Today I followed up with a lead from a man I met at a meeting in Tulsa. He told me that his niece and her husband had just moved to the Glenpool area and were lifetime United Methodist. He gave me thier address but not their phone number so I couldn’t call ahead. I went with the hope that he had called them and told them he had asked me to come by. Which I discovered, he did not. Cold calls are always a scary thing. You have to steele your spine and as my friend Pete says “plow through the fear” with every expectation of being rejected. But they were very nice and as soon as I mentioned the uncle’s name, they opened their home to me. They were definately life-long UM and mentioned names I had only heard from my grandparent’s lips. We shared a wonderful hour of visiting discovering that their daughter, like myself, had created programs in churches for people with disabilities.
After I left, I was hit with a wave of grief for my grandparents. They would have joyfully welcomed a stranger into their home just as this lovely couple had. I cry now thinking of how deeply I miss them and how I wish I had their wisdom to draw upon as I try to build a church that reflects a love for all kinds of people. My mom and I call these waves of grief “sugar cookie moments.” The first time I allowed myself to really deeply grieve (you know that sobbing messy scare-people kind of grief) was when my daughter baked me my grandmother’s sugar cookies as a surprise. I unraveled. It was time. I had held myself together long enough and it was to be expected. As a pastor, when someone you love dies, you are called upon to do the service. So you hold yourself together and do the to-do list of things that are necessary. Than your grief leaks out later at the most unexpected times.
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