Thar She Blows!

The beginning directions for my blog read (think dumb warnings--as in, "Don't hold the wrong end of the chainsaw"): Add a catchy title. Thank you so much, blog people. Of course without your kind admonition I would strive to pick the most boring title ever ! (Not!)

Back to the task at hand. My first inclination was to title this blog "The Flying Grandma," in reference to the old sitcom The Flying Nun. The picture this story brings to my mind is of Grandma flying through the night, her beautifully fluffy, wavy hair billowing around her like Sally Field's wimple. But I think "Thar She Blows" is right up there next to it. It's my blog, so I get to pick!

As you have undoubtedly surmised, this blog is about Grandma--aka Cookie Grandma, Grandma María, Chelo, Hermana María, and Mamá María--and highlighting her wonderful, infuriating penchant for helping others. It was a blessing--but to a too-self-conscious young person (who will remain nameless), a recipe for embarrassment. As in The Night of the Crying Baby.

We, Auntie Trinie, Grandma, and I, lived caddy corner to the church I grew up in in a not-too-whippy part of town. The pastor owned the house we rented and, according to Auntie, gave us a good deal on it. On the same property he had a secondary house, situated several yards behind ours, and at some point he acquired an older Airstream travel trailer that he placed very, very, VERY close to our bedroom windows. He then proceeded to rent said trailer to a young couple and their growing family. Unfortunately, I am not exaggerating about the closeness to our own dwelling. We were, in fact, so close we could not help but hear when their new baby cried.

This was in the late seventies when we had yet to get with the program--as in no air conditioning, just open windows to ventilate the house. It made for some hot nights but also pleasant memories of gentle breezes rippling the sheers that covered the windows. Oh, how we welcomed those telltale undulations that portended a cooling whispering breath of freshness!

But on this night, as Grandma and I (we shared a bedroom) laid our weary heads on our pillows, the breeze blew in more than the kiss of the night wind. It carried the screams of a baby. The baby cried. And cried. And cried. We couldn't close our windows--the heat forbade it--and we couldn't go to sleep.

After many mutterings of ," What can be wrong with that poor baby?" Grandma finally scooted her legs off the bed and rammed her feet into her slippers.

"What are you doing, Grandma?" I whispered (no way would I raise my voice and have the neighbors hear us!).

Grandma pulled her robe over her nightgown, thrusting arms into sleeves with a vigor that belied her age and the time of night, as she answered me matter of factly. "Why, I'm going over there to see if I can help! The poor mother must be beside herself, not knowing what to do!"

First I blanched, then felt myself turning all manner of colors, horrified at what my grandmother was about to do. People don't just insert themselves into other people's problems--people as a rule resent unwanted intrusions. My mother, with whom I had grown up, certainly did. Although I had by this time lived many happy years at my great aunt's side as we collaborated together in ministry, erasing the negative effects of a dysfunctional family was proving to be a lifelong commitment. My life with my mother continued to color all my expectations--usually not in a good way (sorry, Mom, I love you but facts are facts). Visions of tense mouths and angry neighbors assaulted me. My grandmother just couldn't go over there in the middle of the night! (Okay, so it was more like 10:30. Let me exaggerate a little, please. It does sound so much more dramatic.)

But before you could say, "Who done it?" there went Grandma, flying across the yard like the flying nun, her billowing hair serving as her wimple.

I heard Grandma knock on the neighbor's door. They opened it cautiously, closing it only after swallowing Grandma whole into the home's unknown depths. I wrung my hands in worry. What could be happening? The neighbors would hate us for sure, and forever! They would label us as busybodies and resent all our goings-on. I saw a future littered with spiteful retaliations and snubs.

Then … I heard it. Or rather, I didn't hear it. Crickets chirping. Frogs croaking. The occasional rumble of a passing car. But no crying baby!

My hands stilled. Grandma had done it! She had gotten the baby to quit crying!

Yup, sure enough, a little later, here came the errant Grandma, retracing her steps, hair billowing about her like one of God's avenging angels. As she readied herself for another attempt to sleep, I dared to ask, "What happened?"

I don't remember the particulars, but Grandma had been able to zoom in on what the baby needed, and the mother and father had actually been GLAD to have an honest-to-goodness caring grandma come and help them out! I was totally blown away! They hadn't resented Grandma's "intrusion "at all! To them it had been a blessing!

What's more, this is the most fantastic part, Grandma began to tell them about the Lord Jesus that night. It wasn't long before Bro. Gonzalez and his wife came to the Lord, along with their young 'uns. They grew to be veritable pillars in the assembly, stalwart soldiers for Jesus--all because Grandma took it upon herself to help.

I stand corrected.

Which is why I picked the title "Thar She Blows!"--because that's how Grandma went around in life, just like a whale in the sea, always swimming, going this way and that, always looking for a place and a way to serve the Savior she loved, as she, quite whale-like, spewed God's Word, that Word she loved, left and right and everywhere!

"For we are his workmanship, created in Christ Jesus unto good works, which God hath before ordained that we should walk in them" Ephesians 2:10.

Lord, open my eyes like you did Grandma's. Help me to see the needs around me. Help me to be sensitive as to how I can help--and further Your Kingdom.