Advocate

Auntie was my advocate.  She had always been a vital part of my life, a second mother in many ways.  She managed to be at both ends of any spectrum, becoming whatever was needed in all situations.  She was loud and opinionated, yet she had a calming effect on others, directing everyone around her to a desired outcome.  She was the center of every family gathering, but I would never have said so at the time.  I didn’t truly know who she was until after she was no longer there.  We lost her to cancer, and then we realized what a centralizing role she’d played in our family.  And I realized that I no longer had the one person who always stood up for me.

Other people did stand up for me; I had many sympathetic and nurturing adults in my life.  But it was Auntie I ran to whenever I felt mistreated or misunderstood or when I wanted something that I didn’t think anyone else would give me.  She didn’t always do whatever I wanted, but she had a unique way of saying no to something that didn’t make me feel like I was being shut down, instead guided down a better path.  

I identified with her more than anyone else I knew.  It was a family joke to say I was born to the wrong sister.  We were both introverted, desiring the company of our chosen few to a large crowd.  Neither of us liked to hustle and accomplish big projects, preferring instead to coordinate the effort.  When such family projects were completed, she would sit on our green velvet couch, and I would curl up at her side while she played with my hair.  The entire family would spread out around us, gently debating theology or sharing news and oftentimes praying.  I lay there, her soothing fingers easing out my worries, thoughts and truths floating down to sink in to my mind, and her comforting warmth providing a cozy pillow for my tired body.  Those times are some of my favorite memories of childhood.

That couch was also the site of family councils, held to reckon my childhood sins.  I would be frustrated to tears, held captive by the perceived injustice of my punishments.  One vivid memory is the time I disobeyed my mother’s orders about using the exciting new thing called the Internet.  I was rightly punished, but could not see the fairness of that with my eleven-year-old brain.  Auntie was a mainstay of peace during my distress.  Her hand stroked my head while her words recommended leniency and reason.  I always received a fair hearing from her.

An entirely different side of her would come out when we would play our frequent card games.  I looked forward to each new imaginative, yet affectionate insult she could contrive when the game didn’t go her way.  She would pour mock rage over the opposite team, simultaneously taking pity on any person whose luck was particularly poor that night, reshuffling the deck or eliminating the bad options.  Whether she won or lost, she was in good spirits, lifting the rest of us up to her level.

I have often wondered what made her that way, such a purveyor of peace and wise counsel, like a signpost pointing the way towards inner contentment and divine wisdom.  One day I found a book on my shelf and the inscription inside it was from my mother to my aunt. 

It read: “Dear Edith, I appreciate . . . you . . . being such [a good example of a woman] who listen[s] for the Lord’s voice.”  It reminded me of all the other times my mom had said similar things about Auntie.  The longer I thought about it, the more I knew that was the secret.

Auntie had learned a hard-won truth: It’s not our wisdom, our desires, or our certainty that matters.  We need to follow God’s voice in order to succeed on our journeys.  We need His Spirit to ascertain the Way.  Jesus calls the Holy Spirit our Advocate.  He intercedes for us, defends us, counsels us, guides us, and comforts us.  Whenever Auntie did that for me, she followed the example He taught her.

When she died, I felt a strange burden—because of our similarities—to become her.  In my mind, we needed someone like her to function as a family.  She helped us so effortlessly; at least, it seemed that way.  But when I tried to step into her shoes, I was overwhelmed by the weight of trying to manage a whole family’s worth of emotions and needs.  It should be clear that no one asked me to do this.  I simply felt compelled to do it because she was no longer there and I was the closest thing available (in my mind).  I worried that we would fall apart without her there to keep us together and I was haunted by the fear that I would fail in that self-given responsibility.

I discovered there is danger in being a peacemaker.  It is too great a burden for human beings to bear on our own.  And when I tried to do it in my own power, I failed spectacularly.  I didn’t have the capacity for the role and my efforts often lent themselves more towards codependency than peace.  I was trying to fix what my humanity perceived was wrong, despite being unqualified to ascertain that.  I hadn’t learned the other secret Auntie knew, which was that she wasn’t doing anything.  She was an instrument of the Spirit, an imperfect tool, but open to being used.  And she was.  God is looking for eager hearts and willing spirits, but He doesn’t want us to take responsibility for the change He wants to do through us.  We don’t do anything but listen and obey.

She died on March 21, 2010.  It’s hard to believe that was twelve years ago.  They have not been easy years, either for our family or for the world.  Sometimes I wonder what it would have been like if she had been here with us as we passed through them.  I don’t see how they could have been anything but better, but maybe that’s not the point.  Though she was a careful planner, she didn’t demonstrate a life lived in what-ifs or the idea we know our paths better than our Creator.  She was always poised to listen, and to understand her next right thing from the Holy Spirit.  As hard as it is for the rest of us, her next right thing was to go home to be with Him.  My question should be: what is mine?  My life is not her life, but her example of a life surrendered to listening is definitely worth remembering.

I have a long way to go before I reach anywhere close to Auntie’s level of hearing His voice and being willing to give myself for others.  Most of the time I still look to her to be an agent of reconciliation, a soother of frustrated sorrows, and an advocate for my benefit, but she isn’t here. I do have the lessons she taught me, inspiring me to live up to my reputation of her likeness and do for others what she did for me.  But it all comes down to my willingness to let God use me.  He is our true Advocate and He wants to use you and me to be the ones who stand up for each other.  I’m willing to follow her as she followed Him.  You may not have known her, but you can know Him.  So before you try anything else in your own power, stop and listen.  He is speaking.

I meant to upload this on 3/21/22, but oddly enough the circumstance that prevented me from doing so was flying to another state to care for my uncle (Auntie’s husband). I’m not sure of the implications of these two things coinciding, but I think God has both a sense of humor and a sense of destiny.