Thoughts on Grandma's Birthday

 Today would have been my grandma's birthday--she would be 91 today. Grandma passed away back in 2016--about a month before Valor was born. She got to meet the boys, though, and she loved them (and all of us) dearly--as we loved her.

My mom always described grandma as having a gift of mercy, and that was certainly true. 

It seems like all the aging relatives who needed long-running, sacrificial care were tended tirelessly by grandma. She never seemed overwhelmed or tired of endless hospital or house visits, and it was with her that I remember visiting old folks' homes (when I was very young) to see someone-or-other who had Alzheimer's. I remember being terrified by the pass-coded, locked doors, the weird smells, and the elderly people in various stages of sanity and decay who did not adhere to the norms of social behavior to which I was accustomed. 

But I was with grandma, and her compassion for them was contagious. She stepped into their suffering and their lack of dignity (if you've ever been in the Alzheimer's ward of an old folks' home, you know what I mean!) and she graciously served them. The best description I can use is like when a mother responds gently and with complete poise to the most outrageous situation of bodily fluids and emotions and nudity from her small child--she just sweeps in, creates order and brings comfort and solves all the problems. And when it really did get too outrageous, she would just laugh.

She brought me along, and as I watched her, I had an epiphany. Such a little effort on my part could bring such joy to those people. It encouraged them to see a little girl smile and wave and chat for a few moments, cheerfully enduring the cheek patting and the hugs from strangers who recognized me as someone they knew...even though they didn't know me. That epiphany pushed the fear and discomfort of that experience to the background, and it's stood me in good stead ever since, especially when I come into an awkward situation. When I meet a person who is stripped of their dignity--whether from age, infirmity, disease, drugs or any other reason--I remember grandma's gift of mercy and how she mothered everyone she met with such kindness. I try to respond with that same cheerful mercy. 

Grandma also had a gift for babies; I think it was something about how she would just stop everything to hold them, and there was a special peace about her. She was constantly working (or so it seemed to me) but she never seemed to be in a hurry. I never had nor learned this gift, though I wish I did. I honestly don't remember much from any of my three babies in their youngest months (sleep deprivation will do that to you!) but I do remember a few times when I would be sitting in the rocker, holding my sleeping or nursing baby, and thinking of grandma who just let the world stop for a baby. If there were babies to be held in Heaven, I am quite certain my grandma would be one of the people volunteering to hold them. 

That peacefulness of hers; it really was a marvel. Grandma cooked up massive meals from scratch, maintained her tidy and beautiful home, kept up with all the extended family, and helped all the elderly and ailing relatives, and yet she never seemed in a hurry. Her garden was always beautiful (though I credit grandpa with a lot of that) and her home was always spotless, but she wasn't rushing around cleaning it. She was busy, I suppose, but she wasn't flustered or rushed. She was peaceful.

Lately I've been pondering Grandma's gifts of mercy and peace, and how they went hand-in-hand so neatly.

I sometimes think I've been able to grow in those things myself, a little--maybe in tiny glimpses and moments. I've grown in finding peace in the midst of trials and sufferings (by God's grace) when I can set fears aside and trust in His good plan and knowing the Spirit can bring peace if I am willing to submit my pride and selfishness to His glory and His will; but what about in the daily, grinding moments? That's when I need a lot more peace, and mercy, too.

This morning is a perfect example. I had my quiet time, read God's Word, prayed, and then purposed to respond to my children in gentleness and kindness to embody the same peace Grandma did--but not four minutes into the day, as I'm trying to cook breakfast; someone has The Hobbit soundtrack on playing VERY loudly, the puppy has wet on a rug (again); the cats are running laps waiting to be fed and panicking (because of the puppy), a child is crying, another child is begging to help me with the cooking, and the third is dragging out a VERY messy activity (and none of the three children are obeying my order to do their chores while I make breakfast, which includes taking the puppy outside to potty, feed the cats, and empty the dishwasher which WOULD, in fact, be more helpful for making breakfast than "helping" me cook!) and then somehow someone begins playing the piano, I smell something burning, the phone rings--turns out I'm for a doctor appointment to deal with my chronic lockjaw that comes from stress-clenching my jaw but neither I nor the kids have gotten dressed to go out yet--and I realize we didn't put out the trash cans and it's trash day.

I imagine Grandma would have floated peacefully through that situation, leaving contented, well fed pets and children in her wake and everyone would depart in a timely and cheerful manner for the doctor, leaving nothing undone and with frustration or hurriedness spoiling the morning. Or perhaps she somehow could have magically avoided the situation entirely. 

In real life, what I do is yell for the one kid to stop playing the piano and find the source of The Hobbit and turn it off. Still over the noise, I yell for another kid "Don't you dare get that out right now," and take the dog out ("and for goodness sakes put on a coat and shoes so you aren't crying that you're cold in five minutes!") and I tell the third kid that I'm sorry they're sad but suck it up and help me figure out what's on fire. I throw clothes at the kids and shout, "Get dressed--chop-chop-hubba-hubba!" on repeat like some crazed drill sergeant trying to enforce military precision in a nudist colony until everyone is somewhat clothed, and then we race to the appointment, which we arrive at 20 minutes late. Afterwards, we get drive-through for breakfast. And we realize we missed the trash pickup. Even if I manage to respond in all this without anger (which, on a well-rested and by the power of the Spirit in a flash of extreme godliness I MIGHT) the very process of mobilizing and maintaining my crew is LOUD and FRANTIC and CHAOTIC and definitely NOT PEACEFUL.

I have to wonder, in those moments, how to find and share the peace of Christ, and how to respond to the needs of my children (are they REALLY needs, though?) in mercy. 

Seriously though, I assume grandma had days like that too. Probably. I just didn't see them. Hopefully as I continue to grow and mature, I'll respond with more and more grace, with more mercy and more peace. 

At any rate, this is just part of the sanctification process, I guess.

But sometimes I sure miss Grandma.