Legacy

"By your grace and promise, we refuse to let the enemy have any

of our beloved children."

I am reading my Grandmothers journal this morning. As the sun peers through my living room window, I trace a finger over the words I read and remember her touch, her smile. I remember her contagious laugh, the way she rocked back and forth in the rocking chair in our home. I can feel her hand on my forehead as she recited the blessing before I fell asleep all those nights.

"The Lord bless thee and keep thee:

The Lord make His face shine upon thee, 

and be gracious unto thee:

The Lord lift up his countenance upon thee

and give thee peace."

-Numbers 6:24-26

Tears come as I long to hear her high soprano voice filling whatever room she was singing in. I fell asleep for five years to the sound of her long graceful fingers dancing with her keyboard. I can't listen to a hymn today without hearing her voice.

She was a mother, a wife, a friend, a beloved daughter of the King, a writer, would rather clean than cook, a grandmother and a fighter. She fought for life and the pages of this journal I hold tell of her struggle and hope.

The greatest compliment I ever receive is "You remind me of your Grandma Callaway." My hero.

I have prolonged writing this post because I don't believe any words I write will ever do her justice. I know a grandchild thinks the world of their grandparents and is blind to their faults, but I cannot help knowing what I saw.

I saw a saint. I saw a warrior. I saw Christ.

My thoughts wander back to that last week of her life. She couldn't speak. Her lips were crusty. Her skin dry. She had stopped eating and drinking.
Nurses told me that she wouldn't be able to understand me or communicate. She could only move her neck and had to be turned over by nurses every hour. I knew it would be one of the last times I would have with her. I opened the hospital room door and peeked in. She was sitting in her chair, staring blankly into space. Gone were the words from her mouth. Gone were her active limbs and the contagious laugh. She didn't belong there anymore. I walked in and sat in front of her. She shifted her focus and smiled. She always smiled when she saw me, saw any of her children. I smiled back and knew that they were wrong, she could understand me. She was simply giving up, longing for her true home. This tower of faith who had struggled with depression her entire life was ready to hear the words 'Well done."
The tears came, she was so weak, so ready for heaven.
I was not ready to let her go.
I clung to her body and let the tears fall as she willed me to let go.

As I sat there by her wheelchair, grieving, this frail lady rested her head upon mine and as I looked up I saw tears falling down her immovable face and opening up her mouth a crack she whispered "Praise God from whom all blessings flow..." but that was as far as she was able to go.  
So with a trembling voice I sang the rest of the song as she hummed along, both of us allowing tears to continue there path.

She had never been more beautiful to me.

She was pointing me to the One who I would need to turn to every moment of my life. The One who opened his arms to her five days later, as I lay beside her on a hospital cot, fast asleep.

And today, as I read her words written with a passion so deep and alive for her children, willing that all would turn to Jesus, I praise God for my Grandma.