52 weeks of thanks: Week 2

I know... I know... I'm like 8 weeks behind. Forgive me. And read on.

This week (and every week, for that matter) I'm thankful for my grandma Doris.

Grandma Doris. What can I say about this woman? For those that know her personally, you know why I've chosen to honor her here this week.

She is beautiful.

She is kind.

She is goofy.

She is poised.

She is wise.

She is elegant.

And above all, she lives to glorify the Lord.

I can't really pinpoint my first memory of this incredible woman. All I know is that I've adored her from the start. As a young girl I loved spending time with her, be it at her house, sitting next to her in a church pew, or traveling with her and my grandpa Elmer to the beach or up north to visit family. Twice a week my grandpa babysat my brother and me after school, and he'd often take us later in the afternoon to the school where she worked to pick her up. She'd let me sort through pens in the supply room, count quarters in the soda machine, or organize scraps of colored paper. Sometimes she'd even let me take home markers or all the colorful dots left over from hole punching papers.

As I got older our activities together changed. She started letting me help around the kitchen. We'd make scrambled eggs or bake together. I was in charge of icing the Easter and Christmas cookies. She eventually gave me the massive responsibility of setting the table for our huge family gatherings. She always made me feel so special, so needed. That she just couldn't get the task done without me, that the meal wouldn't be finished if I wasn't there at her side. I realize now that I was probably a nuisance and completely in the way, but back then I felt like floating on air that she had entrusted me delicate task of frosting the many bells and stars our family would later devour.

Weekends were spent spending the night at her house. As a young girl I made a pallet by her bed with her mother's handmade quilts. When my grandpa passed away, I joined her under the covers. Eventually when I turned 18 I moved across the hall to the guest room. But the routine of the evening was always the same. Jammies, brush teeth, crawl under the sheets. I'd lay there in bed, listening to her hum as she scrubbed her face, waiting for her to come into the room smelling deliciously of cold cream to tuck me in with a story and a prayer.

The older I got, the more our relationship deepened. I stayed with her to help her after she shattered her wrist and later when she had an emergency appendectomy. I stayed with and she took care of me after my wisdom teeth were pulled and when I had LASIK eye surgery. In high school after my parents split up I lived with her off and on. She helped me to keep my sanity when I felt like my world was falling apart. It amazes me how strong she was for me when I know that she must have been falling apart inside as well.

I always made a point to visit her when I came home from college. We'd shop together, go to lunch, or just hang out in talk. Some of my favorite memories are the many nights we'd spend laying across her bed, laughing and giggling and talking about boys and life and love and Jesus. I loved that I could tell her anything, anything, and she wouldn't judge me. Even if it sounded crazy. Even if it was embarrassing. Even if I couldn't tell anyone else.

She's waited in countless waiting rooms as I've delivered my babe and gone through medical procedures. She's made countless pots of homemade soup and batches of delicious Zwieback for me to help me get better. She's laughed with me countless of times as we share stories and cried with me countless of times as we've mourned loved ones. She has seen me at my best and my worst, my strongest and my weakest, my most victorious and my most humbling. Yet she loves me just the same. She loves me to the moon and back.

As an adult I feel like I've truly come to appreciate who she is not just as a grandmother, but as a woman. The way she loved my grandfather wholeheartedly. The way she served him and her family with her talents both inside and outside of the home. The way she stubbornly refused to give up her independence, but submitted to both God and her husband. The way she maintained an active lifestyle throughout her life through her career, her singing, and her friendships. The way she has survived countless setbacks in her health, but never allows it to bring her down. The way she loves her family with all her heart and clings to them with every fiber of her being. The way she survives each day, not through her dependence on man, but on the word of our Heavenly Father.

I can't imagine having a better friend, a better confidant, a better mentor, a better example as to what a God-fearing, God-serving, God-loving woman should look like. I'm thankful each and every day for the relationship that began 28 years ago and has blossomed year by year into one of the most precious and beautiful gifts I could ever have imagined.

I love you, Grandma Doris, and I am ever so thankful to have you in my life.