My Grandma Voss
Below are the words I spoke at my Grandmother's funeral on February 12:
In some ways, it's easier than I thought it would be to share with you a few words about my Grandmother this morning. Because anyone who's been in a room with her for just five minutes knows what kind of a person she was--warm and inviting (like her cinnamon rolls); comfortable to be with (like the blankets she knitted); someone who was always able to make you laugh at her audacious ability to speak-it-like-she-saw-it.
All of you who've had the privilege of spending time with Beulah Voss know that she was a spirited and loving soul. And so those of us gathered here today to remember her life are like one big family mourning the same loss.
My Grandma weathered a lot in her 88 years of life. As I grew up I developed a deepening respect for her wisdom won from living through the great depression, the childhood loss of her mother, seeing her husband through the second world war, and eventually surviving the deaths of her husband, her son, and her son-in-law. My Grandma wasn't quick to talk about these struggles or the sacrifices she made, but I believe that her resilience made the sparkle in her eyes and the laughter in her voice that much more significant. Though she weathered so much, no one could snatch the joy from her life or the warmth from her presence.
I grew up hearing tale after tale of my Grandma's latest exploits. There was the time when my dad was little and she sent him out to the garden with a salt shaker and instructions to enjoy all the tomatoes he could eat. He got so sick that he never ate another tomato again. A life-long believer in the necessity of a thorough spring cleaning, my Grandma continued the practice of flipping her bedroom mattress each spring well past her 80th birthday, even when she got stuck beneath the mattress and had to call her neighbor for help.
We would warn her, tell her to slow down and put her feet up, urge her to live life more carefully--but that wasn't Beulah's way. She was fiercely independent, determined to have an extravagant meal on the table when you stepped through the door, no matter the trouble. She refused to abide by a stray spider or dusty corner in her home.
And perhaps it was her incredible hospitality that was my Grandma's greatest gift to family and friends alike. She mothered her own siblings after the loss of their mom and adopted countless others throughout her life. My Grandma never met a stranger. She made friends on airplanes and befriended the man behind the deli counter. She swapped mince-meat cookies for free samples from her doctor. She welcomed grandchildren into her home with a pan of cinnamon rolls and a platter of pumpkin roll. My Grandma took great delight in feeding anyone--grand-dogs included. I'm a vegetarian, but my mom and my husband heartily agree that she could cook some mean barbecue ribs. Her great-grandchildren cut their teeth on toast topped with her famous canned jams.
Beyond her love of food and infamous cooking capabilities, my Grandma could always make you laugh. She never lost the ability to surprise you with something she said or did, to shout you down if you weren't pulling your weight as her partner in a card game, to give you her opinion on the latest turn of events. My Grandma was fun and easy to be with. She was a people-person, a quality that I'm thankful she passed along to my dad. She loved her family with a fierce and enduring love. No doubt any one of her grandkids would tell you that we'd be blessed to inherit just a hint of her resilience, her sparkle, her wit, or her warmth.
And it is partially because of these qualities, but also because of the hope that we have in a God who is always bringing new life out of death, that I celebrate the joyful reunion of my Grandma with my dad, with my Uncle Ed, and with my Grandpa. I'd like to think she's slow-cooking some barbecue ribs right now for that joyous feast to which we're all invited. It is fitting that as she made her way home to God, a place was prepared for her--the one who spent so much of her life preparing to welcome others.
Because God's mercies are new each day, we can offer gratitude even for this day, a day when we miss one we loved so deeply--a day when we also rejoice that Beulah Voss is feasting at the heavenly banquet.
In some ways, it's easier than I thought it would be to share with you a few words about my Grandmother this morning. Because anyone who's been in a room with her for just five minutes knows what kind of a person she was--warm and inviting (like her cinnamon rolls); comfortable to be with (like the blankets she knitted); someone who was always able to make you laugh at her audacious ability to speak-it-like-she-saw-it.
All of you who've had the privilege of spending time with Beulah Voss know that she was a spirited and loving soul. And so those of us gathered here today to remember her life are like one big family mourning the same loss.
My Grandma weathered a lot in her 88 years of life. As I grew up I developed a deepening respect for her wisdom won from living through the great depression, the childhood loss of her mother, seeing her husband through the second world war, and eventually surviving the deaths of her husband, her son, and her son-in-law. My Grandma wasn't quick to talk about these struggles or the sacrifices she made, but I believe that her resilience made the sparkle in her eyes and the laughter in her voice that much more significant. Though she weathered so much, no one could snatch the joy from her life or the warmth from her presence.
I grew up hearing tale after tale of my Grandma's latest exploits. There was the time when my dad was little and she sent him out to the garden with a salt shaker and instructions to enjoy all the tomatoes he could eat. He got so sick that he never ate another tomato again. A life-long believer in the necessity of a thorough spring cleaning, my Grandma continued the practice of flipping her bedroom mattress each spring well past her 80th birthday, even when she got stuck beneath the mattress and had to call her neighbor for help.
We would warn her, tell her to slow down and put her feet up, urge her to live life more carefully--but that wasn't Beulah's way. She was fiercely independent, determined to have an extravagant meal on the table when you stepped through the door, no matter the trouble. She refused to abide by a stray spider or dusty corner in her home.
And perhaps it was her incredible hospitality that was my Grandma's greatest gift to family and friends alike. She mothered her own siblings after the loss of their mom and adopted countless others throughout her life. My Grandma never met a stranger. She made friends on airplanes and befriended the man behind the deli counter. She swapped mince-meat cookies for free samples from her doctor. She welcomed grandchildren into her home with a pan of cinnamon rolls and a platter of pumpkin roll. My Grandma took great delight in feeding anyone--grand-dogs included. I'm a vegetarian, but my mom and my husband heartily agree that she could cook some mean barbecue ribs. Her great-grandchildren cut their teeth on toast topped with her famous canned jams.
Beyond her love of food and infamous cooking capabilities, my Grandma could always make you laugh. She never lost the ability to surprise you with something she said or did, to shout you down if you weren't pulling your weight as her partner in a card game, to give you her opinion on the latest turn of events. My Grandma was fun and easy to be with. She was a people-person, a quality that I'm thankful she passed along to my dad. She loved her family with a fierce and enduring love. No doubt any one of her grandkids would tell you that we'd be blessed to inherit just a hint of her resilience, her sparkle, her wit, or her warmth.
And it is partially because of these qualities, but also because of the hope that we have in a God who is always bringing new life out of death, that I celebrate the joyful reunion of my Grandma with my dad, with my Uncle Ed, and with my Grandpa. I'd like to think she's slow-cooking some barbecue ribs right now for that joyous feast to which we're all invited. It is fitting that as she made her way home to God, a place was prepared for her--the one who spent so much of her life preparing to welcome others.
Because God's mercies are new each day, we can offer gratitude even for this day, a day when we miss one we loved so deeply--a day when we also rejoice that Beulah Voss is feasting at the heavenly banquet.
posted by Seth and Mandy at
1:38 PM
2 Comments:
As always, Mandy, perfect....
I'm sure everyone who heard your words felt comforted and peaceful remembering your grandma exactly how she was. I'm so sorry for your loss, but as you said it, she is reunited with those that went before her, enjoying a wonderful feast and laughing!!
Beautiful words Mandy.
Post a Comment
Subscribe to Post Comments [Atom]
<< Home