A week ago today I was privileged to conduct a funeral service for my grandmother, Charlotte Parker.  She was 90  years old when she passed away on July 26.  She was an amazing individual, as was clearly seen from all of the testimonies that were brought forward in both of the funeral services held in her honor.  She had had such a profound impact on so many people, many of whom had adopted her as extended family.  Many stories (and tears) were shared about fun times shared, faith shared, and even griefs shared over the years.  She meant a lot to a lot of people.

Grandma was very active in her church, wherever that church might be.  She didn’t gravitate toward the big fancy churches with a lot of flashy programs.  She tended to be drawn more to the smaller congregations where there was a really dynamic spirit of worship and service, and where she could find a place to plug in.  She was often a part of the worship team, singing, playing guitar or organ – whatever was needed.  In her last congregation she had prepared the worship folders for the last several years.

Grandma loved animals.  From the earliest time I can remember she had animals around the house:  dogs, cats, birds.  She was especially fond of cats, and volunteered in animal shelters in both Crescent City, California and Fallon, Nevada.   She had several cats around the house in her last few years, one of which stayed by her side all the way to the end.  I especially remember a chihuahua that she had down in Colton, California, my home town.  This little dog’s name was Tico, and he was kind of nervous and yappy (like a lot of chihuahuas are), but that dog was totally devoted to Grandma.  He would sit beside her on her chair and just be as mellow as anything!

Grandma wasn’t always the person of deep faith that most of the people at her funeral knew.  From stories I heard from her as a child, she was what I would call a “casual Christian” for many years; a person who generally believes the tenets of Christianity, without those tenets really affecting their lives; they kind of believe, but they really haven’t “caught fire”.  But she did catch fire, and became a person who touched many many lives through prayer and the power of the gospel that she believed so deeply in.

I was actually one of those whose life she touched that way.  I had my first encounter with Jesus at age 9 at Green Oak Ranch Boy’s Camp in southern California.  I was baptized shortly thereafter, and was even called to the ministry.  But, by about age 15 I had started to drift, and by the time I was 18, I was deeply entrenched in New Age beliefs, while still holding on to a surface appearance of being a Christian.  Grandma saw right through my pretenses, and called me on it.  She told me that I was headed in the wrong direction and needed to turn around.  I still remember, with a lot of shame, my response:  I gave her a pitying little smile and told her that one day she, too, would be an “old soul” like me, and then she would understand.  Her response:  She prayed for me constantly that God would pull me up short.  And just a couple of years later, He did!  I know that there were a lot of people praying for me, but I was especially aware of Grandma’s prayers as a powerful influence that kept my heart soft while God was reaching me.  (I later apologized to Grandma for my response to her and, of course, she had already forgiven me.)

At the funeral I shared how, when I had a “skip day” in High School, I would always head for Grandma’s house, where I would play on the organ that sat in her living room, often with her at my side, guiding my fingers and patiently correcting my mistakes.  I owe a lot of my love for music to Grandma.  Whether it was the organ, or the guitar, an autoharp, or a melodion (kind of a flute with piano keys), or even just her voice singing one of the hymns that she loved so much, Grandma surrounded herself with music, and wove it into the very fabric of her being.  And she loved singing songs that glorified the Lord most of all.

At the internment, I shared from 2 Timothy 3:6-8:  “For I am already being poured out like a drink offering, and the time has come for my departure.  I have fought the good fight, I have finished the race, I have kept the faith.  Now there is in store for me the crown of righteousness, which the Lord, the righteous Judge, will award to me on that day–and not only to me, but also to all who have longed for his appearing.”  I shared that it’s not so much how you start the race of life that matters.  (We all start the race in the same way:  lost in sin.)  Instead, it is how you finish that determines the kind of welcome that one receives in heaven.  Like Paul, Grandma finished the race well, and kept the faith to the very end.  And, just like Paul, I have not doubt that she was welcomed into the presence of her Father in heaven with a hearty, “Well done, good and faithful servant!  You have been faithful with a few things; I will put you in charge of many things.  Come and share in your master’s happiness!” and had the crown of righteousness placed on her head.  And, knowing Grandma, she would have presented that crown right back to her Lord, explaining quietly that she was really not worthy of that honor, because it was all about Him anyway.  And then, with that wide, beaming smile of hers, she would have entered gladly into the happiness of her master, where she will spend all eternity.