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No, they’ve got it all wrong. She can’t have died. She believed in miraculous healings. I know she did. But she still passed away. So if her faith wasn’t strong enough to fix herself, why did I put any hope in her ability to pray for my daughter?
I click on the video, morbid as it sounds. I’ve got to understand. Will people actually talk about that at her funeral — or her celebration of life service as they call it? Will they talk about the fact that she still died even though her faith was larger than a million mustard seeds?
I’ve got to see this. Maybe it’s just because I like to torture myself. I don’t know. But I want to see this service. I want to know what happened.
I want to know how God took away someone with a faith like Grandma Lucy’s.
While the video thinks about loading up, I read the comments beneath.
Grandma Lucy, that was so inspiring.
I love you, Grandma Lucy! Thanks so much for sharing with us.
What’s with these people? Do they think heaven’s connected to wi-fi and that Grandma Lucy’s really going to be spending time watching who’s posting on her funeral replay?
But it gets even more ridiculous.
Praising God for your healing.
I was so excited to hear you’re home! PTL!
You’d think these people were welcoming a war hero or something like that. “She can’t even hear you!” I want to shout at them all.
Some of the other comments make more sense. Here’s a post from a twenty-something young man who says that Grandma Lucy led him to Christ and saved him from a life of drug and alcohol abuse. There’s a middle-aged woman who says Grandma Lucy kept her from committing suicide. It’s a little rambling and hard to follow thanks to poor grammar and autocorrect, but I catch enough of the story to learn that Grandma Lucy once stopped a crowded bus to talk this woman down from a highway overpass and then told her how to be saved.
It’s a little eerie, really. Everyone’s got such powerful stories to tell. Isn’t someone sad that she’s gone? No matter how good of a person she was, isn’t anyone allowed the space to grieve?
Enough of the video loads that I can start the service. It’s the same pastor from Orchard Grove Bible, except it’s not in his church. Grandma Lucy apparently touched so many lives they had to hold her funeral service in the high school gym.
The pastor greets those in attendance, and I find myself looking for his petite wisp of a wife. I know this is supposed to be a celebration of Grandma Lucy’s life, but I wish the pastor looked a little more somber. He’s not even wearing a suit and tie. Said that when he and Grandma Lucy were discussing the arrangements for her ceremony, she wanted people to dress in their brightest colors. She wanted her friends from different ethnic backgrounds to wear traditional clothes to represent the way heaven is filled with people from every nation, tribe, and tongue.
The pastor looks markedly American in his basketball jersey. I still can’t tell if he’s got more Hispanic blood or Native American. Not that it really matters. I’m just curious.
After an opening prayer that feels far too enthusiastic for an event like this, Pastor Greg talks about how Grandma Lucy handpicked all the hymns for today’s service. I wonder what kind of person would be so obsessed with her own mortality they’d planned their own song arrangement.
Different strokes, I guess.
The pastor leads the singing on his guitar. I haven’t heard the song before, but I’m sure it’s got to be a hundred years old or more. I Know Whom I Have Believed. It’s got a catchy enough tune, but the language is kind of clunky, which is what makes me think it must be so ancient. Everyone’s singing at the top of their lungs. I don’t think I’ve even been to a wedding whose guests are this excited.
“And now we’ve got something really special to share with you,” the pastor says. “We weren’t sure she’d be feeling strong enough, but Grandma Lucy’s going to come out now and say a few words.”
I’m so stunned I nearly drop my phone. The cord catches on Natalie’s crib, which is the only thing that keeps it from crashing onto the floor. I know for a fact that someone like Grandma Lucy wouldn’t have anything to do with a séance or anything like that. I re-read the title of the video again. Celebration of life service for our beloved Grandma Lucy.
Celebration of life. That’s a funeral, right? Then why is she on my cell phone screen? Why is she wearing a yellow blouse with flowers the size of dinner plates and waving to everyone who’s clapping and cheering as she makes her way to the stage?
The Lakers-fan pastor holds the mic for just another minute. “When the doctors told us about the water around Grandma Lucy’s heart, a lot of us feared we were going to lose her. Many of us didn’t feel ready yet to say goodbye. I went to talk with her at the hospital, and she said she was ready to meet her Jesus. Her only regret was that she didn’t get one last chance to tell the ones she loved about the Lord. She wanted to make a video, record it one night when she felt particularly strong. It was going to be her goodbye video, but as we all know, God had other plans for our dear sister.”
Cheers and shouts of hallelujahs interrupt him and persist for several minutes before he quiets the crowds again.
“Grandma Lucy walked out of that hospital even when the doctors expected the worst. When she got home, she joked with me and said that it was a shame the video she made couldn’t be shared with the world yet. And that’s how we came up with the idea for today’s celebration of life service. We’re still not going to watch that recording she made. We’ve got something even better. We’ve got Grandma Lucy herself, healed from what most people assumed would be her deathbed, and she’s going to tell us directly what the Lord put on her spirit the other night.”
This time, it’s a full five minutes before the cheering stops and Grandma Lucy begins. I’ve got tears streaming down my cheeks, but I don’t know if that’s because I’m relieved to find out she’s not really dead or if I’m just longing for that peace and radiance that shine out of Grandma Lucy’s face. I’m biting my lip so hard it might bleed. My phone is trembling in my hand. I pray that the hospital guest wireless will give me enough bandwidth to watch the whole video without interruptions.
Grandma Lucy takes in a choppy inhale. I lean forward, forgetting to breathe myself as she begins her speech.