samedi, janvier 06, 2007

Eulogy to My Precious Oma

As I sat at my Mom's kitchen table this past week holding my little Isaiah, I pictured Oma, not much younger than I am now. I pictured her: young, beautiful, wearing a floral dress and a white apron. I pictured her holding a little boy, not much older than my youngest son. In my thoughts she was cuddling and cooing with her precious Siegfred- her firstborn whom she lost at only 9 months old. I don't know how much that little baby has been aware of up there in Heaven these last 50 years or so. I'm sure he has been very, very well taken care of in his heavenly home. But I can imagine that God the Father has given little Sieg a complete awareness and understanding of who that beautiful woman is-- the one who stepped into Heaven only 6 days ago.
I'm sure that baby's little eyes lit up and his arms stretched out towards her in eager excitement for the embrace of his Mama.

I know personally that look of a babe waiting- longing- for his Mother's embrace. I also know the look of my childrens' tear-streaked faces and stretching arms when I must leave them-- even if but for as brief a moment as to take the garbage out the front door-- and I cannot carry them with me. My feeble attempts to comfort them as I depart hardly suffices in that moment of initial separation.
How are they to know how long our parting will last?
How can they fully comprehend where I've gone to, or if they can bear the time of my being gone?

And though I can only imagine Siegfred's indescribable expression of joy at the sight of his Mama, I don't need to imagine, for I saw there in the crowd gathered just yesterday, the tear-streaked faces of her loved ones left, for now, on this of the door.

Oma was not my Mother. She was my Mother's Mother. I don't have 50 years of her to look back on. I only have 28 years of memories, for she was to me a grandmother: a very Grand Mother!
How can I sum up 28 years of love in a couple of minutes?

I could tell you of the countless times I sat at her feet as a child and begged her for stories of when she was a little girl in Paraguay.

I could tell you of how the smell of her home, her hands, her hairspray even, brought me instant comfort, for Oma's home was warm and Oma's hugs were generous.

I could tell you of the many good "schmecks" associated with the memory of Oma. We grandkids could probably each confess at least once sneaking a fresh bun or peppermint cookie off of Oma's kitchen counter. But I admit, her buns with jam, or her fresh cookies always tasted better anyways when she served them up at the kitchen nook table, with a warm mug of milk-- half hot water, mind you!
She was a frugal Oma- she knew the cost of living well was more in the time spent to be creative; especially with 9 children, 13 grandkids and 8 great grandkids.

I remember one time when I was around 14 years old when Oma gave me a skirt she had sewn out of one of her own skirts that didn't fit her anymore. She had thought it would be beautiful on me, and although I was at the age of peak awareness as to what styles were "in" and which were not, I wore that skirt for Oma because I was touched by her love and effort for me.

I could also tell you of how much I enjoyed spending time with her in her kitchen- especially when I was old enough to help her bake and learn her methods. For example, her perfect zweiback were not made by metric measurements; Oma created using Oma measurements: a pinch of this and two handfuls of that. And no one who entered her kitchen was ever disappointed!!
I even remember phoning her across the ocean, when I lived in Germany, just to ask her a baking tip or two. She burst into tears at the sound of my voice from so far away, but then quickly relaxed as she began her specific instructions. She was so happy to have passed on a passion for the kitchen to one or two of her grand daughters.

She also passed on to me a passion for Jesus- through the "thicks" and "thins" of life. Her life was not easy for alot of it, and she had much opportunity to become hard and merely "survive". But Oma lived with laughter and grace. Her joy was evident, and the mercy Christ extended to her was readily avaialable to everyone else that she knew- for as brief a meeting as it might be. Oma and I shared a number of deeper chats on theology, for her Bible was well worn, but her questions were many. We would ponder together the mysteries of our faith, and share together the hope that we have.

I am proud to have a little of my Oma in me. I am proud to have all these treasured memories of her- smells, sights, sounds, and touches- in my heart.
Even though the last few years of Oma's life have not been so full of these same precious memories-- for with many years of life, the wise and experienced body becomes weary and weak-- the love and care Oma felt for me- for each of us- was always evident.

I am so thankful to know the hope of glory- the life even better than this one. I am so glad to know Oma has gone there- pain free and with her Savior. She'll be ready and waiting at the gate for the next one of us who gets there. She'll beckon us in with a welcoming embrace and the warm, wafting smell of Oma-buns baking in the heavens!!
Posted by Jeremy J Harnett :: 7:49 p.m. :: 4 comments

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