On 9/19/1919 my Oma was born in a small town in Germany. Her stories of childhood are colorful and wildly entertaining and the stuff memoirs are made of. She had friends who lived across the river with whom she would frolic about in the evenings. To avoid being home past curfew, she would strip down completely naked and hoist her clothing above her head so she could wade across the river and get home on time, rather than wasting her time making it to the nearest bridge. It's that spunk, that feistiness, and maybe that good ol' German gruffness that kept her alive well into her 90's. Well, that, and her faith.
Oma wore many hats. She had a deft hand in the kitchen and those same hands gracefully played the piano till the very last month of her life. She bounced children (6), grandchildren (14), and great-grandchildren (26?) on her knees and taught us all lessons of grace and perseverance. She could tell you about Jennifer Lopez (J-Lo, according to Oma) and could rattle off the birthdays and anniversaries of everyone in her family. Despite living in the US for 60 some odd years, her German accent was still as thick as the potato soup she cooked on the stove. And boy did she love Jesus.
Recently I have been going on lots of walks. Zach does great outside and loves being pushed around in his stroller. And mostly, it's a chance for me to get caught up with my girlfriends. Life happens on those walks. Laughter and tears and confessions and revelations. And it's the same when I am alone. I soak it in and think and pray and process. And I believe that I am doing precisely what Oma has asked of me all her years.
The idea of walking suggests movement. It quitely nudges someone off the couch and beckons them to put one foot in front of the other. It doesn't demand haste or exhaustion, and yet it draws someone from the prison of being idle. Walking with Jesus is relationship, not religion.
As common as it became for the Lafata family to see Oma's scrawl of "walk with Jesus" scratched on everything she ever signed, those three words became her mission. I remember when I brought Eric out to meet Oma. I think I brought my mom and dad, too, just for some extra cushion. :) Oma made sure Eric was out of earshot and she asked me in her sweet, Germanic cadence, "Monica, (Mow-nee-kuh) does Eric walk with Jesus?" It's a remarkably "un-judgy" question/request when it comes down to it. It's not much to ask. It's as simple as getting up in the morning, tying your shoes and taking steps. Small steps. Day by day.
No more than a few hours ago, Oma stood at the pearly gates. God beamed down at her and said, "well done, my faithful servant." Oma was unable to walk in her last days and weeks. But she is walking now. Alongside her Jesus. We love you and will miss you Oma.
But those who hope in the Lord
will renew their strength. They will
soar on wings like eagles; they will run
and not grow weary, they will walk
and not grow faint.
Isaiah 40:31
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