Grandma Lena (11/04/2024)

The month of November is often thought of as the prelude to Thanksgiving. Some consider it a time to be grateful. For me, it is more. It is also a time to remember with love those who have graced my journey and from whom I have learned and with whom I’ve been formed. Memory is the beginning of wisdom. And so, for the next several days, I want to focus on how the life of another has been instrumental in the person I am. It is my way of honoring them. It is my way of honoring the gifts the LORD has given to me that they helped me to see and to claim.

As I lift up thanksgiving for those who have not only accompanied me on the journey but added to it through their own loving lives, the first one that comes to my mind is my Grandma Lena. She is my dad’s mom, a small, humble woman with a huge soul and a strong spirit. The mother of 10 boys which she almost single-handedly raised during the depression on a farm in Nebraska, she had to overcome many obstacles and deal with many tragedies such as my grandfather’s debilitating stroke when then boys were young and the death of three of her sons.

But the thing one noticed about Grandma Lena from the moment one met her was her peace, her gentle, loving, joyful peace. She didn’t have much, but one didn’t notice that. One didn’t notice her attire but instead her demeanor. Grandma Lena lived each moment gentle, calmly, lovingly.

I remember my dad telling us kids about her kitchen curtains. She couldn’t afford fabric for curtains, not with all those boys to clothe. So, she saved her flour sacks and when she eventually had enough for the curtains, she sewed them together in the little free time she had. One day she went into town to run errands. The boys, home alone, did what they’d been told not to do, they started a fire in the kitchen stove to warm something. It got out of hand, grew tall, and caught her curtain on fire. They got it down quickly and doused the fire.

But they knew if they put it back up, she’d know what they’d done. And if they didn’t put it back up, she’d realize one was missing. So, they decided to take them all down and burn them in the stove so there was no evidence. When Grandma returned, no one said a thing. It took her a long time to realize that her curtains were missing because she hadn’t had them long enough for them to be “the norm.” When she did realize they were missing and learned the truth, the handled it with calm. And she didn’t replace them.

In time, I came to realize that the foundation of my Grandma Lena’s peace was her faith in and love of the LORD. She was a woman of faith, deep faith, the kind of faith that plays itself out every moment of every day, not just when she was in a pew. Of course, Grandma Lena was a quilter, and her most beautiful was her life, with the moments of pain and joy sewn together prayerfully and with trust that there was a divine plan behind it all. Grandma Lena’s peace, I learned was her “wholeness” – her bringing all of herself to all her moments, using all her love in every relationship.

As I write about her, I look up. Her photo as a young woman sits on the top of my roll top desk. Even in that photo, her peace was evident. Love you, Grandma. Miss you, so much.

Until tomorrow, let us all love well.