We often hear about limitations and pain… of corruptions and
the sins that drive them. “Turn on the news and
what do I see, a whole lot of people crying don’t blame me.” Nothing sells newspapers and boosts
ratings like stories about sinners and saints. Especially when the darlings of our public persecution
stumble, trip and fall flat on their face.
Celebrity addiction, Hollywood domestic disturbance, and the
rattle of skeletons in famous closets are rarely in short supply. Even when a person seems to be destined
for greatness the fall can come.
Remember Lance? One day a pillar of athletic integrity and a testament
to overcoming adversity, the next day a liar. Shame.
We encounter fallen angels in less grandiose theaters as
well: in the face of the once promising professional who chose to drink away
career and family; in the shattered pieces of the workaholics home where
spouses and children simply co-habitat the same space forgoing any sense of
unity; in the wake of those who compromise anything in order to win.
Nothing stirs the heart of America like the story of
overcoming adversity, but that same heart turns a sour shade of scornful when
our heroes fall.
And it would seem that even
the angles fall… hard.
We forget that it is in the fall that we can be raised up
again.
No one is perfect, and we know this because, saints walk amongst us.
In the last week, two wonderful women (Eleanor and Helen)
passed from this life to the next.
These were not tired old
ladies. No, they were classy,
feisty, and both flirting with their 100th birthdays.
Both had lived through the Second World War, raised
families, suffered disappointments, faced hardships, and went out of their way
to make sure that those around them felt love. Both Eleanor and Helen held a special place in my
heart and in the pantheon of my many Grandmas. These ladies, my two biological grandmas, Helen, Eleanor,
and several others, taught me how to become a person of character, by the way
they lived.
They didn’t give up.
They didn’t give in.
They didn’t have time for self-pity.
They were about God’s work… looking out for people be they family
of birth or marriage, adopted family (like me), or just those who may be in
need (whether they know it or not).
All of them outlived their husbands, all of them buried their parents
and siblings, many buried some of their own children – yet they found reasons
to smile and laugh and love and live.
None of my Grandmas were perfect, far from it. Some of them might even go so far as to
admit that they were spectacularly imperfect, and after each fall they rose to
be saints once more.
You may not know any of my grandmas, but I bet you’ve met
them. In the faces of the ladies
at church, or the nurse who helps you at the ER in place of your own mother, or
the kind person at the store who smiles for no reason at all – all of our
grandmas are there.
Living saints do walk amongst us, and it’s time for us to
stop a while and appreciate the time we’ve had with them.
This post is dedicated to my Grandmas:
Mary Catherine
Dolores
Lillian
Helen
Eleanor
Naomi
Rose
Marge
And to your Grandmas, whoever and wherever they be.
