|(Grandma Edgington surrounded by my aunt, my cousin, and her little kidlets. It's stolen from my aunt's FB, but it's the only photo I have of my grandma on my computer.)|
Today is my grandma's birthday. I never remembered it when she was alive. But I've remembered every year since her death. Why is it that I don't take time to stop and think about the people I love until they're gone? Why is it that the busy-ness of my little life is too important to stop and take 30 minutes to call them just to say, "Happy Birthday. I love you."
My grandmother died a week after her birthday. I did not call her on her birthday. I did not send a card. I did send her an email a day late. But really? What's an email to a woman who wrote hand written letters and chatted for an hour or so on the phone once a month with long distance friends? Why was my life more important than her? I wish I had taken the time to call her. I know she would've felt very loved and it would have been sunshine in her long, lonely day.
Every year since then, as her birthday comes around, I think of all the other family members I neglect. My other grandmother, my parents, my siblings... all living their lives. To be honest, I'm not really sure how they're doing. I don't know if I can rejoice with them in their accomplishments and blessings or if I can encourage them during hard times or if I need to lift them up to the throne of God. I don't know, because I'm "too busy" to invest in their lives.
God is seriously giving me a good kick in the seat of my pants right now.