I just received news this morning that my grandpa died.
The timing is uncanny. We had just been in Vero Beach, FL, this weekend for the funeral service of my dad’s mom, and three days later my dad’s dad passes.
Grandpa John lived in Vero Beach as well. My brother, my parents, and I had spent Saturday morning and evening with him at a rehab facility where he was recovering from a broken femur. He was fully himself—light-hearted, sincere, mischievous. I’ll treasure the two hours we had together in his final days.
We stayed at my dad’s childhood home while in town for my grandmother’s funeral. Gram Patty had held onto that sandy property shaded by live oaks all those years—refusing to let go. The contents of the home are evidence of that, too—she refused to let go of anything.
We had fun thumbing through old photos, personal letters, clippings, and books. As we were preparing to leave, I stumbled upon this old photo of my grandparents from a costume party way back when:
I’m not sure why the picture is so striking—perhaps because it reminds me that they were really real. It’s not staged or planned. It’s two people nearing the end of a rocky marriage, one with a cigarette and shades and the other wearing a ridiculous mop of hair on his bald pate.
In their shortcomings and sins, they were not ashamed to be human.
So often we see ourselves as so consequential, so important, so responsible. I wonder whether this photo is actually how we look to our heavenly Father—silly, delightful, absurd.
Imagine the people in this photo pleading their own case in the courtroom of God. Ridiculous. Why, then, do we pretend to be anything other than that—ridiculous?
“Christ came into the world to save sinners” (1 Timothy 1:15). And yet, we still often think of salvation as a divine concession rather than the generous overflow of a God who loves and sees us as we really are—ridiculous, helpless image-bearers.
Who would give people like the ones in this picture any real responsibility? But God did. Which shows us that just maybe his plan is filled with more of the absurd and farcical than we—with our serious, furrowed brows—are ready to admit.
Look at yourself. Would you entrust anything actually serious to you? But God has. Let us not be ashamed then to be human—in all our quirks and weaknesses. May we lean into the Father’s delight. May we live with such freedom in the forgiveness of Christ that our posterity might find mementos like this picture among our effects—and find evidence of our humanity.
Here’s one for posterity that has nothing to do with baking or food . . . well, it does have to do with potatoes. My calculus class built a potato cannon this fall, and this video of my kids and I testing it out will always be a favorite memory: