My Gramma Pearl

I sit and reflect on my Grandmother of 92 years she sits in a hospital bed awaiting the decisions of her final days in this world, as many or as few as they may be. My grandmother has never been a "sitting" woman until these recent days. I look back on her bustling life, full of life and energy, spunk and laughter. She was a woman, who in her day was one of the few that decided to get an education and become a nurse, unlike some "lady-like" girls she played floor hockey, and married a handsome man in the the military. But, this is not the woman I grew up knowing, even though this was very much a part of her. She always had her hair neatly done, she loved cooking in the kitchen, and got her nails done every few weeks...like the other "ladies" did. But, my grandmother was more than this. I loved her passion in the kitchen. I remember many a day where she would be cooking a thanksgiving dinner and preparing as she called, the padadas (potatoes), and I would giggle and mock her until she said emphatically, "SPUDS!". But, she was always a good sport at being teased, even by her husband who would chase her around the house for a kiss. She would bat at him and tell him to act his age (no matter what that age was). But, all the while she was giggling with delight, because he loved her, and she loved it. We loved working along side her, especially us grandaughters, peeling apples for her famous apple pie that she still mastered up until just a few years ago when her sight was failing her and her legs were just too sore to stand. But, un until then she wouldn't sit. She would say, "Oh, I'm fine" when we would tell her we can clean up the kitchen. After all, she nearly prepared the dinner single handedly. I also admired her love for God, and for His word. She kept her "daily bread" box full of scriptures next to the breakfast table to read for the day. I loved reaching for the plastic bread container to pick the scripture for the day while looking out of their Singing Sands Rd. home out onto the ocean bay. Open Bibles, honey/peanut butter/jam container and oatmeal mornings sitting with my grandparents I felt full of love and sweetness. It was in my grandparents home that I learned to play the piano, the same one that sits in my living room today, where my boys are learning on their own, as I did. I used to watch my Grandmother play, while Grampa played on violin, and we sang along with the hymns that we grew to know as their favorites. Victory in Jesus! That was Gramma's favorites. She is so much more than just a lady, sitting now. She is a hand that has lead those to their own story with God, she was a light in the day of many who had no one and nothing as she sang to those who were not much older than her. She gave of her time and her hand knitting slippers and prayer shawls not just for her kids and grandkids, but for those in hospitals and those close to her heart. She loved huge, and her love will always remain in my heart, just as her gum remained in her purse. You could depend on it, it was always there.

Even though her life has slowed, her memories will continue and I hope to leave a smile on the many, like she has, touching lives, like she has, in the many years she continues to live.

The many gifts of love

Recently I pondered and struggled with the idea of reading the Bible. It's always been a struggle for me, as I have dyslexia. It was interesting to me when I shared with a group of ladies around me that struggled in the same area. Why do we feel the need to all be the same? Why is it that I compete to be the "better" Christian, when God has given me so much. I am different, and I love who I am, but I struggle with who I am not. When I think about it, it's hard to make sense of it. Do I really love who God created? Do I really love His gifts of music and dance that He has uniquely given me? I know I am not like other people, and God speaks to me in ways that others say they wish God would. But, I find myself thinking that I am not good enough, when really it not about how good I am, it's about who I am. I hear God through the trees, through the crackling fire, through dreams, through music, as He moves me into a dance with Him. These are His gifts to me. We all have different gifts. Some people have such a passion for reading God's word, and for those I know who are dear to me, that is how God speaks to them. But, would I trade His love and His whispers, would I trade His embrace in my dreams and my wonders? Not for a day, not for a chance to have what He hasn't given me...because He has given me everything I am.