Generation Jumping

Prologue: First 1000 Words The air in the sanctuary, overlooking the familiar section of the river, Hartland, with its historic covered bridge, should have been heavy, if not thick with grief. At seventeen, my understanding of funerals, or lack of understanding would have been a black and white picture in an otherwise colorful world. People dressed in black clothes, hushed whispers, darting and disconnected glances that hinted of unspoken sorrows. My Grandmother had died, and the church with its pocked gravel lot was where the crowds converged. The building and its pristine sanctuary existed with formality and character in spite of the lot outside. The pews were filling up row by row. Somber. Methodical. Dreaded. These were the words I thought of as I entered timidly through the church’s front doors. Inside, the family sat together. As together as a family this size could sit together. But Grammy Peterson’s farewell didn’t follow that script. Not even close. The details blur with the passage of years, yet the persisting feeling remains, a vibrant contrast to the suppressed expectations. Uncle Lloyd, usually the life of any gathering with that mischievous glint in his eye he had carried since his free-spirited, athletic teenage years, stepped to the pulpit. Not to eulogize in the traditional sense, but to share a poem composed in his youth, a raw and tender ode to his mother. The love he shared in both the old written words and oral delivery took the form of soft darts of endearment flowing in streams through the air. One after another, earmarked for our hearts. The imperfections of his voice delivering such a love so tender, for his mother, now in heaven, gave depth to the entire scene. Like an old black and white picture that transformed into a three-dimensional, ultra-definition set, full of sounds, sights, and texture. Tissues were in high demand to dab the tears. And the many tears traced the curves of our smiles. A bittersweet joy resonated in the simple refrain: a boy and his Mom. Then came Grammy’s favorite hymns, sung by the blended voices of my aunts and cousins. Their harmonies, rich and sweet, flowed through the room like the very river below the hillside out behind the church. Each of the voices, a tributary flowing on the warm currents of sincerity anytime this family gathers. Connecting us all before merging and drifting out on the gentle breeze. The afternoon light, streaming through the windows, like a transparent curtain of brilliance held the singers in a soft glow. Even now, looking back through the lens of time, a part of me wonders if the beauty wasn't angelic in origin. That day, a seventeen-year-old consumed with the usual teenage interests of sports, girls, and friends, with family a solid footing but often taken for granted. I felt a presence that far surpassed my expectations. It was a substantial sense of something more. So much more. Clearly something divine had long ago been woven into the very fabric of this family well before my inclusion. Over time, this feeling would resolve into a private certainty. At family gatherings, especially those touched by loss, there was an unequivocal, positive presence. It was absolute, just as God is absolute. Matthew 18:20 (New King James Version) echoed in the unspoken understanding: “For where two or three are gathered together in My name, there am I in the midst of them.” Stepping out into the October air, a strange mix of embarrassment and exhilaration washed over me. Like I was doing something wrong, or getting away with something, or both. My brother, cousins, and I exchanged curious glances, our laughter feeling almost sacrilegious against the backdrop of a funeral. We were talking, almost giddy, as if it had been another family reunion resonating with joy and laughter. Back at the cars, I couldn’t wait to check in with Mom and Dad, to comprehend this unforeseen joy that seemed like a theme for the entire event. Even the colors were a surprise. An arrangement of autumn hues, blues, and reds amidst the expected black, like a floral bouquet you might find amid a celebration. We weren’t scolded for our levity, perhaps just a reminder to be mindful. But beneath any surface nervousness, an earnest admiration and a quiet delight began to take root within me. It wasn’t just love for Grammy; it was something far greater and deeper. Grampy’s passing three years prior had left a different kind of void. His smile was a constant, but somehow seemed reserved for each one of us individually. That gentle soul and warm smile were among the things missing from Grammy’s farm, my Mom’s childhood home. But in the space between their deaths, I now understand, weren’t finalities but the inception of their enduring legacy. A legacy that continues to shape us. So many funerals, written eulogies, and uplifting tributes later, all were centered around family. In my mind, these family members were known to me as ‘all my heroes’. These experiences have melded into four guiding principles. These are pillars that I have clung to in negotiating the intricacies of life and loss. A weight of conciousness that feels divinely inspired: Urgency/Action: The very real comprehension of time’s fleeting nature has sparked an acute urgency to prioritize relationships with loved ones. Tendency/Relationships: I define tendency like this: Careful and thorough consideration, unaffected by others, in the act of supporting a reason for action. God has planted the seed of tendency in me, and the sense of urgency that has accelerated my tendency in pursuing wholesome meaningful relationships. Anticipation/Esteem: Perhaps this is unique to me. Perhaps others will relate to the anticipation I have experienced, and honestly I still do, of the next meeting, or conversation with these people no longer here. Hope: Even in earthly loss, despair finds no purchase. Fear and despair are overshadowed by the overwhelming hope of eternal life through Jesus Christ. Titus 1:2 became a quiet endorsement: “in hope of eternal life which God, who cannot lie, promised before time began.”