During Covid, I have not gone a day without thinking about my Grandma Williamson. She died when I was 16. Those16 years were packed with powerful influence.
Grandma strolled. She enjoyed the moment. As she meandered all over her yard during summer, she got a lot of work done. Important work. She pulled the pesky weeds. She trimmed the rose bushes. She picked flowers to pass around. She made sure I knew I was important and valued. She taught me about beauty and color and God’s creation. She didn’t have lesson plans for me. She just did it naturally, and naturally, I learned.
Because of a “nonschedule” I have found myself strolling, gazing at the skies, smelling the flowers, and talking to cats. Talking to cats is new for me, because I normally don’t want to give them the time of day. Now I have time, so I tried it and I like it. And I sing. I sing. I sing. Nature, and thinking about grandma do that to me.
God’s fingerprints were all over my grandma and they are now all over me. What she gave me was useful, and eternal. She gave me time….and love….and acceptance. Love for nature was caught, not taught.
Grandma was old enough to have wings. You know…the floppy skin that hangs down from the upper arm of an older person when her or she raises them a certain way? She would put her arms out to give me a hug and I would squeeze her, putting my head into her soft middle. And she would wrap her smooth "wings" around me.
Last week, my 7 year old grandson, who follows me all over my yard catching my love for nature, was lovingly touching my “wings”. He was watching the soft flap of skin swing and dangle under my arm. He likes my hugs. Yes, my body is a little softer than it used to be. Funny. Looks like I have earned my wings!