Last Tuesday was my Bunny’s birthday. She would have been 96. Gone only 6 months, it seems like both a flash and an eternity. So much has happened since her home going that I’ve wished she could know, wished I could tell her. Funny things, redemption stories, new life, etc. Life goes on. And I miss her, still.
As I chased around littles in this season of fast-slow on Tuesday, I thought of her from the moment I woke up til the moment I went to sleep. My plans were to commemorate her day here, but I think she would’ve rather I spent my time doing what I did: chatting with my sister while our children wove in and out of the living room, making food for my family, taking my oldest to dance, being in community. In the end, it’s not the big things that leave the legacy. It’s not the money or the big vacations or the flashy clothes that we so often revere in 2016. It’s the little things.
It’s enjoying a good meal or dessert around a table with those you love.
It’s taking the time to listen and ask questions, undistracted by media.
Its choosing vulnerable and real over maintaining appearances.
It’s loving people well.
It’s chasing relationships.
My grandmother wasn’t famous, she didn’t have a slew of people at her funeral, and the world did not publicly mourn when she breathed her last. But she touched more lives that she ever knew. She was more wonderful than she realized. And her influence continues to spread and will. That’s the amazing thing about legacy. When you leave one, it doesn’t die. It trickles down and reaches beyond our comprehension.