Oma’s declarations

My husband’s grandmother was a very direct woman. I had been a part of his family for only a couple of months when I received a call from this Oma. In what I was soon to discover was her trademark bluntness, she stated simply, “I could be dead and you would not know!”

In no-nonsense fashion, she let me know she was going to be involved in my life – and she expected me to be involved in hers! I was taken aback, and slightly offended, by her brusqueness, and her limited English and my non-existent German made communication difficult. But as the years passed, the obligatory calls were replaced with anticipated visits as we learned more about each other and were able to develop a bond, despite our separate worlds and cultures.

As well as learning the honour of valuing the older generation with respect and love, I learned other important lessons from Oma. She was a tremendous gift giver. Every Christmas handmade gifts were given to her many grandchildren, great-grandchildren and even a great-great grandchild. She spent hours preparing these gifts. Knitted slippers, crocheted doilies and tea towels with stitched edges were lovingly fashioned by her wrinkled yet steady hands. Oma also loved to make zwieback and verenicke, and these traditional German foods were gifts she often gave to her family.

There were deeper, more significant lessons I learned from Oma throughout the years, as our conversations often turned to spiritual matters. She loved God and it was her heartfelt prayer that each family member would also know this heavenly love. She prayed for her family daily.

Oma had a heart for evangelism. She was supportive of the ministries my husband and I were involved with over the years, often asking candid questions about our work. This was part of the cherished, God-centred heritage she passed on to me through our conversations and the short prayers that ended many of our visits.

Recently Oma taught me the most significant lesson of all. I had been visiting in the town where she lived when I received a call from my mother-in-law informing me that Oma had suffered a stroke. As I entered the hospital I met an aunt and uncle who had spent the morning with Oma. Giving me instructions to Oma’s room, my aunt gently informed me, “She probably won’t know you are here.”

I smiled as I touched her arm and replied, “But I will know that I am with her.” I sensed Oma had one more lesson to impart.

I was not mistaken. For the next hour I had a chance to sit beside my 93-year-old Oma, holding her hand, while I gazed at the lines etched into her face. Caressing her soft, creased arms and occasionally stroking her gray hair, it was as if I, together with her, were only a step away from meeting the Creator of the world and the Lover of our souls.

“You’re going to see Jesus!” were the first thoughts I could verbalize, and when I whispered it, I could just imagine her piercing eyes staring back at me, demanding “Vat you say?” I smiled and tried to speak louder while being mindful of the other patients and visitors in the room. I thanked her for her prayers. I thanked her for our conversations, and chuckled as I remembered her assertion that I should learn German so we could communicate better. “I learned English,” she had declared. “You should learn German!”

As I held her hand while she lay on the hospital bed, I was overcome with how close eternity was. I took a deep breath, recalling the Scripture that says, “we are a breath and then we are gone.” Oma’s long life had been lived well, as her obituary read at her funeral the following week proved, and now, as her warm hand sporadically squeezed mine, she was about to embark on the next stage of the abundant life promised to her by God in John 10:10.

As if being suspended for an extra few hours between life on earth and her eternal life, Oma taught me her final lesson: this life is only the beginning; live it with eternity in mind. It was as straightforward a proclamation as any of her other declarations had been.

Doris Born lives at Gardom Lake Bible Camp near Enderby, B.C., where her husband Will is camp director.