Asking Myself the Hard Questions
A couple of weeks ago was the anniversary of my grandmother passing away. My mom visited the cemetery and sent me a picture of her gravestone. For the first time, I realized something that was pivotal to me.
Lydia Estrella Jerez
12-21-1930 --- 7-25-1982
Yes, I am named after my grandmother. Fun fact, all of my cousins call her Jeeja. That was my name for her because I couldn’t pronounce Lydia as a baby so this nickname stuck. I was five when she succumbed to cancer. She was my best friend up until then. I deeply wish that I had more time with her.
Pero amigas, back to what I realized when looking closely at my Jeeja’s gravestone. She was 52 years old when she passed away. Fifty two! Never has 52 felt so young to me, especially since I am six years away from being the very same age. No one who has ever accused me of being an overthinker or having an extremely vivid imagination has ever been wrong. I can take a thought and go way deep down the rabbit hole of scary, profound and sometimes ridiculous recesses of my mind. The thread of thoughts that emanated from learning how young Jeeja was when she died set off one such deep zdive. Admittedly, first came concern for my own mortality. I don’t know if you have ever had a “what if” regarding your own end on this Earthly plane and played it out. I will save you the details of mine. I mean, did I cry in the shower while envisioning myself giving a weak voiced goodbye to my family as Jesus stood, unnoticed by all except me, in the corner of the hospital room preparing to take me Home? I’ll leave you guessing.
But here is something useful that I came out on the other side of that shower of tears with.
I do not know when Jesus will take me home! It could be six years or 16 or 36. I hope to be here much longer and be a cute, sassy viejita but am I living under the prideful and very human assumption that I have all the time in the world? I asked, and have continued asking myself some hard questions. Answering them honestly each day has helped me to prioritize and, often, repent.
What is taking my precious time?
Am I thoroughly enjoying my people or just tolerating them?
Am I living in a way that I want people to remember me by?
Am I giving away the gifts that God has placed in me or am I hiding or hoarding them out of fear or some other lie?
Am I being careful against getting lost in things like acquiring material possessions, achieving “success” and comparison to someone else’s journey?
Have I made peace with those I have hurt or been hurt by?
Am I honoring this gift of life that God intentionally gave me?
I know that we can often sit with these questions after a funeral or when someone around us becomes very ill. However, I know for me, those moments have usually passed and I quickly return to living in a way that I know is beneath the abundant life that Jesus intended. It’s uncomfortable to grapple with our lives under the context they are fleeting. Maybe the key is getting to a place not where we fear that our days are numbered, but rather we take joy in intentionally making each day count.
While my Jeeja was alive, she raised three biological children and fostered others, as a single mom who came here from Puerto Rico as a young girl. My Jeeja had no degree but she was a staunch community activist and helped start programs to help her neighbors. Jeeja was not perfect but she loved her children and grandchildren fiercely. Her life was lived well.
I am honored to be named after her and pray every day that God would keep me grounded and grateful so that, however many years I am in this temporary home, I am living abundantly and living well. In order to do that, I have to keep asking myself the hard questions and, with God’s strength and guidance, learn from the answers.
Satisfy us in the morning with your steadfast love,
that we may rejoice and be glad all our days.
Psalm 90:14
