An Unacknowledged Gift, a Legacy Almost Overlooked

A few years ago, my great aunt's selfless caregiver called to rat on Grandma, who lived with them. The prayer warrior of the family had not been able to swallow for three days. My husband and I hopped into a car and drove the few miles to their home.

Just as we thought, getting Grandma to acquiesce to visit a doctor was no walk in the park. Since the year she had acknowledged Jesus as her Lord and Savior, 1943, no medicine had passed through her lips. Not even an aspirin. It was now October of 2006. She recognized healing as part of her covenant with God, so for her it was either trust Him for healing--or die. No in between.

When her walking had began deteriorating (as in, getting on the veeeery slooooow side!) , it had been nothing short of a miracle that we had gotten her to see a lady Christian doctor for a wheelchair parking permit. I have a sneaky suspicion that she capitulated to that only for the sake of those on whom she now depended for her transportation. Grandma was nothing if not overly sensitive to not wanting to be a burden to others. But other than her dwindling walking proficiency, by and large Grandma was healthy. She had never learned to drive (my father had started to teach her but she lucked out--he died), so her modus operandi for transportation for the greater part of her life had been to take the bus--and walk. Very healthy, that walking! It kept her in tip top shape! She did manage to fall down a time or two downtown when I was a teenager, but broke no bones. (However, I made sure to hold her arm when crossing streets after those fiascos.)

The only illness I ever remember her having, one so painful it actually kept her in bed, was a kidney infection. Close members of her church who had a long history with her and loved her, took turns at her side, sponging her forehead with wet cloths and praying. It scared me silly to see my always hail and hearty Grandma writhing in bed, it was so unlike her! Of course, I offered to take her to the doctor, but she stood firm even as she moaned in pain. Trust God or die. No in-between. My strictured heart breathed easier when I finally saw her get up from the bed--pain free. She had trusted God and lived. No medicine. No kidney infection. No lasting side effects.

But now this. She couldn't even swallow her own saliva. True to form, Grandma refused medical help. She was, however, open to prayer, and allowed Dennis to pray over her. As I hugged her before leaving, I told her, "Now, Grandma, if you change your mind, call me in the morning. I will get a substitute for my class, and I will take you to the hospital. I won't mind. It will NOT be a problem."

My eyes bore into hers, full of love. Her tortured eyes looked back into mine and she nodded.

We left, hearts heavy, doubting greatly that Grandma would call.

But--surprise!--she did call in the morning!

Relieved that Grandma was actually allowing me to do something to help her, I jumped into overdrive: call for a sub, run to the school to leave sub notes and work for the kids, jump in the car to hightail it to Grandma's. In the midst of the worry over what could be causing that strange swallowing problem, was a hope that surely the doctors would be able to give Grandma something to alleviate her need. The body can only go so long without eating or drinking. This would be day four.

I arrived at Grandma's house feeling like Superman and the Lone Ranger rolled into one. Move over, you rotten dirty illness! I am going to help my Grandma and we will conquer you!

Gabby, Auntie's former coworker in the ministry and now her caregiver, let me in to the house. My eyes swept over the living room.

" Where's Grandma?"

"She's in her room getting ready."

Oh, prideful youth! Exasperation welled up. My goodness! It had taken me an hour to get my school stuff squared away and get here. And she wasn't ready? Sighing, my cavalry-is-coming bravado taken down a notch, I made my way down the hall to Grandma's bedroom.

The door was open and there was Grandma, dressed, but kneeling by her bed. Inwardly, I cringe to admit, I sighed in exasperation. Grandma and her kneeling! She always wanted to kneel when she prayed. I had gratefully and heartily embraced a precept set forth in Brother Lawrence's book, Practicing the Presence of God. Knowing that God can hear my prayers even as I peel potatoes is a liberating boon to a mother and wife swamped with obligations that limit the ability to indulge in actual knee-time. Time and again, I had tried to push what I perceived as "cutting edge" praying (praying while working) on to her. (And yes, I am well aware that the aforementioned book was written in the 17th century, but I did not hear about it until I was an adult, so to me, its precepts were as new as they were liberating.)

But Brother Lawrence notwithstanding, Grandma would not be moved. Although she readily acknowledged that God hears us anytime, anywhere, she was adamant about kneeling whenever she could. "Janine, I love Him so much. I want to kneel before Him and show Him that I recognize Him as my Lord and King."

So here was Grandma, making us late with her kneeling business. (Uh, excuse me, were we on a timetable here? I think not.) Instead of rushing around like a chicken with her head cut off in deference to my sacrificing my time to take her to the hospital, she actually had the temerity to delay us by taking the extra time to kneel to pray. (I do hope you realize that my sarcasm is directed at myself for my stinky grandiose churlishness. To my shame, Grandma was once again demonstrating her worshipful Mary persona as contrasted to my volatile Martha-ism. And, to my eternal shame, I let my agitated and narrow minded focus on her illness blind me as to who had chosen the better stance.)

As I peeked in, I kept my frustration to myself (I will always thank God for that small favor), and gently prodded my grandmother with a quiet. "Grandma, I'm here . . . "

She looked up at me with those always kind eyes and smiled. "I'm almost done. It's just . . . I don't know when I'll be able to kneel again . . . "

I retreated to allow her privacy to finish, little knowing the prophetic thrust of her words. That would indeed be the last time Grandma would be able to kneel before her Lord and King in this life. And little did I know what that last picture of her kneeling, ever seared into my mind, would come to mean to me.

In the waiting room at the ER, I called family members. The only one who could come was my aunt, my uncle's widow. She showed up at the emergency room and I was so, so grateful to have company during the stressful wait.

Finally the ER doctor called us in. He took us aside to explain what was going on. He had prescribed antibiotics for the infection that was keeping Grandma from swallowing. But he had some devastating news. During his examination he uncovered a disturbing truth--Grandma's body was riddled with cancer.

She was 91 years old. In deference to the extent of the cancer, he added kindly, "Take her home and just make her comfortable."

For the first time since she had given her life to Jesus, Grandma allowed medicine to pass through her lips. We were thankful that with that aid she was soon able to swallow and eat again. But that was the extent of the improvement-- the medicine did nothing to diminish the ravaging effects of the cancer that now consumed her body. Her other bodily functions began to diminish--no strength to walk, definitely no strength to kneel before Jesus as she loved to.

Just a little over three months later, Grandma went to Heaven, where I am sure she is having the time of her life kneeling before her King. I don't know why this last illness was not healed by her Lord. Grandma had a supernatural experience once in which the Lord told her over and over, "Nothing is too difficult for God." Not even cancer. But this one time, things did not end as we would have wished. I'm sure we'll learn the why in eternity. Meantime, I am left here on earth, doing my best to finish my course with joy even as Grandma did, with the hope that I will soon go be with her and my other loved ones who have gone on. And as I wait, putting my hand to those things that God puts before me to do, I find my mind wandering more and more to those last memories of Grandma . . . and her loving to kneel before the Lord.

I didn't appreciate it at the time, but now? Now I recognize what a beautiful picture she left me of genuine worship and my more mature heart cries out, "Lord, help me to love you like Grandma did. Give me a heart to worship you as she did!" And slowly, in welcome increments, I have been blessed to feel my heart begin to fill with a new and greater love for my Savior.

When I saw Grandma kneeling that fateful day when I took her to the ER, I had no idea how that image would come to be a venerated icon in my soul, a legacy to reach for and strive to embrace. But now I say, "Thank you, Grandma, for that sterling example of pure worship. Forgive me for not realizing the great gift you were giving me, a living, breathing, example of perfect love and reverence. Now I know."

Grandma was right and I? I was so very blind. Now, as I learn to reverence my Savior with a posture of humility whenever I can, my hope is that some day my own grandchildren will be able to carry a similar memory of me, a memory that will inspire them to seek a closer walk with Jesus.

"Here is the patience of the saints: here are they that keep the commandments of God, and the faith of Jesus . . . and their works do follow them." Revelation 14:13-14