A Glimpse of Glory

On Thursday morning, we got a call from my cousin Peggy.  Peggy lives in Texas and looks after my grandmother who lives in a nursing home within a few miles of Peggy’s house.  Peggy said Grandma’s mind was going fast and that if we wanted  to see her again when she would recognize us, that we better come soon.  Within twenty-four hours, we were in the car, headed to Texas to see Grandma. 

My grandmother and I have a rough history.  As a child, I didn’t think she liked me very much.  I know she didn’t like me much.  I learned as I grew up that it had more to do with the birth order in my family than it had to do with me.  My grandma had suffered from being booted from the baby position in her family when she was only 17 months old and her sister was born.   Her mother catered to her baby sister’s whims and Grandma ended up with broken toys and a bratty sister. 

So when I happened to come along 18 months after my sister, I didn’t have much of a chance with Grandma.  She wanted to make sure the new baby (me) didn’t take away from my sister’s care.  She doted on my sister throughout our growing up years and saw me as the bratty little sister.  It was painful. 

My grandmother liked to say things like, “Look how ugly she’s acting!” “Stop being so ugly!” Ugly continues to be “the word” for anyone in our family who “misbehaves.”  My mom still uses the word liberally to talk about others.

I have broken my mom’s rules lately . . . and again . . . and there is little question as to whether my mom has been talking about me with the rest of family.   While it was of course not certain, it was likely that our cousins, whom we would be staying with in Texas, had heard about how “ugly” I’ve been.  As we made the drive, the description of me as “ugly” hung in the back of my mind . . . This wasn’t an easy trip to make. Hiding out from the rest of the family forever was what I would have liked to have been doing.  But I desperately wanted to see Grandma again.

When we got there, I answered my cousin’s questions about my mom allusively.  “Did you tell your mom you were coming?” she asked.  “Well, she is up in Colorado right now,” I answered.  Back in the days before cell phones, that would have been a great answer.  It was all that came to my head so I went with it despite the holes.  I desperately wanted to avoid telling my story.  It was too risky, and I just don’t have the energy to defend and explain myself anymore.  

It was good to see Grandma.  Her mind was, indeed, slipping.  Her thinking was labored.  She lacked focus and didn’t have much to say.  Much of the time, she sat with her eyes closed and a sweet smile on her face.  Sometimes, her head would shake back and forth as she sat smiling, eyes closed.  The head shaking and smile looked like her pleased, “Well, I’ll be!” expression that I’ve grown up with.  I imagine she was thinking about how good her life has been.  My grandmother lives gratefulness.  You can’t talk to her very long without hearing about how has God blessed her with a good life.

On Saturday morning, I went to the rest home to pick Grandma up and bring her back to Peggy’s house.  As I signed her out, I saw my mom’s signature on the sign-out sheet.  It was dated two weeks earlier.  My mom had been there only a couple of weeks before.  Seeing her signature, I felt sick.  I had no idea she had been for a visit since our last miserable encounter.  This meant that Peggy and John had definitely heard the most recent account of my “bad behavior.”  Looking at her signature, tears started to swell, and for a moment I was glad Grandma couldn’t see so well.  Then I began repeating a mantra in my head,  “I am completely loved and accepted by God and that is all I need.  I am completely loved and accepted by God and that is all I need.”  I reminded myself that God knows how complicated this is, that He knows I have struggled to find my way in this relationship and that I know I have made mistakes.  He knows that it is just now, at age 40, that I am finding my voice in this relationship and that is a clumsy process for me. 

With Grandma’s meds in hand, we headed back to Peggy’s.  At Peggy’s, I sat down on the couch beside Grandma and took hold of her hands.  Grandma looked me in the eyes for a long time.  Then smiling and shaking her head, she said, “You are so pretty.  You are!  You are just so pretty. You just keep getting prettier and prettier.”  My grandmother calling me "pretty" . . .     

She went on, “I am so proud of you!  God has blessed you so much!  Look at all those kids he has given you!”  I kept wondering, “Could this be what God would say?”  Does God have a bit of old age amnesia?  Would he look at me and say, “You just keep getting prettier and prettier”?  Would he say, “I’m so proud of you”?  All of these children that I fail with every day, are they a gift that somehow God deemed me worthy of, blessed me with despite myself?

Reflecting, I would love to think that Grandma’s mind isn’t slipping into nowhere, but rather slipping into heaven, and maybe she is giving us a bit of heaven’s glory.   The glory of being completely accepted and loved and doted on.  No judgment, no condemnation, no list of past offences . . . just pure, abundant love.