I live my life between two Janes – the one who, fifty-nine years ago, carried me in her womb and the one whom, twenty-three years ago, I carried in mine.
Each time, nine months were allotted for the careful, hope-filled process of holy creation. The dreams dreamt then and the prayers prayed then were couched between bouts of cravings and occasional kicks. A hovering of sorts between what could be known and what could be imagined.
Girls having girls. A mom named Jane. A granddaughter named accordingly. And a woman in between holding hands with both of them, knowing that she stands on privileged soil.
It seems fitting that my mom would have a namesake – a Jane that walks in her shadow being shaped by the life that lives in between.
My life.
I am a collection of stories from the life that my parents built together – Chuck and Jane, the Killians now for sixty-four years. When asked about the seemingly odd coupling of the two, my mom has been known to say, “Chuck needed an audience, and I was willing to listen.” Not a lot has changed in these six plus decades between them. Mom is still keeping audience with dad. Jane is still loving Chuck most excellently, but the dialogue has changed. Dad is no longer adding his words; mom, in contrast to the first five decades of their life together, is writing and speaking the final lines of their story.
And those words?
Nothing short of extraordinary. Beautiful wisdom. Strong and certain. Ninety years’ worth of knowing things, perceiving things, pondering things, speaking things. An everlasting witness that waits patiently for the taking. Her spoken deliberations are always on time. My mom doesn’t waste a single word. Instead, she means what she says, and what she says, is, indeed, a gift to be treasured.
The first Jane who held my hands is the wisest woman I have ever known because she holds hands quietly with her Creator. She stands between Jesus and me and has been a bridge connecting my heart to his. I sensed this early on in my life; I knew that I could always trust my mother’s faith.
In recent days, I have needed her witness, her wisdom and her words. I’ve held tightly onto my mother’s hands while (more loosely) holding onto my daughter’s hands, believing that I, too, might become a bridge of sorts between my two Janes. A link between the heart of a grandmother to the heart of her granddaughter so that a holy transfer of wisdom (which so often seems to elude me) might transpire.
I think this is the gift I am most grateful for this Thanksgiving – the hands of the two Janes who bookend my life. One full of wisdom; one well on her way. Both Janes full of grace, kindness, warmth and genuineness. Both Janes still making me laugh. Both Janes still praying for and with me. Both Janes still teaching me how to be holy … how to stay connected to my Creator.
Both Janes still willing to hold my hands.
Faith Elaine in between Eleanor Jane and Amelia Jane – a chord of three strands.
Privileged soil indeed.
May God keep the three of us so duly tethered until we all walk the shores of heaven together. I love you both, my two Janes. As always…
Peace for the journey,
