To this I hold, my hope is only Jesus
All the glory evermore to Him
When the race is complete, still my lips shall repeat
Yet not I, but through Christ in me
- Yet not I, but through Christ in Me, song by City Alight
My grandmother died on September 25th. She passed in her sleep, peaceful and painless. While her death was as quiet and uneventful as one could hope for their loved ones, it was still unexpected, jarring, and heartbreaking.
She was a sensational woman, not only a wonderfully loving and caring grandmother but a fantastically inspiring woman to all who met her.
If you want to learn a bit about her life and her faith, please read her obituary here , written by my dad, her son. There you will see a summary of her adventures across the globe. You will see that the lyrics above hold true for her life.
There is so much I want to write about her before it slips out of my mind. There are too many stories I want to put to paper and share because I really believe everyone I know should hear them. And yet, even as I frantically type out memories of her talking about the market in Kuwait or diplomats in Kinshasa or giving birth in Venezuela, I know I will never fully re-create her stories. I can’t make readers hear her laugh, I can’t make them understand that she chose to leave bitterness and self-pity at the door and stepped into a life of constant adventure, change, and newness. And through it all, her priority was to share her love of Christ, to open her home to all people across the world.
So, as I struggled with my own inadequacy to write about Grandma, I chose to focus on a few memories I have of her and the lessons they taught me about her.
I didn’t come into Grandma’s life until she was settled in Elkins Lake, Texas. I missed out on her travels, but I had the full advantage of a retired grandmother who was ready to pass on her stories, her wisdom, and her laughter to grandchildren. I spent a few months in Texas during grade school living up the road from her and during university I spent a few term breaks with her alone. My reflections and memories on Grandma are from those short, precious moments.
As my sister wrote in her tribute, Grandma’s house was a constant for us as we grew up moving from country to country. Whether my parents were working in Scotland, Angola, or the Middle East, we could always visit Elkins Lake and find Dr Pepper in the fridge, Bluebell in the freezer, and the Astros on TV. Those small comforts, small consistencies, meant everything to a traveling, misplaced child.
When my husband and I were newly engaged, I called Grandma to talk about him and our upcoming plans. She asked me if he had figured out he was marrying into a weird family. I said I didn’t think so and she replied, laughing, ‘he’ll figure out soon enough. We’re a weird bunch!’
And we are. I have fought against that description for most of my life. I don’t like being the odd one out, I don’t like being different, and I don’t like being noticeably ‘weird.’ But it only takes a few questions about my upbringing for a stranger to understand - the McHaney family doesn’t have a normal story. We like a little adventure and we must like to be anomalies and to embrace multiple cultures and homes all at once.
We are a little weird.
Grandma not only knew that, she fully appreciated it. Her mother-in-law apparently said that ‘Sid (my grandpa) was a fine young man - until he married that gypsy woman!’ Grandma used to tell me that story when I felt out of place - whether I was on Spring break from a Southern Baptist university saying I didn’t think anyone on the whole campus knew where Angola was, or I was telling her about working in a hospital where I couldn’t understand my patients’ accents or I was relaying how difficult I found moving back to the UK. She reminded me I was the ‘odd one out,’ I came from a whole family of ‘odd one outs’ and despite that, life goes on and people get over it.
I don’t think it ever bothered her that some people thought she was a little strange, a little misfitting, I think she embraced it and passed that strangeness on to her children and grandchildren. I hope to appreciate it a little more each day.
At my wedding, I took a break from the ceilidh dancing to sit next to grandma and I thanked her for coming. At 84 she had traveled 12 hours by car to be at my wedding. All she said when I thanked her was “I’m just sorry I can’t dance!”
I really think she enjoyed life. Her spunk, her vivaciousness, her ability to not take passing things too seriously enabled her to take advantage of every moment and enjoy it for what it was. I love knowing that about my grandma.
When she and Grandpa fell in love, there was no question about their commitment and love for one another and their full dedication to the Lord. They both felt the same calling to live overseas, to make their life purpose sharing the gospel through whatever opportunities the Lord provided. And they did.
As they traveled around the world, they worked diligently and were faithful to their calling. Grandma made a point to welcome everyone, high and low alike. I wish I could have attended the parties she threw for diplomats across the world or the Thanksgiving dinners she hosted for international students from Sam Houston University. I would have loved to have watched her wit and hospitality join forces for a memorable and delightful evening.
I wish I could have watched and learned how she carried herself in such way that enticed respect and trust from all walks of life.
Grandma was not a cosy grandmother. She didn’t bake cookies or much of anything else. She didn’t tiptoe around pretence or over complicate matters. A few months before my wedding, I was sitting in her guest room, planning details with my mum. Grandma walked in and tossed me a white jewellery box with a strand of her pearls. She said ‘They can be your something borrowed, and your something old. If you think you want to wear them.’
Then she walked back to her room and finished watching a Bob Newhart rerun (a show I watched with her on my Spring Breaks, we both laughed a lot). That was Grandma. She was honest, pragmatic, and exceptionally thoughtful.
The last time I visited with her was while she was living in a care home. I asked her if she needed anything before I left and she wanted to know if she had more M&M’s somewhere in her room. Grandma had a sweet tooth for as long as I can remember - after she turned 85 she sometimes ate brownies and ice cream for breakfast because, as she said, ‘who’s going to stop me?’
I didn’t find any M&M’s but I found a huge bag of Hersheys mini bars and kisses in her cupboard. Her face lit up with a massive smile and she laughed. She’d forgotten it was there and the discovery of chocolate was always a win in her book.
Grandma didn’t have to have the levity and joy that she did. Others, myself included, are too often tempted to turn themselves away from life, from the world and its dangers. But, due to her faith in God, she embraced life instead. She bravely threw herself into the great and insignificant aspects of a fallen world and she bravely took delight in being a part of it all.
Her contentedness and consistent sense of purpose speak to her resolve and her determination to gratefully value life.
I don’t think I’m very much like Grandma. I’m too emotional, too passive, too brooding, too timid, and I care far too much about others’ opinions. I have tried to be more like her, but I often fail and have to accept that maybe I haven’t grown into her legacy quite yet. I’ll keep trying - I hope that as I continue to reflect on her life I will grow a little more daring, a little more hospitable, and a little more purposeful.
I am now, not only a daughter and a granddaughter, but also a mother - mother to a girl who will never meet Grandma. And as I watch my own child sleep in her Moses’ basket, I think about all the women in our family who came before her, and all the women who will come after her. I wonder how to impress upon her the lessons of the faith, resilience, and compassion those women carried - particularly Grandma. I wonder how to relay to her all of Grandma’s stories, so she knows what an interesting, undaunted, strange, gracious and adventurous ancestor she has.
I also wonder how to teach her to forge her own path, build her own relationship with God, follow His particular calling for her life, which may be wholly different from anyone else’s. I wonder how to teach her to embrace and cherish her life, with its messiness, its discomfort, its challenges and its conquests, all with a brave and curious delight.
I hope my daughter has Grandma’s spunk, her boldness, her resolve. I hope she has her hospitality, her love of adventure and people. I hope she has her confidence, confidence that she is forgiven and loved, and confidence that others' opinions don’t matter too much. I hope she grows up brave, looking for a story in all her experiences. I hope she is quick to forgive, and also quick to find the joy and delight in every small thing - whether it’s a pirate’s chest from Kuwait or a peach from Fredericksburg or a forgotten stash of Hershey kisses in the cupboard.