Finitude and Gratitude

Finitude. It's not a word I come across very often in my reading or listening, and it is certainly not one that I've used myself in conversation. It came up as a theme in a podcast episode I heard this week, though. Author Kelly Kapic and Jonathan Rogers, the host of a writerly podcast called The Habit, used "finitude" numerous times as they discussed Kelly's book, "You're Only Human", published in 2022. 

We humans possess finitude which means we are finite, and therefore have limits or bounds. Kelly claims that our finitude is not a sin, but rather, it is a gift of being human. Thinking carefully about our "creatureliness", says Kelly, "will reveal limits, dependence, love, reliance on the grace of God, and worship." According to him, a proper view of finitude expands our joy of being a creature, and brings the freedom of resting on the promises of our Creator. 

Finitude. What a timely word for me to ponder this week, since the third of May marks the thirtieth anniversary of Mom-Eva's Homegoing. Cancer was a stark and cruel reminder of my biological mom's finitude. It pulled in her limits and bounds relentlessly, too tightly, too soon. She was 51 years old when she died. Finitude means that I have now lived a longer time without her than the amount of time that I knew her when she was alive. 

I shrink from the memories of her loss - the fading of her signature strength and vitality - and our loss - the fading of a beautiful light in our lives when she left us. I shrink from the realization that I, her daughter, have also inherited her finitude. It saddens me, this finiteness does, and sometimes my sorrow edges toward despair. Finite just sounds too much like...final. 

That's why I'm grateful for Kelly's reminder to think more carefully about creatureliness. Are we humans made earthen vessels, ordinary clay pots we might say, for the purpose of containing Treasure? The cracks of our finitude allow the light of God's excellence to shine through. What if our limits are to showcase His boundlessness? To remember we are creatures is to acknowledge that we have a Creator. We don't have to get it all nor do we have to be all, because He is. We are free to be finite because He is infinite. 

I wonder if Mom understood this better than I realized. I know she sometimes struggled with having high expectations of herself and then feeling frustrated when she couldn't meet them. But she definitely developed ways of expressing her joy of living. She also knew what it was to rest on the promises of her Creator. I can't think of a better legacy to impart. 

That's why, in my reflection on finitude, I come to gratitude. I'm grateful for Mom's example of doing both outer and inner hard work. She had lots of ambition and accomplished much, whether it was gardening, cleaning resort cabins, making Sunday dinners, raking the lawn, writing family histories, or raising us children to adulthood. 

She also recognized her need for intellectual and spiritual growth. Mom read widely, studied Scripture, participated in Sunday School discussions and meaningful conversations, and prayed (and got us children to pray) about everything no matter how large or small. And while I have no idea what all she and The Spirit discussed during His Training Sessions, I know she had definite marks of His beauty as a result. 

I'm grateful for the way that Mom loved life and how she demonstrated that love in spite of and in the midst of her limitations. A distinct memory I have of her illustrates this well. There was an open field in front of our place, from which hefty summer breezes would sometimes sweep across our yard. These winds would frustrate me with their power and persistence, and I would rather stay indoors than to go outside and be at their mercy in force and unpredictability. But Mom relished being out in the gale. She'd stand out in the yard, lifting her arms and grinning broad with satisfaction, exclaiming to anyone who cared to listen, "Oh, I just looove the wind!"

When the cancer had her in its tightest grip, Mom showed us what it means to have one's "inner man renewed day by day" even as the "outward man is perishing". (II Corinthians 4:16) Even as I remember her example all these years later, it helps me to "not lose heart". 

I remembered Mom's example again this morning during the sermon at church. The speaker emphasized the importance of having a firm foundation for structures in the physical world, and much more so in our spiritual lives. He pointed out that it is in hard times that the sureness of our foundation is tested. This also provides an opportunity to glorify the builder. If a house is still standing after a hurricane has gone through the area, people will notice, and say "That's the kind of foundation I want! Who built that house?" 

My Mom was an imperfect, finite human but she had a perfect and infinite Builder. I'm grateful to know that she experienced much joy in living for Him while she was on earth but my heart overflows with gratitude to know that she is now in His presence, where there is fullness of joy forever. 

An infinite Giver gave me a mother with finitude. I'm grateful to Him for the gift of being her daughter, and for the gift of remembering her.