A Tribute to Grammy & Grandaddy

Having fun at Lincoln Park

by Mallory Nieveen

As the first anniversary of my mom’s death approaches, I’d like to share the following thoughts from my daughter, a missionary in Africa, who was unable to return home to say goodbye to her grandparents. (We lost both my parents within four months.) --Michele Husfelt

I am by no means an expert on grief, having suffered very little in this life. It seems to me that grief is very much a kind of school, and as those to whom it has been promised that we will suffer, should we indeed live godly lives, any such painful trial proves to be a golden opportunity to lean on and learn from Jesus, the humble Savior who suffered greatly for us yet without sin. So Jesus, teach each of us through this most recent grief; draw us nearer to You, the Suffering Servant.

In looking to Jesus through this pain, I feel as though He has invited me into a two-fold tasting of His heart: one, in remembrance, and two, in surrendering my current and future days.

That first invitation from our Lord is a cherished remembrance of my Grammy and Grandaddy’s lives. I truly believe it honors my Heavenly Father when I take little moments to thank Him for the sweet memories I shared with them. This recognition can arise at any time: When I catch a glimpse of the hands of an older woman, my mind always returns to Grammy’s disfigured, yet soft and gentle fingers, and I thank God for the ways He used those hands to bless many. I think of her at eighty-nine years of age, writing in her beautiful cursive on birthday cards and prayer requests displayed on her fridge chalkboard, even with failing sight and trembling hands.

When my children hear the ticking of the clock, we recall the joyful surprise of the German figures popping out of Grammy and Grandaddy’s many clocks to announce the hour. Any time I see Mountain Dew, it reminds me of how willing Grandaddy was, even in his weak health, to rise from his rocker and head to the garage to offer us a cold drink in the heat of Florida summers. I remember Grandaddy’s generosity when he gave me his guitar the moment he heard I wanted to learn to play. I think of the smell of humid air after storms and recall the hours spent waiting at Grammy and Grandaddy’s for the thunderstorm to pass so we could enjoy childhood thrills at Lincoln Park. To dwell on these reflections and offer sacrifices of thanksgiving is something I believe pleases the Lord.

The second is like it—as I reflect on how quickly, even with the anticipation that comes from the blessing of old age, death arrived so suddenly, I must humbly admit my life is not my own. My Good Father numbers my days, and He invites me to live totally surrendered to Him until He calls me home. May Grammy and Grandaddy’s lives and the grief over their deaths be a cause for joyful thanksgiving and sober surrender to the One who laid down His life in death and overcame in resurrection, offering us forgiveness of sins for those who repent, and eternal hope in life and death.

Mallory (Husfelt) Nieveen
Chad, Africa
August, 2024