The Grit and Grace of Grandma’s

Here I am holding my first born son, kneeling in front of the 6 of 7 grandmothers (2), great-grandmothers (3) and great-great-grandmother (1). Missing is Great Grandmother Wright who attending her 50th year class reunion!

My grandparents were about the age I am now (double nickels baby!) when they took my older brother (3 years old) and me (18 months old) in to live with them. They moved from our house “in town” to the house in the country with two toddlers in tow. We even helped her pack up and everything! (Every grandmother reading this knows how helpful that kind of help is…) 

We settled in the “country house” quite nicely. There was a garden big enough to feed us through the summer and provide canned goodness all throughout the winter months. My brother and I would play outside for hours. Freeze tag. Basketball. Baton twirling. Jump rope. I would “drive” the tractor and act like I was going to town. We would lay upside down on a small hill and create images out of the clouds…elephants, dinosaurs, faces, dogs, birds. 

My Grandpa worked a swing shift running the burn off at Anchor Hocking. He would take naps at curious times of the day, curious for a young child who did not understand what working a short-change over entailed. But I would be right there beside him…on the wooden floor but always in the sunshine, under the shade of the tulip poplar tree out back and my favorite on the red vinyl recliner in the basement. Nothing felt more like a refuge than falling asleep on your Grandpa’s belly, me trying to match him breath for breath while the Statler Brothers belted out Flowers on the Wall on the vinyl: 

Countin’ flowers on the wall
That don’t bother me at all
Playin’ solitaire till dawn with a deck of fifty-one
Smokin’ cigarettes and watchin’ Captain Kangaroo
Now don’t tell me I’ve nothin’ to do

I mean: Vinyl chairs. Vinyl records. The Statler Brothers. Life was good.

Because of Grandpa’s seven-days-a-week swing shift factory job, I spent the majority of my time with Granny. I learned to cook and bake for which my family is thankful! I learned to love simple things like drinks from a hose, noticing when seeds began to pop up through the soil, the art of make believe, and to never say within earshot that I was bored. I learned to grow things…flowers, corn, tomatoes, peas, strawberries, onions, potatoes and most importantly my faith. 

We grew up going to a little country Methodist church where indoor plumbing was a luxury we didn’t have until well into my elementary school age years. Our church always had the retired guys who still loved to preach but was too old to have a “real” church. Granny took my brother and me every Sunday. No matter what. No matter the weather. No matter the whine. And definitely no matter the attitude.

If we gave her too much grief, she would close her eyes, move her lips in silent prayer after which, we would all climb in the ‘72 Pontiac and head to church. I was never sure if she prayed for wisdom or prayed for the patience to not snatch us bald headed. Either way, when Granny prayed, we listened…out of fear of a lightning bolt from God or a lilac switch from Granny…we behaved ourselves in the pews of that little country church. 

Her faith was lived out in the faithful way she lived. Quietly raising up her second round of kids. No fluff. No fanfare. But a confidence in Christ to see her through with the grit and grace she needed day by day.  

Granny was essential in how I grew in my faith. 

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The Grandmother

There’s one little verse that packs a powerful punch for those of us who have entered the delightful role of being a grandparent and in particular a grandmother. 

Paul is writing a letter to Timothy, encouraging him to continue his ministry, letting him know how much he is missed and reminiscing of their last time together. He continues: 

That precious memory triggers another: your honest faith—and what a rich faith it is, handed down from your grandmother Lois to your mother Eunice, and now to you! (2Timothy 1:5MSG) 

We don’t know much about this dynamic mother-daughter duo except that they were steadfast in the raising up of young Timothy in God’s word. Some believe that because Lois was listed first, she was essential in her grandson’s faith.

But as for you (Timothy), continue in what you have learned and have firmly believed, knowing from whom you learned it and how from childhood you have been acquainted with the sacred writings, which are able to make you wise for salvation through faith in Christ Jesus. (2Timothy 3:14-15ESV bold is mine)

The Grit

Paul doesn’t mention anything about Timothy’s grandfather, Lois’s husband, so we don’t know if he’s passed away or simply not involved in helping to teach him about God. Perhaps he is an unbeliever like Eunice’s husband is thought to be. (Acts 16:1)

No matter the reason, this Granny didn’t let that stop her from being involved in her grandson’s upbringing in the faith. Here again because the word whom in verse 14 above is plural, it leads one to believe that both Eunice AND Grandma Lois were deeply involved in all things spiritual, taking care that this little boy was acquainted with the sacred writings.  

While we may not look at this as such a big deal today, it took some grit and tenacity to step into those sandals and walk the path of being the spiritual leader to what would become a close associate to the apostle Paul, a giant in the faith. 

I wonder if Lois ever closed her eyes and moved her lips in silent prayer as a young Timothy whined about going to church? Maybe he hopped on in the chariot, not knowing if his Grandmother was praying for wisdom or a whippin’ but knew to not push it when she got to the point of praying! 

The Grace

Lois was Eunice’s mother. Eunice was an adult woman, a wife and a mother herself. The situation had the possibility of not being ideal: they were raising a child who might not have had a grandfather and a dad who was not a believer. Lois could have said she’d raised her family and would rather spend her time doing what SHE wanted to do. 

Yet she chose to give. Of herself. Her time. Her love. Showing, teaching, living her faith before a moldable young grandson who would grow up to love the Lord and serve Him well as a New Testament pastor and Paul’s right-hand man.  

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Nana. Gigi. Mimi. Gogo. Bibi.

Gammy. Memaw. Grandmaw.

Granny. Grandmere. Grandmother. 

Whatever name you go by, know this: you have an important role to play…even still.  There are things to be taught and caught. Taught by the words we say. Caught by the way we live. 

It takes grit because at this point in life you’ve lived through some stuff. Heartaches and headaches. Happiness and hell. You may think you’re too old for this. Gird your loins and pull up your girdle girls, we’ve got some flannel graphs to cut out! 

It takes grace because, boy is life different than when we raised our little ones. But the Good News of God’s Son is the Greatest Story Ever Told and that one never gets old. 

With no fanfare or fluff, Granny’s are tough.

They may no longer be quick, to grab the lilac stick. 

But a greater weapon they say, is to bow our heads and pray. 

Like Lois of old, we too can be bold. 

Teaching our grandkids the faith, day by day with grit and grace. 

kw

A Parable of the Peony

Look deep into nature, and then you will understand everything better. (Albert Einstein)

If this German born theoretical physicist who developed the theory of relativity and the world’s most famous equation of E=mccan understand everything better by looking at nature, then this simple girl can surely learn from her as well, right? 

There is Someone else who used nature to help us understand everything better using stories. 

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Jesus told many parables, short allegorical stories designed to illustrate or teach some truth, religious principle, or moral lesson and often used simple things like sowing seeds, sheep herding, coins, fish, harvesting as subjects to some of life’s greatest instructions. 

Consider the parable of the sower found in Matthew 13. His stories could be taken at surface level, I mean… 

What farmer doesn’t know the soil you plant your seed in matters? You could walk away with a simple garden lesson and go plant some literal seeds, hoping for a better harvest because of the agricultural lessons you learned: Stay away from rocky pathways, keep the weeds to a minimum, amend the soil for the best harvest. We’re gonna eat like kings and queens come harvest time, baby!! Thanks Jesus! 

Then there are those who wondered…is He talking about actual seeds and soil or is there a deeper meaning here? Who is the sower? Does that even matter? Do the rocks mean something? And what about those pesky weeds?  They walked away pondering profound truths that would give them a lifetime of learning.  

He still uses nature to teach, as long as we have ears to hear and eyes to notice. Because beyond the surface of the simple is a sacred something to see. 

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Enter the peony. Their spring season is short so every day I walk out to check their progress. They go from this: 

To this: 

In a matter of only a couple of days.

Small buds that bust a move with blooms as big as my entire hand. Gorgeous colors. Petals so soft you can barely feel them. Each one intricate, unique. Layer upon layer of lovely. 

As my daughter and I were inspecting the peony progress I said to her, it’s hard to believe that just a couple days ago this tightly wound bud went from this (pointing to a bud), to this (pointing to one half open), to this gorgeousness! (pointing to full bloom) Who would’ve thought there was so much beauty inside such a small bud?  

With arms loaded, we brought some of them inside to enjoy. Later that night that still small voice whispered, there’s also beauty in you that’s dying to bloom big blooms. You have no idea the possibilities that are waiting to bust out. What keeps you from doing so?  

Yeah. What does?

I came up with some possibilities. Maybe you can relate?

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I’m going to start out here with the FACT that we all, Every. Single. One. Of. Us have God given gifts and talents. Don’t say you don’t, or we will have to have a group intervention for your clarification! Nobody wants that. Just ask my kids. 

So, what keeps us from bringing out the beauty and blooming big? 

We Compare. 

It’s the thief of joy, according to President Theodore Roosevelt. And this quote from Brene’ Brown: The comparison mandate becomes this crushing paradox of ‘fit in and stand out!’ It’s not cultivate self-acceptance, belonging, and authenticity, it’s be just like everyone else, but better. – from The Gifts of Imperfections 

What would happen if we stopped trying to be just like everyone else and started bringing our own uniqueness to the table? Can you imagine the beauty that bouquet would bring? 

You are wanted. You. Not you being like your best friend. You. 

We Downplay. 

How many times have I started the answer to the question: What do you do? with, Oh, I’m just a… or I’m only a…

It didn’t matter if I was talking about being a stay-at-home Mom or when I was working a job for a paycheck. It didn’t matter if I got paid to write an article or was simply writing to share on my blog with you, I downplay myself. I’m just a writer…not like an important writer…not famous or anything…just, you know, someone who likes to write…sometimes…

Do you do that too? Can I hear you saying, YES! OH MY GOSH! YES!!

Why? Just why, do we do this to ourselves? 

We have to stop the insanity and be proud of the gifts and talents we have and the jobs we do! We need to encourage each other to bring the full bloomed flower to the group! Can you imagine how different our culture would be, our homes would be, our workplaces would be, our churches would be, if we stopped devaluing and underestimating the importance of our God given gifts and talents? 

You are needed. You. Not the just a… or only a… But-full-booming-bloom-here’s-what-I-bring-to-the-table-in-all-your-lovely-YOU.

The Dreadful Iffy’s.

Oh, how these can dance in my head! Maybe you’ve had this same conversation with the what if’s as well. I’ll throw out a handful with the antithetical answer in the parenthesis: 

What if I can’t? (But what if you can?)

What if I fail? (But what if you succeed?)

What if they don’t like me? (But what if they do?)

What if I’m too much/not enough? (But what if you’re just right?)

What if it’s not worth the risk? (But what if it is?) 

What if I fall? (But what if you fly?) 

Anybody else have this conversation in their own head? Dreadful iffy’s be damned! Let’s, each one of us, live in the Oh but what if and not be afraid try. Let’s be courageous enough to take hold of our thoughts, be the boss of our internal voice and walk into our calling. 

You are brave. You. Even with knees knocking. You. 

We’re Blind to Ourselves

What you see as ordinary, I may see as extraordinary. What you consider to be just who I am, may be the exact thing that is much needed at your job, in your home, your church, your ministry. We don’t often see ourselves as others see us. As activist and educator, Marion Wright Edelman said, you can’t be what you can’t see. 

Often, when I’m leading a Bible study, we’ll have opportunities to point out a quality or gift or something one likes about another and it is such a JOY to watch as the one who is getting the compliment actually receives it as such! We have no idea how our “normal selves” can be used for God’s glory.  

We need to compliment and encourage each other so we CAN see what we CAN be! 

We were having an after-dinner conversation a couple weeks ago about “inspired versus inspirational.” Are we one or the other? Should we be both? I made the comment about how we should be inspired by others so we can in turn be inspirational. To which my man asked if I thought I was inspirational. To which I replied, no not really. I’m just a stay-at-home Mom. (Take my own advice much?!) 

My teenage son was surprised. Are you serious?  Then proceeded to list every reason why I inspired him and others. I had no idea he noticed such things. Who was truly surprised then? 

If we were having coffee, I would sit across from you and make a list of the blooming qualities that you can’t see. Those gifts and talents that you downplay would become the aroma others enjoy long after you’ve left the shop. 

You matter. You. You have something to give. You. 

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I may not have a Nobel prize for my contribution to quantum physics like Albert but we do have something in common, we both love to look at nature for a deeper understanding. 

The parable of the peonies sure made me think beyond how gorgeous they are. Maybe the story helped you too? Don’t be afraid to bloom to full capacity. This world needs the beauty and fragrance of YOU! 

kw

Women of Means

Platforms, performance and purpose. Competition, comparison and cattiness. We wonder. We work. We worry. 

Bigger is better. Faster is more fun. We fight our way to the top, scratching and clawing anything or anyone that gets in the way. That ladder of success is no longer just in the work world either.

We compare ministries, Mom styles and our mayhem. We compete with Pinterest perfect parties. Our purpose becomes all about virtual friends, follows, likes and heart emoji’s. Busy is a badge of honor.

Buying into today’s culture that screams “MORE” makes us manic with panic and may I go as far as to say..mean? There is nothing worse than a worn out woman whose worth is wrapped up in what she does rather than what’s already been done. 

It’s rather exhausting isn’t it? 

There is a different way. 

The twelve were with him, and also some women who had been cured of evil spirits and diseases: Mary (called Magdalene) from whom seven demons had come out; Joanna the wife of Cuza, the manager of Herod’s household; Susanna; and many others. (Luke 8:1-3a)s

I love this group of women who follow after Jesus!

There’s Mary Magdalene who has a past spent with seven demons. Seven is a complete number in the Bible and some scholars suggest she was wholly possessed. While you and I may not be possessed or never have had demons come out of us, there are a few of us with a bit of a, shall we say sordid, former life. She was no longer that person because of Jesus and neither are we. 

Joanna was the wife of a highly placed official in the court of Herod Anitpas. She knew people and inside scoops. I image there were dinner parties, dances and functions that kept her in societies eye. Once she knew Jesus, the rest faded away. The power and prestige paled in her pursuit for her Savior. There are those of you who relate to Joanna, knowing people in high places (maybe even being those in high places) but recognizing where real worth comes from…being a Jesus follower. 

Susanna is a bit of a mystery. Mentioned here and no other place in all of Scripture the one thing we know about her is she is a part of Jesus’ ministry and had been cured of evil spirits and diseases. Maybe you are Susanna. Ever grateful of what Jesus did for you and in quiet adoration you follow and serve him. 

And many others…I wonder who among you reading this feel as though you don’t have a “big story” to tell so you don’t tell your story at all? You aren’t Mary M. with seven demons or high in the social scene or even mysterious but you adore Jesus and follow him with everything you’ve got. You count too you know. Your story with the Savior is a beautiful one. 

Why do I love this group of women? They are all so different and yet the same because they all recognize their need of Someone bigger than themselves. Each one brought something unique to the table. 

These women were helping to support them out of their own means. 

(Luke 8:3bNIV)

What if this was a group of mean girls instead of women with means? Mary wouldn’t have been allowed in for fear of what others would say about her shameful past. After all, Jesus doesn’t need that sort of reputation! Joanna would never “lower herself” to serve others nor wish to be seen with such people. Susanna would have nothing much to offer so nope, no average folks allowed. 

What a difference that would have made! How much would they have missed out on? 

Thankfully they were women of means and not mean women. They each brought their “something” to support the Savior so he could further his message of hope. 

What if we weren’t meant to be mean women but women of means? Women coming together with all manner of gifts and talents, backgrounds and family histories, stories of healing and adoration for the Healer. We would follow the One we love instead of loving the number of followers we have. We would cheer each other on and be the loudest clapper in the crowd. We would celebrate what has been done so we could stop chasing after do. All for the glory of God.

What if the world saw us women of faith rise up and become women of means? Just imagine it. What if…

kw