Grandma Maggie is how I referred to her. She was a special person, who gave me the ability to identify as an “artistic person”. She was the link in my family that was unabashedly about the creative pursuits: painting, drawing, designing homes, sewing, and just making things. Since the social internet, everyone can tap into that a little bit — follow some crafting social media account that tickles their artistic side — but before that I had art class at elementary school and I had Grandma Maggie’s kitchen table.
Later in life, when she noticed I really loved drawing, she pulled me aside and let me borrow a book called Drawing on the Right Side of the Brain which was super helpful book in terms of helping me access the artist’s mind that we all possess. I can’t recommend it enough. Right when my Grandma began getting sick a few years ago, I stopped by her house, and she brought me up to her art room. She gave me a hug and told me that she was getting sick, and she wanted me to have her Drawing on the Right Side of the Brain book. I remember going home that night and being overcome with grief.
Below is the eulogy that I wrote for her funeral service that was last Thursday. I loved my Grandma a lot, and I am going to miss making new memories with her. She was an incredible person, with a gentle love and compassion for the vulnerable.
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Psalm 73:23-26
Today, we come together in this intimate ceremony to celebrate the life of a remarkable, one-of-a-kind woman, my grandma – your mom, sister-in-law, mother-in-law, wife, and friend – Maggie Sontag.
Grandma Maggie was overflowing gentle love and unwavering kindness, a sweet soul who touched the lives of literally everyone she met. It was impossible to drive a wedge with Grandma Maggie, no matter what happened. Her unconditional, no-strings-attached love testified to her character, and her quiet, authentic grasp of God’s love for us.
In the New Testament, Jesus tells us, “I am the vine; you are the branches. If you remain in me and I in you, you will bear much fruit; apart from me you can do nothing.” (John 15:5)
Grandma Maggie always knew she was part of an even bigger mission than what it seemed like she was up to. Although her accomplishments and vast skillset are jaw-dropping, the hats she wore were always in service of bringing God’s kingdom to earth. This is, I think, how great artists are guided in their pursuits.
She wasn’t just designing a house, she was bringing peace and order to a disorded block. She wasn’t just starting a business, she was securing a future for those she loved and cared for. She wasn’t just traveling, she was pulling at the thread of her curiosity of God’s creation. She wasn’t just painting with her grandkids and great-grandkids, she was teaching you how to see the world as it was right there in front of you. She remained steadfast in her faith, and her life bore the fruit of love, joy, and compassion.
Today is the first day of Spring. She had a green thumb like no one else I know, and standing in any of her gardens was like stepping into her arms. If there was a plant or a bush that was doing well in one part of the garden, grandma would find a clipping, move it to the other side of the garden, and by the next year a whole new section would be there. She knew that care, vision, and making sure grandpa put a spigot through the right wall, is all anything needed to survive and then thrive.
Grandma was always so pretty, always put together in a way that made you feel like you might be too messy to hug her. You would walk into a house that was ready for the HGTV crew to show up any minute. You might have gotten splashed by something in the garage, or grass stains on you from chasing or being chased by Todd and Joe through the yard. But that never stopped her from wrapping you in her arms. That said – you are on your own if you tracked that dirt across her clean floor— You were never too dirty for grandma; you were sometimes too dirty to sit on the good furniture.
Her faith was as authentic and down-to-earth as she was. No empty platitudes or brushing over your pain, she wanted to get to the root of it. She knew what it felt like to be alone, and she would do anything to make sure you knew she was right next to you in the trenches, fighting against the overwhelming angst of whatever life might throw at you.
She lived her Christianity quietly, focusing on Jesus’ love for the hurting and the vulnerable. She understood vulnerability herself and extended compassion to everyone she met. Her gentle, quiet strength is the reason that all of us will remember grandma for the rest of our lives, and the reason her impact on this earth will extend even beyond on our own lives.
Grandma had a wit that could keep up with even her own son. You couldn’t pull a prank on her without expecting it to comeback, or her to grab the wooden spoon and channel her inner Sicilian. Grandma had a way of making even the silliest moments feel special. Everyone here can remember laughing with Grandma Maggie until you both were in tears of silliness and joy.
Paul says: “For we know that if the earthly tent we live in is destroyed, we have a building from God, an eternal house in heaven, not built by human hands.” (2 Corinthians 5:1) It’s hard to imagine that she’s in a place more real than where we stand, but if this place is an earthly tent, she is in the courtyard of a heavenly mansion right now. I find some comfort in the thought that she’s tending to a garden far more beautiful than any we’ve seen, with blooms of immaculate purples and blues, and birds and butterflies that we can only imagine.
My friend Richie, when he preached my wedding a couple years ago, said something that really stuck with me. He said that the Bible begins in a garden and ends in one too. That is what God is ultimately doing with our world, cultivating his garden. Grandma spent the time in between also in the garden, and I like to think she’s already started picking up discarded clippings in heaven, finding new sections for them to grow.
It’s possible she has also already started redrawing some blueprints for her heavenly mansion, maybe extending the kitchen a bit and adding a jacuzzi to the master bathroom. In one way this is a sad thought, but I really believe she is making sure the mansion is ready for when she is ultimately joined by her family.
Because you know that grandma’s concerns are still with those she cares about, even as she looks down on us from a place much different than where she was last week.
Let’s honor Grandma Maggie and her memory by continuing to cultivate love, laughter, and a little bit of mischief in our own lives. Let’s remember her as she was—a woman of faith, love, beautiful gardens, and unconditional grace.