She walks down the sidewalk toward me slowly. Her flowing skirt dancing around her calves, her bare feet shuffling on the concrete. She looks older. Much older than I ever remember. I thought she was old when I was 10.
That was 21 years ago.
Now it’s not my limited perception making her seem aged, but time. Years of working on a factory assembly line, then coming home to cooking, cleaning, gardening and canning the works of their harvest.
In my memory, she still wears a calf-length skirts and walks everywhere barefoot, while humming hymns. As I see her shuffling toward me, a thousand memories flood my mind. I can nearly hear her cackling laughter in my ears as a broad smile spreads across her face.
“Hey Jess!” the same voice of the grandmother of my youth echos out, sounding only slightly more weathered. I’m holding her namesake, who squeals in response to my Granny’s attention.
I used to sneak her extra pair of false teeth out of the bathroom and wear them, as best I could, over my own teeth. One time I used her denture glue to help hold them in. It took me forever to get that off my teeth. She laughed and laughed at me.
I wrap my arm around her, realizing she’s a little shorter than she used to be, but she smells just the same. “Look at how those kids have grown! And, there’s Ella.”
I’d played this moment out in my mind at least a dozen times, but living it was much better than I could have ever imagined. I shift my hip over so my Granny can finally meet the great-granddaughter who bears her name.
Now it’s not my limited perception making her seem aged, but time. Years of working on a factory assembly line, then coming home to cooking, cleaning, gardening and canning the works of their harvest.
In my memory, she still wears a calf-length skirts and walks everywhere barefoot, while humming hymns. As I see her shuffling toward me, a thousand memories flood my mind. I can nearly hear her cackling laughter in my ears as a broad smile spreads across her face.
“Hey Jess!” the same voice of the grandmother of my youth echos out, sounding only slightly more weathered. I’m holding her namesake, who squeals in response to my Granny’s attention.
I used to sneak her extra pair of false teeth out of the bathroom and wear them, as best I could, over my own teeth. One time I used her denture glue to help hold them in. It took me forever to get that off my teeth. She laughed and laughed at me.
I wrap my arm around her, realizing she’s a little shorter than she used to be, but she smells just the same. “Look at how those kids have grown! And, there’s Ella.”
I’d played this moment out in my mind at least a dozen times, but living it was much better than I could have ever imagined. I shift my hip over so my Granny can finally meet the great-granddaughter who bears her name.
"Ella, meet Ella," I say. They both grin.
She laughs a hearty laugh, one that’s familiar and I can’t help but smile along with. “She’s beautiful, Jess, just like her Granny.” She cackles again, as she turns to walk to the house.
“Y’all come on in and get you somethin’ cold to drink,” she more commands than offers. Their house exists outside of time, I do believe. It’s hardly changed since I was a kid, only now it seems much smaller.
I walk into the kitchen and can almost see her standing there at the stove, with her back to me, her elbow moving wildly as she stirs a big pot of soup. Her voice breaks my thoughts, “Jess, there’s bologna in the refrigerator and some sodies too if you want one. Make those kids the rest of them hot dogs.” Pots rattle in the cabinet as she searches for her favored choice to boil some hot dogs.
“I’ll just grill them here, Gran.” She looks at me and clangs the pot on the stovetop, “Alright, but you’d better clean it up when you’re done.”
I smile. Not much has changed. I’m still a little girl in her mind and she’s still my headstrong, bossy, love-filled Granny.
We eat lunch and then head outside. She uses a cane now and tears sting my eyes as I notice how much more slowly she walks. It’s been nearly 18 months since we were here the last time. Too long considering how much she’s changed.
“Don’t you feed those kids? They’re so skinny.”
“Yes, Granny, they eat. A lot. Trust me.”
She laughs again.
We talk about nothing and everything. She asks about Africa. She says the obvious, “Four years? Well, you know we probably won’t be around by the time you get back.”
Tears wet my lashes again.
“I’d thought that too Gran,” I almost whisper. I’m pretty sure I got my matter-of-factness from her. Actually, I know I did. She loves boldly and speaks her mind the same.
In my mind I can almost hear her voice singing hymns as my eyes follow the rows of levies through the rice fields that surround their house. I blink hard to make the tears disappear.
“Come on and let me show you my flowers.”
For the next half an hour we walk hand-in-hand as she quizzes me on the names of the plants and I fail her test miserably. She laughs as I make up random names for the varieties of foliage, none of which are correct. She, on the other hand, knows almost every plant and who gave it to her and on which occasion. Her mind is still sharp even though her body is weakening.
I used to catch critters in glass canning jars. Usually lightening bugs, sometimes bees. My cousins and I would play for hours in the creek beside their house throwing rocks, catching inedible fish and hunting for crawdads. I took our kids down to that same creek and was surprised by how small it really is.
My Paw arrives back from a monthly lunch gathering with his brothers. My Granny and paw have been married for over 60 years and I don’t recall ever seeing them argue, though I’m sure they did. Again, my mind turns to memories and I see my Paw hunched over a small desk, with a desk lamp, reading a well worn Bible.
My hands would be purple or hot pink or maybe blue depending on the type of dust put on the seeds that we grandkids planted in their garden. They’d hand us a bag and show us a row and we’d get busy planting seeds. You could wash and wash and wash your hands but that color would take days to come off your skin.
“We planted us a garden again this year,” she says, breaking my thoughts once more. “Used to we could plant the whole garden, all over the back yard, in just one day. This year it took us all day just to plant 4 plants.” I look at the meager garden that they have sowed this year. It’s puny in comparison to the gardens of my childhood. I remember being yelled at for playing in the rows and rows of corn. I’d get called in from the back yard for stepping on the rows and rows of okra. It spanned their entire backyard, which is good sized enough to store up food for the winter. Now, their garden is the size of a few baby cribs.
My life is not what it once was because of the faithfulness of their lives. I am stained with their love. My greatest prayer is that our children, and even our children’s children, understand the labor of my grandparents and know The Love that they testified to my entire life.
Long after their garden is never again planted in soil, they will continue to reap a generational harvest. The legacy they have planted in the hearts of their children, grandchildren and great-grandchildren has stained our family’s hands for eternity. I could never wash off the color that these two people have embedded in my life. Nor would I ever want to. Long before I knew the King, they knew Him. They remained steadfast through deaths and burials of their children and grandchildren. They continued to slow, plant and tend. They continued to persevere. They sowed great seeds in me, without my even knowing.
Years from now as I remember my Granny’s abundant cackling laughter and my Paw’s tender, deep voice, I pray that I will also remember the love my Savior poured into me through them. I pray that my life remains stained with the color of their love.
She laughs a hearty laugh, one that’s familiar and I can’t help but smile along with. “She’s beautiful, Jess, just like her Granny.” She cackles again, as she turns to walk to the house.
“Y’all come on in and get you somethin’ cold to drink,” she more commands than offers. Their house exists outside of time, I do believe. It’s hardly changed since I was a kid, only now it seems much smaller.
I walk into the kitchen and can almost see her standing there at the stove, with her back to me, her elbow moving wildly as she stirs a big pot of soup. Her voice breaks my thoughts, “Jess, there’s bologna in the refrigerator and some sodies too if you want one. Make those kids the rest of them hot dogs.” Pots rattle in the cabinet as she searches for her favored choice to boil some hot dogs.
“I’ll just grill them here, Gran.” She looks at me and clangs the pot on the stovetop, “Alright, but you’d better clean it up when you’re done.”
I smile. Not much has changed. I’m still a little girl in her mind and she’s still my headstrong, bossy, love-filled Granny.
We eat lunch and then head outside. She uses a cane now and tears sting my eyes as I notice how much more slowly she walks. It’s been nearly 18 months since we were here the last time. Too long considering how much she’s changed.
“Don’t you feed those kids? They’re so skinny.”
“Yes, Granny, they eat. A lot. Trust me.”
She laughs again.
We talk about nothing and everything. She asks about Africa. She says the obvious, “Four years? Well, you know we probably won’t be around by the time you get back.”
Tears wet my lashes again.
“I’d thought that too Gran,” I almost whisper. I’m pretty sure I got my matter-of-factness from her. Actually, I know I did. She loves boldly and speaks her mind the same.
In my mind I can almost hear her voice singing hymns as my eyes follow the rows of levies through the rice fields that surround their house. I blink hard to make the tears disappear.
“Come on and let me show you my flowers.”
For the next half an hour we walk hand-in-hand as she quizzes me on the names of the plants and I fail her test miserably. She laughs as I make up random names for the varieties of foliage, none of which are correct. She, on the other hand, knows almost every plant and who gave it to her and on which occasion. Her mind is still sharp even though her body is weakening.
I used to catch critters in glass canning jars. Usually lightening bugs, sometimes bees. My cousins and I would play for hours in the creek beside their house throwing rocks, catching inedible fish and hunting for crawdads. I took our kids down to that same creek and was surprised by how small it really is.
My Paw arrives back from a monthly lunch gathering with his brothers. My Granny and paw have been married for over 60 years and I don’t recall ever seeing them argue, though I’m sure they did. Again, my mind turns to memories and I see my Paw hunched over a small desk, with a desk lamp, reading a well worn Bible.
My hands would be purple or hot pink or maybe blue depending on the type of dust put on the seeds that we grandkids planted in their garden. They’d hand us a bag and show us a row and we’d get busy planting seeds. You could wash and wash and wash your hands but that color would take days to come off your skin.
“We planted us a garden again this year,” she says, breaking my thoughts once more. “Used to we could plant the whole garden, all over the back yard, in just one day. This year it took us all day just to plant 4 plants.” I look at the meager garden that they have sowed this year. It’s puny in comparison to the gardens of my childhood. I remember being yelled at for playing in the rows and rows of corn. I’d get called in from the back yard for stepping on the rows and rows of okra. It spanned their entire backyard, which is good sized enough to store up food for the winter. Now, their garden is the size of a few baby cribs.
My life is not what it once was because of the faithfulness of their lives. I am stained with their love. My greatest prayer is that our children, and even our children’s children, understand the labor of my grandparents and know The Love that they testified to my entire life.
Long after their garden is never again planted in soil, they will continue to reap a generational harvest. The legacy they have planted in the hearts of their children, grandchildren and great-grandchildren has stained our family’s hands for eternity. I could never wash off the color that these two people have embedded in my life. Nor would I ever want to. Long before I knew the King, they knew Him. They remained steadfast through deaths and burials of their children and grandchildren. They continued to slow, plant and tend. They continued to persevere. They sowed great seeds in me, without my even knowing.
Years from now as I remember my Granny’s abundant cackling laughter and my Paw’s tender, deep voice, I pray that I will also remember the love my Savior poured into me through them. I pray that my life remains stained with the color of their love.