Winter is a lonely and reflective time. My beloved Grandmother passed away four years ago this week. She left this world graciously much as she lived her 92 years among us. She didn't preach a sermon or profit her wisdom--her character wordlessly demonstrated her beliefs. She didn't proclaim love; she was a verb. With consistent small kindnesses she loved her family. There were the perfectly peeled oranges, starched pillow cases sprayed with Lilly of the Valley, pancakes from scratch, and gently closing a light through the dark after praying over me:
I thank the Lord for all things bright
For Light by Day
And Stars by Night
For flowers so fair
And birds that sing
I thank the Lord
For Everything
Amen. And this little girl had no doubt she was Lady Laurie Anne of the Sheffield Lake Brockley Avenue Squire when visiting Grandma! She loved me like royalty regardless of a secretary's retirement. She showed her family how one might live simply, generously, and content. She was faithful with little and produced much fruit. I never saw her entitled. The trait simply didn't exist in the woman who survived the great depression. What loss we lose with our elders. I am so grateful to have touched a hand on a past where greatness burned bright.
When life and death discourage me, the red cardinal of winter reminds me that my Grandmother watches over me still. My heart secretly hopes she is only ever able to see her granddaughter happily enjoying an orange; but if she knows the pains, then too she should know the well from where I draw strength, as she was quick to say and it echoes still--we shall overcome.
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