I was going to skip church on Sunday. I thought I might read the Sunday New York Times while drinking that second pot of coffee,  work on this blog. (That is my fall back excuse all the time now, even if I don’t go near my laptop). Paul  informed me he was doing the Offertory prayer, ushering, and helping with communion, so he would not be playing hooky with me. Still I considered skipping, until I received a voicemail message asking me to do a reading in the service. Clearly, GOD wanted me at church on Sunday!  

Sunday was All Saints Day. Historically, not a day Baptists celebrate, because we don’t have saints in the sense that the Catholic Church defines the term. But, we use the broader definition of a saint – a believer in Christ. For us, this was a time for recalling all those believers who have gone on to heaven.

And so we had a Remembrance of the Saints of God celebration.The congregation was invited to come to the front of the church and speak the name or names of saints who had made differences in their lives. As the name was said, a bell chimed.

Our pastor reminded us that saints show their faith in many different ways. In how they lived their lives, how they helped others. Living a quite life of faith and love and kindness has much more meaning and power than waving your Bible around and screaming “Jesus loves you”. Then he said something that gripped my heart and squeezed it tight.

“Maybe your saint showed you love at just the right time in your life.”

I was compelled to go up and say my saint’s name. Compelled is the only term that comes close to why I was heading to the front. I had no intention of getting up, but it was as if I needed to speak.

When my turn came, I readied myself. I had several names to say.

“My Grandmother, Christina Garcia.”

I was unable to continue. I couldn’t speak the other names.

Instantly and intensely overwhelmed with memories and love for my Grandmother, I made it back to the pew. While I have remembered my Grandmother many many times in the years since she died, it has never been this strong. I haven’t missed her like this in years. I was flooded with memories and feelings of how much she loved me and how much I loved her. It felt so fresh and powerful. I paid little attention to the rest of the service.

My parents divorced when I was a baby. My mother and I moved in with my grandparents and my Mom went back to work. These are my earliest memories. Plates of grits and tomatoes, kicking dead catfish off the dock while she fished, watching her secretly dip snuff (she called it her candy). She would get up before the sun every day, and I could hear her busy in the kitchen or at her sewing machine. After my Mom remarried and we moved to the other side of town, I would call my grandmother and she would drive out to get me so I could spend the weekend with her.

Thinking back, it’s hard to describe our relationship. Unconditional and unfettered of any expectations. We just were. She didn’t play with me or entertain me (we played 500 rummy sometimes). I was her sidekick. We traipsed through the woods looking for the wild herb she used to make hogs head cheese. At the fabric store, I would choose the patterns and materials for whatever new dress she would have finished for me by the next day. I remember cutting out Betsy McCall paper dolls  from her latest McCall’s magazine while she worked in the kitchen. 

What I wouldn’t give to go back and relive one of those days. To sharpen the faded memories, burn them into my heart.

I am not one to see mysticism and miracles in everything that happens in my life, but when GOD does put his hand on my heart, it is so strong that I can’t ignore it. A reminder of why I believe. It is renewing. This has been one of those times.

As I sat and remembered all that she had meant to me, I came to realize that GOD wanted me to remember her and her alone on this particular day. How much she loved me and how much love was in my life, then and now. Reminding me  that all the love in our lives ultimately comes from Him.

This was my Remembrance.