My Big Sister

Vol. 17 No. 43 | October 26, 2015

Ten years older she was always there. When a bigger kid on the school bus did what today would be considered bullying, she came to my rescue. When our mother died as a young woman she accepted the role as the matriarch of our family at a very early age. Although physical stature would provide no evidence to prove it, Genia was my big sister.

To her husband for over fifty years she was his wife. Devoted to him and his family she stood by him, with him and times when it was necessary she stood for him. She loved him, honored him, served him, and was loved, honored and served by him. Together they provided assurance that marriages can last, that faithfulness is not old fashioned, and genuine servanthood is possible.

To her two children she was their mother. She loved them unconditionally, taught them, talked to them, guided them, comforted them, cared for them, showed them how to live and helped them understand what it means to be a parent. They loved her, listened to her, followed her guidance, appreciated her comfort and care, and learned about life from her.

To three she was their grandmother. She loved them with an everlasting love. She praised them. As she did with her two children she talked when she need to talk and listened when she needed to listen, prayed constantly, and reminded them often how proud she was of them.

To a seemingly endless number of people she was their Bible teacher. Through Sunday School classes, private conversations, cards and letters, email and even texting she shared the Word and messages of hope and encouragement. Along with being a Bible teacher she was a faithful and passionate prayer warrior. It would interesting to know how many times in her seven-two years she promised someone, “Well, I will be praying for you.” When she promised it, she would do it.

To some she was a writer. She published a few articles and poems and I suspect wrote much more that none of us have ever read. She did not make a big deal out of and she preferred that others not make a big deal about it either. Not surprising!

To those who worked with her she was known as a hard worker, a reliable worker, and a trusted employee. If she said she would do it, she did it, or explained why she could not. If she accepted the job the work got done.

To more people than can be counted she was known as friend. She had life-long friends. Not just acquaintances! New friends became real friends. She was genuine. She was authentic. She was open. She was honest. She was real. She was spiritual. She was fun.

To some she was a cousin, or a niece, or a sister-in-law, or a mother-in-law, or a neighbor, or a church member. The list of descriptive words that could be attached to all those titles would include all those already used plus: devoted, intelligent, responsible, and caring. She was known for her deep and passionate love for the people she called family.

To my own children, and the children of my two brothers, she was a substitute grandmother. We celebrated many Christmas in her home. When my two children were born she was the first person I called. When she could she attended their graduations and weddings. Most of us celebrated very few birthdays without receiving a card from her. At Christmas time she would ship us a package containing her sweet treat specialties: fudge, peanut butter fudge, and divinity. Sometimes I shared it with my children and few special friends.

Genia was all these things to all these people. Genia was known for her laughter, for her generosity, for her kindness, for her wisdom, for her faith and her faithfulness, for her loving nature, and for her passion to know God. As I grew up I watched her as she matured as a wife and mother, then a grandmother. I listened as she talked about our parents and grandparents and aunts and uncles and cousins and neighbors and friends of our family. I was the recipient of her prayers and encouraging words.

In some ways, I suppose some would say she stepped in as a substitute mother for me during my teenage years, but mostly she was my big sister. My big sister who has always been there. My big sister who has always assured me that I am loved. My big sister who I could call, or write, or text, or email anytime I needed and share whatever was in my heart. My big sister who often, more often than seems possible, who understood my frustrations with life and people and church because she shared those same frustrations with life and people and church.

Genia was many things to many people, but she was my big sister. In the quiet of the funeral home chapel I stood by her casket shortly before her memorial service and told her, “I know you are now in a much better place and I am glad for you, but I sure am going to miss you.” I do. And I will. She was my big sister.

Tom

A Norvell Note © Copyright 2015. Tom Norvell All Rights Reserved.