Wow, Freepers really do know the answer to almost any question! Thanks for the scripture location!
I call my grama, “Gram” too.
101 is awesome. I am amazed my Gram is 91. How blessed we are to still have her. I wish I’d have the confidence to speak at her memorial service someday. Maybe I will. I have a fear of public speaking to large groups ever since I was in school. It petrifies me.
Her son, my uncle, died young of cancer, 54, and my sister had the guts to get up and give a lovely remembrance of our uncle. That was Feb. 2007.
Last Dec. her daughter, my aunt, died unexpectedly in her sleep, age 63. 2 of her children, in their grief, still stood up and gave wonderful eulogies.
I don’t know how Gram’s little old heart takes all these losses. 10 years ago her husband, my Grampa, died, at a ripe old age, but still a lingering painful heart failure death. That was hard on Gram.
No one ever would have thought that a few years later, 2 of Grampa’s children would follow him to Heaven.
I have learned to be ready everyday to be called Home.
At my aunt’s memorial, I sat next to a Christian woman, who said to me, how different it is to be at a service where most or all there are saved Christians. She said how there is a calm there, rather than loud wailing or the sobbing of those who do not know the peace that comes with being saved by Christ. Tears are shed, but there is not hopelessness. There is missing of the departed, but also the knowing that they are with The Lord, where they wanted to be someday anyway, even if it is an untimely early death.
7 years ago another of my uncles, died getting ready for work one Monday, just took a funny breath and was gone. He was 63. He had a physical the Friday before, and died sitting on the couch before going to work on a Monday.
Hard lessons learned that we are called home when God wants us. All these wonderful relatives, taken too early for me, but at just the right moment for God.
Have a peaceful night!
When I’m Called Home
When I breathe my last upon this earth,
Don’t be sad and filled with pain.
My purpose will be completed.
What I’ve longed for, I’ve attained.
Don’t shed a tear, but smile instead.
My death is not the end.
I’m still living ~ just on a higher plane,
With Jesus ~ my dearest friend.
When my earthly body is lowered,
Into the cold, dark, dreary ground.
It won’t lie there forever,
Only ‘til the trumpet’s sound.
Please etch upon my headstone,
The date God gave me birth.
But enter not the month and year,
He took me from this earth.
My spirit will still be living,
For I was saved by grace.
I’ll be dwelling with my Savior.
In that glorious, heavenly place.
And when the final trumpet sounds,
First the dead in Christ shall rise.
Then my body that was buried,
Will be caught up in the skies.
It will meet there with my spirit.
And the two shall be entwined.
To form the perfect body,
That my precious Lord designed.
If God has not yet called you,
Before that final trumpet sounds,
You’ll be changed and rise to meet Him,
For you, too, are Heaven bound.
Emily McAdams