Life is too precious.
My Grossi met Jesus March 11, 2019. She listened to Him release the words, “Well done, Thy good and faithful servant.” I wonder if He had tears in His eyes as He said it. God watched Mary Ellen endure her deepest joys and most anguished sorrows. She made it—she fought the good fight, and she finished the race with joy. I wonder if it brought tears to His eyes.
He had comforted her when she mourned, as He comforts we who mourn.
I think that the hardest part about grief is knowing that you will never be able to make memories with that person again. Death prompts you to remember all the little things that you didn’t realize you would miss.
Her smile, her laughter, her lipstick, her spunk. Her resolution. She was stubborn, as many of you know, and she was strong. I admired her tenacity.
It’s in those little moments that you grow to love someone—it’s the collection of those small moments that builds our trust and our admiration. Those small, insignificant moments.
And it’s often not until death that we realize the magnificence of all those moments.
Mary Ellen Schraner built her life from a collection of moments that highlighted the importance of faith, family, and friends. This church and these people made those moments. You, here today, were everything to her. She found her foundation in Christ and her blessings and joys in you.
Nine years ago, my mother gave her a notebook entitled Grandmother, Tell Me Your Story. Within it poses the question, “What are some of the things you hope your children and grandchildren have learned from you?”
Her answer: “Faith—the belief in God, Cooking—Hospitality,” which I know many of you inherited, and “peace in the family.” Mary Ellen taught me those three things, and she taught me to have fun and to celebrate when life calls for celebration. She prayed for her family more than anyone I know, she welcomed me to her home many times, and she filled my heart with joy and abundance.
It’s strange that she’s not here with us. It doesn’t resonate well. My mother once said, “We are eternal beings. We were never meant to say goodbye.” I suppose that is why it is so devastatingly painful to miss someone who deposited memories into our own life that made us have a life worth living.
So, as we hold our breath, and as we will the world to stop spinning, let’s take the quietness of grief and utilize it as a reminder to cling to the mundane moments. Let’s hold one another a little closer, for a little longer. Life is far too precious and far too short to cling to anything but those who love us.
I John 2:17 reads, “And the world is passing away along with its desires, but whoever does the will of God abides forever.” This became one of my favorite verses the first time I endured grief from a separation that feels so very permanent, but the reality is that permanence fades when you recall Christ’s three words: “It is finished.”
Mary Ellen was ready to meet the Savior of the world, the God that held her tears in a leger. The God that gave her breath, and the God that took her breath away. The God who allowed tragedy, the God who prepared and encouraged her through devastation. The God who blessed her with so many people and things. The God who allowed her to live a full life—she was not afraid to meet the God she knew so well and loved so dear.
I wonder if she brought tears to her Savior’s eyes—happy tears. Christ knew that He brought her home. The heartache and the pain of this world has left her, and she has been made alive in the fullness of Christ.
While we cry because we miss her, I think that Christ may shed a tear in welcoming her home.
Exposed 