Through a Glass, Darkly

"I always heard you don't know how how well you've raised your kids until you've seen how your grandchildren grow up," she says in her warbly munchkin voice.

I study her profile where she sits in her favorite armchair, one of the few chairs she can still hoist herself out of without help. The paralyzed left side of her face is turned away from me. The side that can smile is what I see. Her back is hunched just enough to make her look comfortable with 87 years of living. If I could scoop her into my arms right now, I would.

Her right eyebrow swoops into a frown of thought.

"I wonder why three of my grandchildren are gay."

I laugh quietly to myself. I usually do when I'm with her. Spending time with Grandma is like watching a theoretical me 60 years from now.

She's lost several inches in height, but her hair is very near the dark blonde it always was. The knobs in her knuckles don't disguise the fact that her fingers are long and slender. Her pale skin is doused with freckles. Though one eye is halfway sewn up, you can still catch in it the glint of a thinking blue.

Her stubborness reaches mule-like proportions at times. Every once in a while she throws rationality out the window. She loves working on projects - for Grandma, christmas preparations begin in January and the church could always use another book sale. Her friends describe her as steady, sharp, loyal, and always up for a good laugh - even at her own expense.
When she was a young mother, she had the chance to study under a world-famous voice instructor in New York, who saw potential in her to become a diva. She chose to raise her family instead.

When Grandpa turned into a crotchety tyrant in his old age and demanded banana cream pies for every meal, Grandma laughed it off and became an expert at making homemade whipped cream.

When she found herself a widow several years later, she packed up and moved from Northern to Southern California in this tidy, simple house with white walls and warm sunshine. Today, she enjoys her own company here. Close friends are always welcome. She positively glows when family visits.

Somehow her life is full. Though she carries disappointments from the past - though her familiar strength and agility are gone - though none of her success has been great enough to astound the world - though there is a lot about her Savior she still doesn't understand - she lacks nothing.

She simply continues to grow.

My decisions have already veered me into a life unique from Grandma's. God has had a longer time to work on my submitted self. In some ways I'm an earlier - in others, a later - bloomer than she. But as I sit beside her, comfort in our similarities warms me. The adventures, challenges, successes and failures that make my life so intimidating to me diminish when I see them through her eyes.

Once, the future glared into her face, demanding her participation. She must have felt helpless and blind when confronted with some of her major decisions. The terror of "one false move" probably paralyzed her at some point. But she survived. And she continues to grow.

Just like me.

Today, a note that she's written and laid aside catches my eye. "I am thankful I can get out of bed, shower, dress, and anticipate the day ahead. For all of which I thank God!"

I guess in their own way, lilies and birds are full of prayers like that. And God sees that it is good.

Just like me.