Granny

I got in trouble a lot when I was little. So much so, that after the 1st grade my parents removed me from the elementary school where my mom taught and put me in a different one to preserve our relationship...or Mom’s sanity. There are stories upon stories upon stories of the things I did, and many are funny now, but at the time, my mom probably wondered what was wrong with me, while my dad doled out a steady, constant, probably daily dose of discipline.

I remember wondering how I always managed to get in trouble. I just kept stumbling into it. I didn't mean to, there were just things I needed to know or wanted to do, and they seemed quite reasonable to my 5 year old, 6 year old, 7 year old mind. I’m sure my antics got old. I know it got old always getting in trouble for them.

But every Friday night there was a place I could go. A place where I never (yes, never) got in trouble. A place that was always fun and easy to be.

Granny’s house.

Granny was my safe place. She knew how much I got into trouble, but she never thought I was a bad kid. It never changed how she felt about me, and she made no secret of how she felt about me. I was one loved kid at Granny’s house.

Her kind of love was the 1 Corinthians 13 kind of love, and it was just what this grandchild of hers needed.

Despite how I felt during those rough preteen years, my parents were true warriors when it came to loving and raising me. I know Granny didn’t have to do the hard parts, just the loving, and she did that part so well. Eventually I figured out how to stay out of trouble. I became a good kid, a straight A student, a follower of rules. Around the age of 13 or 14, I decided there was more to this Christian thing than just carrying the name, and I started seeking God and trying to be more like Jesus.

While Granny wasn’t perfect - she wasn’t a deep spiritual thinker or a Bible scholar, and she probably let a few choice words fly every now and again - she knew how to love her grandchildren. She might not have ever realized the impact her love had on me, but I have, and it was big.

Granny passed away when I was 25, and I still miss her terribly. I carry this longing for her to have known Jason and the kids, that they too could have been loved by her. I wish she could see me now, with two little ones who may very well give me a taste of my own medicine. But even though she’s not here in person, I have the sweet memories of her example in my pocket. I may not always get it just right, but I know what that kind of love looks like, and I hope I can be a “granny” to someone...or many someones. Because I believe everyone needs to be loved like that.