RUNNING THE RACE

“For I am already being poured out like a libation, and the time of my departure is at hand. I have competed well; I have finished the race; I have kept the faith.”

2 Timothy 4: 6

God gave me a small miracle and blessed me with gifts and talents I never knew to ask for or that I ever felt worthy of desiring or receiving. Yet, the closer I got to God the more I became aware of the behaviors, attitudes, and bad habits that did not please God. I was acutely aware of my selfishness as a mother, a wife, a friend, even as a daughter and granddaughter.

The older the kids got the more demanding they were of my time. The time I spent playing board games or doing something the boys wanted to do was determined by whether or not it fit within my time frame or if I were in the mood.

Within my marriage I took advantage of our rejuvenated love and Neal's acceptance of what I'd been through by doing more of what pleased me, which was ministry. If I were asked to speak or to lead a retreat I went regardless of the fact Neal was left home with the kids or that it took away from our time together. I reasoned God called me to it, I enjoyed it, so I did it. Friendships had gone to the wayside and the times we took to visit my family became scarce.

Fleeting moments of uncertainty and guilt shown through but I didn't know how to balance what I knew was His calling along with my main vocation as wife and mother.

In the midst of the spring time ministry activities, senior send off and graduation banquet I received a phone call from my mother. Sweetgraw, my ninety-five-year-old grandmother, was ill. If I wanted some time with her I needed to make it happen.

Neal didn't hesitate to encourage me to take off for a few days and make the five-hour drive to spend some one-on-one time with Sweetgraw.

“Sweetgraw I’m coming in Tuesday to see you. I’m going to spend the entire day with you is that okay?”

“Oh my, yes. I’m going to mark it on my calendar and no one else is going to intrude. Oh, Shannon, I’m so excited to see you.” She wanted her time with me and that made me feel special.

Sweetgraw lived in an assisted living retirement community. She had her own apartment but meals were served in a common cafeteria which she loved the most because she would flaunt her visitor at lunch like we were her latest accessory. "Grenadine have you met my granddaughter, Shannon? She came all the way from Houston to see me.” From table to table she held my hand as she steered her scooter with the other to get every unfortunate soul's attention who didn't have a visitor.

By the sixth person I met I politely squeezed Sweetgraw's hand. “Why don’t we get our table, Sweetgraw. Let’s let people eat their lunch.”

I was amused with her insistence to parade me around but it wasn't just me. She had visitors every day and it was the same for them. It might have been her own selfish behavior to show the world how loved she was but it also made me proud to make her feel loved.

We spent the day talking, playing Spite n Malice, one of her favorite card games, and saying the rosary with Mother Angelica on EWTN. When we ended the rosary she got very quiet and I could see she was crying.

"Sweetgraw, what's wrong?” I reached over and squeezed her hand.

She looked at me, I mean really looked at me where eyes penetrated my soul. "I am so tired."

"Well, Sweetgraw you can lie down and take a nap.” Her sudden seriousness troubled me.

"No, Shannon, I'm tired of not being well.” Her grip tightened on my hand. The bones of her fingers cracked my left indents in my skin.

I got it. She was ninety-five, her body riddled with a cancer they couldn't do anything about because she was too frail to make it through treatment or surgery. The woman before me was the most faithful woman I knew and the one who understood me including the crazy spiritual gifts. She was the first person I told about the events with the messenger in Germany and the one who wrote me encouraging notes about my writing.

“Don’t give up.” A note would come in the mail unexpected often when I received a rejection. “A diamond isn’t noticed until it’s found. Someone will take notice and see the gem in you.”

She understood me and I knew I needed to let her go. My voice quivered. "Sweetgraw, why are you still here? I know you’re ready to go and experience heaven. If you’re tired then I know God is ready."

Her voice was strong and steady as I'd remembered it when I was a young girl. “Shannon, I have seventy-two descendants. You have two."

This simple statement hit me in the gut. Coming from a large family I took for granted the impressive number of cousins, second cousins and even some third cousins whom all came from Sweetgraw’s children, my aunt and four uncles.

"I pray four rosaries a day for all of them. Do you know only a handful of you are still Catholic? And not many more of them are attending any kind of Christian church?"

Seeing her cry was like a dagger to my chest. "Sweetgraw, I know it is hard to see but you also know you'll never live the day to see all of them come back to the Catholic Church. At this point you can do more for them in heaven than you can here on earth."

The grip she had on my hand tightened so much I swore I heard my bone crack. "Will you pray for them? Will you do this for me when I'm gone?"

The daunting task kicked my selfishness into high gear. "Oh I don't know if I can do much better than you have, Sweetgraw. But I'll try. Of course I'll pray for them."

Realizing this could be the last time I'd see her on this earth I felt the sudden need to ask for my own request. "Sweetgraw, when you're in heaven please don't stop praying for me. You’re the only one who really understands me and I want to know you will always be with me."

"Always.”

I leaned forward and kissed my grandmother for the last time.

One month later in Arizona for a youth minster conference I was restless and couldn't sleep so I went for an early morning run. My spirit cried out in prayer as I ran. All I want to do is reflect you, Lord. That's all I want to do. Save me from me.

Save me from me. Save me from me. All I want to do is reflect you. I prayed over and over again as sweat mingled with tears and stained my cheeks. On all accounts I was in a good place yet a truth deep inside remained covered. It bothered me because whatever it was I knew it kept me from believing in me. I had all the belief and trust in God. He had revealed His glory and majesty to me and within me rerouting my prideful heart. I needed help in unbelief that whatever was deep within me wouldn't surface and disappoint.

When I got back to the hotel I was met by my sleepy roommate holding my cell phone in her hands.

"Neal's called you three times and it's only 5:30 in the morning." She thrust the phone into my hands before shutting the door and presumably going back to bed.

My toes and fingers tingled with the anticipation of what news could be waiting for me this early in the morning. Good news rarely came with an early morning call.

Neal answered on the first ring. "Shannon, where’ve you been?"

"I went for a run. I couldn't sleep. What's going on? Are the boys okay?"

"Yes, they're fine. It's Sweetgraw," he paused slightly but long enough for me to hear the catch in his breath, "she passed away an hour ago."

It wasn't surprising to hear. She told me she was ready. But having her actually gone took my breath away. I had the phone to my ear and my other hand covered my trembling lips. I couldn't speak.

"Shannon?"

"I'm here.” Barely. I wanted to hang up, climb into bed, and cry myself back to sleep.

"Your parents don't want you to leave yet. They have to wait on relatives to fly in and so they'll probably wait till the end of the week to have the funeral."

The funeral. I recalled Matt's visitation at the funeral home. Walking up to his casket seeing a pasty person who resembled Matt but had no spirit, no life, no joy. I remember almost believing it was a sick trick until I saw his hands. He had this nervous habit of rubbing the edge of his pointer finger with his thumb. His hands weren't folded on his chest, nor did they lie flat. One hand was by his side while the other was positioned as if he were rubbing his thumb and finger together.

I'll never forget it. It made my loss real. I didn't want Sweetgraw to look fake. I knew she was gone but the thought of seeing her without her spirit unleashed the sorrow. Neal stayed on the phone with me through it all until I was spent. The tears were a mixture of a selfish sadness and joy. I would not have the opportunity to see her, hug her, hold her hand again but now she was where she truly longed to be, dancing with Papa.

The second we hung up I called the funeral home, owned by one of my dear high school friends. It was a family business and I knew my friend, Charlie, would be the one taking care of my grandmother. All I had to do was tell the secretary who I was and he picked up the line.

"Hi Shannon, you doing okay?"

"I'm okay. She's with you isn't she?"

"Yes she is.”

My body eased. Charlie's family and mine went way back to our fathers’ shared childhoods. Plus Charlie knew me and I knew he'd understand why I needed to ask him this favor. "Charlie, please make her look like herself. Don't overdo it or..." I couldn't finish.

"Shannon, you know, every time I would see your grandmother at events here in town I always could see you in her. She was a beautiful lady and I'll make sure she is as she always was - classy."

I smiled and giggled. That was Sweetgraw.

When I hung up with him I sat down in the hallway and prayed a rosary for her.

The sun peaked above the horizon and shed natural light through the windows. It reminded me of the beauty my grandmother saw in the world.

An added blessing at this particular youth minister's conference was beginning with a one day retreat. I was a second year attendee and those of us who’d been before got to spend the day in prayer.

My roommate was a first year attendee so she was obligated to go to all of the intro sessions, which meant I had the day to myself and no one needed to know my grief.

In the first prayer session of the day Matt Maher, an unknown Christian musician at the time, led us into worship. "Pray without a purpose. Sometimes we get caught up in how we pray or what we are going to pray but this morning I want you to let the Holy Spirit guide you in your worship."

He strummed his guitar with his eyes closed, playing a soft ballad. The music poured out like a libation. All around me I heard others sing along, some hummed, others whispered, "Come Holy Spirit," and others soft utterances of love and devotion to God.

I closed my eyes and laid my head in my hands. The tears fell unseen to the ground. I felt as if I were amidst a chorus of angels and I was comforted in being a part of the prayer without actively participating.

This lasted for nearly an hour of worship before Matt led it to an end. By then my contacts were dry and I could tell my eyes were puffy and swollen. I walked out of the meeting room to use the restroom before the next session began when a man, with a conference-attendee nametag, stopped me.

"Excuse me?” He reached out to touch my arm as I passed him on the way to the bathrooms.

"Yes?" I stopped but was embarrassed because I knew I probably looked like a mess after crying all morning.

"I," he hesitated, "I have something I..." He stopped and his face became crimson.

Why is he embarrassed? I looked down at myself to see if maybe I had a zipper open or a hole in my shorts. When I didn't see anything out of the ordinary I looked at him again.

He was an unassuming man. Short, possibly an inch taller than me with dark features and kind eyes. "You’re going to think this is crazy but I have a message for you.”

My feet turned to cement cinder blocks. Are you kidding me? But something in his mannerisms put me at ease. He wasn't threatening and we were two feet away from the conference room and surrounded by all of the attendees. The blood flowed through my veins and I could feel my feet again. "Well, I don't think you're crazy."

He gave me an odd look and pointed to a landscaping ledge that was still in the same vicinity as everyone but where we could have a private conversation. "Let's sit down.”

The poor guy’s hands shook and he kept rubbing them on this legs.

"It's okay, I've had this happen before."

His head shot up and his eyes got wide. "Really? Because I'm thinking this is nuts but I know I need to tell you these specific messages that came to me while we were in prayer."

I nodded. My heart pounded in anticipation.

He sighed. "Okay, I want to get it right." He bent over and put his head in his hands to think. After a second or two he sat up. "Okay I don't know what any of this means but bear with me."

I nodded and smiled.

He looked me in the eyes. "I'm with you." Tears formed in his eyes.

The conviction of his voice made my heart speed up with hope but I couldn't help but think it was too good to be true. He saw me crying so he's assuming this will help. How could he know?

His head was already in his hands again before I could respond. "Let me see if I can get this straight." He sat up again, his eyes determined when he looked at. "You look more like me now than ever before."

Wow. Why would he say that? How could he know what Charlie said to me?

"I don't know what that means to you but hold on there is one more and I'm really not sure it makes sense at all." His eyes stayed transfixed to mine as he paused as if to get the courage to say it aloud. "You do reflect me and I am proud."

Oh my dear God. I heard both my grandmother and God in the message. How could this man have known what I prayed to God that morning? There was no rational explanation.

Like a babbling fool I tried to speak through the tears and explain about my grandmother and the prayer but it felt like there was too much to tell and it came out in a garbled rush. I finally managed to thank him and explained I'd had this type of message given to me before.

"You are blessed because I've never felt so strongly as I did this morning knowing I needed to say something to someone I received in prayer." He held out his hand. "I'm Richard by the way."

I shook his hand and thanked him a few times before I could tell he was the uncomfortable one.

When I didn't see him again that day I worried it was all in my imagination but thankfully I saw him with his group the next day and he introduced me. "She is the one I had to give a message to."

There was no better gift than to have validation of God’s promises, that He listens and we live life everlasting.

June 13, 2006 (The morning after Sweetgraw's passing) 5:41am

Lord, I am a witness to your majestic canvas as I sit on this rock on what I would consider a mountain...others probably a hill...The sun is barely edging into the horizon offering a pale orange backdrop to the mountains before me. It is a beautiful sight. You are a beautiful sight. You promised I would see you in the sunrise and I certainly am. You promise so much and you always deliver.

Now it's changing to deep coppers and reds. A blanket of thick clouds hangs high enough above the horizon to give the sky a sense of protection. Lord, what I see most as the sun continues to edge up is the illumination as each minute passes. The sun broadens the horizon shedding light on more of the world around me.

As I get to know you more and allow you to shed your light on my path I am given more understanding, wisdom, strength, and trust.

And all the lights in the city that seemed to take away from the brilliance of the sunrise now are so dim they no longer hold a threat to the beauty of what lies before me. Just as all the 'worldly' things that threaten to keep me from your light grow dim as I seek you more.

Thank You, Lord, for this awesome display of your love and gift of beauty.

Yesterday was hard. I will miss Sweetgraw and I'm selfishly sad because she was my support, the one who 'got' me. I know she was tired and is happier with you. You never cease to amaze me and I am grateful for your generous message and love.

As I lay my grandmother to rest help me to hear you, to reflect you, and guide others in their journey of knowing You. Most importantly help me to help my family so I don't let Sweetgraw down.

I'm blessed.

The following day was the end of the conference. Before I left for the airport my father called to tell me that Sweetgraw, before she passed, planned her funeral and had chosen me to read one of the readings. Out of her seventy-two descendants she chose me. It wasn't until he told me what I was reading that I might have understood why. She didn't choose a reading; she wanted me to pick what I felt was best.

Right? No pressure. On the flight home I prayed for God to give me direction as to what could best serve our family in this time of loss and celebration of life. "I've run the race." came to mind. I knew it was a passage often used at funerals so when I got home I looked it up. What I found compelling and quite poignant was the passage that led up to running the race.

It was 2 Timothy 4:1-5 and as I read it I could see my grandmother crying in her chair, begging me to pray for her family to come back to their faith. Every family dynamic is different and no one is immune to the enticements of the world. My grandmother had witnessed the struggle of many generations battling the worldly fight as the time passed in ninety-five years with her family ravaged by drug and alcohol abuse, children born out of wedlock, divorces, homosexuality silenced by shame and fear, abuse, and greed.

I could imagine Sweetgraw reading this to her family and I knew it was divinely appointed.

2 Timothy 4:1-5 Solemn Charge

I charge you in the presence of God and of Christ Jesus, who will judge the living and the dead, and by his appearing and his kingly power: proclaim the word; be persistent whether it is convenient or inconvenient; convince, reprimand, encourage through all patience and teaching.

For the time will come when people will not tolerate sound doctrine but, following their own desires and insatiable curiosity, will accumulate teachers and will stop listening to the truth and will be diverted to myths. But you, be self-possessed in all circumstances; put up with hardship; perform the work of an evangelist; fulfill your ministry.

This is the charge my grandmother, I believe, would have wanted to say to her family had she had them all in front of her. By no means was Sweetgraw perfect. I've been told by my older cousins she grew to be a different grandmother than the one they knew as small children. Instead of making me think differently of her this endeared me to her more because it showed we are all weak and flawed. It is never too late to become the person we were created to become.

For I am already being poured out like a libation, and the time of my departure is at hand. I have competed well; I have finished the race; I have kept the faith. From now on the crown of righteousness awaits me, which the Lord, the just judge, will award to me on that day, and not only to me, but to all who have longed for his appearance. 2 Timothy 4:6-7

After the funeral we gathered with family and friends for a reception honoring Jacqueline Frost McGraw (Sweetgraw). The story of the 'messenger' coming up to me at the conference spread throughout the family like wildfire and everyone wanted to hear it again and again. Cousins, aunts, and uncles complimented me on the reading and acknowledged how it spoke to them. I smiled knowing Sweetgraw was looking down upon them with a great amount of love.

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