My family has some really powerful stories of redemption and since it is the week of Mother’s Day, I thought I would share about my maternal grandma. Her name was Clella and in my mind she has always been a saint, but yesterday I had a moment of enlightenment that caused me to revere her even more.
I will have start at the beginning telling the story of her husband and my grandpa, James Wilson, to give a full picture of the story. Grandpa was the son of a single mom during a time when single moms were uncommon. The story told to me is that my grandfather’s mother became impregnated when she was young and unmarried and the man kept promising to marry her, but just wouldn’t fulfill his promise. One day he told her that if she would get a disfiguring “mark” on her face removed that he would marry her.
My great grandma in desperation went to a doctor and had the mark removed, but in the process got blood poisoning and died. Grandpa was around three years old when his mother passed away. He grew up in a small community, raised by his grandparents and was continually subjected to derogatory remarks regarding his fatherless status. It was not a single-mom friendly time. The practice of grandparents raising their grandkids was uncommon and there was little sensitivity and lack of understanding regarding the situation.
My grandpa worked hard trying always to compensate for his lack of social acceptance and he gained the respect of neighbors and others in the community which allowed him to secure the blessing to marry a young lady of good repute from her father and other family members. James and Clella married and built a house on the family farm on the beautiful Gasconade River
Since my mom’s stroke three years ago, I have made it a point to drive a hundred-mile trek to visit them every Tuesday and help with cleaning and cooking. It has been such a blessing to be able to hear stories they tell me that I might not have heard had I not had the opportunity to visit with them every Tuesday. Sometimes when I drive home and process our day, I feel overwhelmed with joy that God allows me to have them and serve them in the way that He has provided for me to use my gifts to bless them.
Sometimes they tell me the same stories that I have already heard many times, but as I listen to them in my station in life now, they have new meaning. Yesterday, during my drive home, I was thinking about my grandma, Clella, caring for my grandpa’s granparents and it hit me that she was only in her twenties when she was doing what I am doing in my fifties. I am pretty sure that when I was in my twenties I would have been too self absorbed to be the type of servant my grandma was.
Grandma not only took care of her husband’s grandparents, I have also heard the story of how she would walk through the woods to her father’s house to cook and clean for him after her mother passed away. I had heard these stories and somehow pictured my grandma being "old" when she was doing these things, but I suddenly realized grandma would have been about the age of my daughter at the time when she was overseeing these reponsibilities.
I always thought of inheritance in different terms. More of the dividing of property and assets, but in that moment I started thinking of inheritance as more of a soul blessing than tangible blessings. I celebrated my soul blessings. It had been a hard day, but my soul was full. I was happy and it wasn’t because of anything tangible.
Psalm 16: 5 & 6 Lord, you have assigned me my portion and my cup; you have made my lot secure. The boundary lines have fallen for me in pleasant places; surely I have a delightful inheritance.
I am thankful for the inheritance of Godly women who modeled for me the path that leads to true joy.
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