Battle

Lessons from The Black-Eyed Susan

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The Black-Eyed Susans are dying. They’ve spent themselves.

They are in preparation for a new season. One where they’ll lie still and quiet under the heavy blanket of snow this winter. But they’ll be back next Spring, inching back out of the ground when it’s safe – they’ll come forth in greater number and strength.

Come summer they’re sure to burst forth again, filling the long side of our house with life. This is the way of things. Sure as sure.

I always take a picture of them in their glory. Right about July. They make me smile there – tall and proud with their vibrant yellow petals and their big black center.

But, in this season of my own soul-tending, I have been struck afresh by their beauty in a different way. I am marveling at them right now, as they lay dying. There is another kind of beauty in them at this stage. It’s a stark kind of beauty. One that comes after the glory.

Because they have spent themselves for something wonderful.

They are depleted and exhausted by their summer effort. Their proud stems are bending over and most of their petals have dropped. A few hang on… reminders of the glory.

There is something profoundly beautiful about that dying. Something that stirs in my soul as I contemplate the shriveled leaves and the scattered petals.

So strong is our longing for the glory, that sometimes I think we miss the beauty of this. Jesus didn’t. He knew that the dying had its own kind of splendor. In speaking of His own pending death, He said this: “I tell you the truth, unless a kernel of wheat falls to the ground and dies, it remains only a single seed. But if it dies, it produces many seeds.” 

If we’re honest with ourselves, we’ll admit that we’re actually not so sure about this. In his short piece on repentance, William Willimon said it this way: “Whatever the Gospel means, we tell ourselves, it could not mean death. Love, divine or human, could never exact something so costly.”

Could it really mean that Jesus bids me come and die? And that there is really some beauty in that? A glory of its own?

In the agony of having my petals stripped clean by a strong-willed child or a selfish friend, there is beauty? When I pour myself out for my kids and I have nothing left but shriveled leaves and a blackened nub? When I am bent low by the harsh winds of this world and insensitive demands of others? When no one even notices me? Beauty? There?

Jesus says yes. There is. Will we believe Him? Will we come and die,  laying our own desires aside? Spending our days serving others? Giving instead of buying? Going instead of relaxing? Sacrificing instead of indulging? Submitting instead of demanding?

And after we have been spent, what then? Will we yield to Winter and wait for Spring to call forth new life from the very ground where the spent petals lay?

Nature echoes it. The Black-Eyed Susans attest to this truth. Spend yourself and see, they say.

Will you?