My Own Personal Lois

2 Timothy 1:5 (New International Version)
5I have been reminded of your sincere faith, which first lived in your grandmother Lois and in your mother Eunice and, I am persuaded, now lives in you also.

My grandma’s name was not Lois nor was my mother Eunice. (Note to self, start calling mom Eunice).
Anyway, my Grandma’s name is Eleanor and she’s on my mind and so, on my blog. My grandma has never been perfect and has frequently driven me to distraction with her various theories and generous criticisms. She has always been very opinionated (I’m glad I’m not like that); a bit on the vain side (also glad I dodged THAT bullet) and fascinated by God (wish I had more of that, I’m learning Grandma).
I’ve thought a lot of things about my grandma over the years, many of which were not nice and probably won’t show up in a Hallmark card because she never respected boundaries. If she doesn’t like your hair, you’ll know. If she thinks you’re lying, she’ll tell you; and she usually does think you’re lying. I’ve spent a good amount of time biting my tongue and more time letting it loose.
But there’s another side to my grandma. She taught me a lot that it just now occurs to me to give her credit for. She set the standard for nurturing. She was always infinitely patient with me as a child and no less so with my kids. She loved her babies, for three generations and counting. I seem to have her in the past tense and that bothers me, because she is still present.
Present, but changed. She’s almost eighty four years old and she’s different now. And not necessarily different in a good way. She continues to tell me my hair looks like a wig but now she’s a little less sharp. You can see the tension in her eyes as she searches for a word. She feels weak to me now. And it ticks me off. I couldn’t stand her strength, and now I can't stand her weakness even more.
I don’t know why I’m writing this. I guess I don’t want to wait to tell the world that my grandma is great and irritating and smart and over-bearing and I love her, I really really love her.
She started some trends many years ago. She kept at the forefront of fashion. She decorated her home magnificently. She collected antiques and baked and cooked like Martha Stewart before there was a Martha.
She pursued God with a passion that started in her marrow. She started a generational blessing, a tradition. Faith.
So now that I see the waning years upon her I realize that she won’t always be there to find that Old Testament scripture I can’t locate or to tell me the secrets of stuffed cabbage. I wonder if someday I’ll long to hear that my hair looks like a wig and I have dark circles under my eyes. I better get ready to pick up that baton. I want to keep it going. I want to be different from my grandma in a lot of ways. But I want to be like her in the important ways. I want to pass on the faith of Eleanor.


Dear God,
You know I’ve been often impatient and downright furious with my grandma. You know I wish I was a better grand daughter and you know the obstacles that stand in my way. You know the secrets of life and love that no man can know. You know the time past and the time yet to come. Lord, thank you for my grandma. Thank you for the faith you set into motion for me the day she found you. Bless my grandma, keep her and give her peace as she walks through her final years on earth. Draw her nearer to you than ever before and fill her mind with Psalms and worship. Expose your love to her as never before. And make me braver and stronger so that I can be just a little bit for her of what she has always been for me. Thank you God, for grandmas and faith and hair that apparently looks like a wig. Amen.