Ancestors

I have always admired my Nana who, as a child of the Great Depression, learned not only to look for opportunities but to create them herself. When a door shut in her face, she’d pull out a crowbar and pry a dusty window open. She told me once that when she headed to college, her only intention was to get her “MRS degree.” But by the end of her first year, she had no steady boyfriend and was failing her home-economics classes. So she pursued a psychology major and a math minor instead. When she graduated — still single — she shrugged her shoulders and figured there would be men in grad school. But it wasn’t until after she’d earned a master’s degree and moved across the country that she met my grandfather. 

Soon they had three babies to care for, but my Nana didn’t quit her work. When they moved to a new city in the 1970s, she didn’t see many open opportunities for her career, so she made one for herself. She marched into her children’s new school and told them why they needed a school psychologist. And then she told them why they should hire her. I grew up in that same school district, and many school counselors told me they remembered my Nana fondly as the woman who had hired them. Her legacy is so powerful to me that it has changed the way I pursue new jobs as well. My coworkers at The Upper Room have reminded me of my own tenacity during the interview process. It was my Nana’s persistence — which now lives in me — that got me the job. 

About a year ago, as I was planning my wedding, I went shopping for a wedding dress. The moment I touched the fabric of “the one” I began to cry. The fabric had the same texture as the eyelet curtains that had hung in my Nana’s house. When I went to her nursing home to tell her all about the experience, I could tell as soon as I entered her room that something was wrong. My Nana’s ever-worsening dementia meant she was no longer able to perceive my face as that of her granddaughter. She didn’t recognize me anymore. 

I am struck by how much I can know and feel close to a person who has little memory of me. With time, I’ve come to realize that I carry her memories for her. Some of them I hold in my mind, others are kept alive in letters she’s written, still others live in conversations with her that I recorded when she was first diagnosed, knowing someday I would want to hear her speak lucidly again. 

As my Nana’s memory deteriorates, I learn more and more why people write things down, why they learn history and tradition, and why we as Christians choose to participate in a community dedicated to a book written down long ago. Even though Eve, Moses, Ruth, Isaiah, Mary, and Paul all passed on long ago, their stories hold something powerful. They tell us who we are and what we are doing in this world. They connect us to God and one another so strongly that simply touching the pages of a Bible can evoke strong memories and emotions. I think this is why there are so many genealogies in the Bible. It’s important that Abraham begat Isaac and Isaac begat Jacob because Isaac inherited important, life-shaping stories from his dad; Jacob inherited even more from his dad. Just as I inherited my Nana’s tenacity, Matthew 1 reminds us of Jesus’ heritage — a heritage that says, Remember David? Jesus has David’s power in the face of giants. Remember Rahab? Jesus has Rahab’s cunning when facing opposing authority. Just like Jesus, we have inherited these stories as our own. We have something of each one of the characters we learn about within us, and we are called to carry on their legacy.

Questions for Reflection:

1. Name a family member who has had a significant influence on you. How has that influence formed you spiritually, mentally, and emotionally?
2. What character traits have you inherited from learning the stories of your biblical ancestors? What sights, sounds, and textures transport you to the time when you first learned about them?
3. What legacy do you want to leave for 
others?

— Bethany Barnett, Upper Room Intern, 2024