Every year right about this time I think of my grandmother Rouse who used to make Thanksgiving such a special day. The following is a story I wrote a few years ago about her last Thanksgiving with us. May God bless each of you this year. Happy Thanksgiving
Grace on a Thursday
When
we feel unlovely we want to hide because we can’t imagine anyone could love us
in those moments. Let’s face it - we all
have those moments, and that’s usually when God speaks the loudest.
My
Grammie was one of the loveliest women I have ever known, but one Thanksgiving
she didn’t think so. Our tradition was to dress up in our Sunday best, dine at
two and go to the movies. We all knew with Grammie being sick there would be no
movie this year. Released from the hospital two days earlier, we were just
happy she could be with us for the holiday. But now another storm was brewing.
“Mom!” My sister ran into the kitchen. “Grammie says
she’s not coming to dinner. She says she doesn’t have anything to wear, her
hair isn’t done and she is not about to come to dinner in her pajamas and
robe.” Laura’s green eyes pleaded with Mom. “What are we going to do? We can’t
leave her in her room all alone…not on Thanksgiving.” Nervous knots formed in
my belly as I wondered what would happen.
A
few days earlier I had taken a trip to the hospital. My mind hadn’t
comprehended the seriousness of Grammie’s condition until I stood in the
doorway of her room and was struck by her frailty. I paused for a moment taking
in the image of my sweet Grammie lying in that hospital bed looking like a
small child. Without the benefit of going to the salon, her normally jet black
hair had turned gray. Her milky white complexion had grown sallow and pale.
Broken blood vessels from her IV etched the skin of her once smooth hand.
The
contrast to her usual self was startling.
Throughout my childhood, Grammie had come over for dinner on a Thursday
after her weekly hair and nail appointment. Smelling of Estee Lauder perfume,
she would sink into the sofa and beckon to me with her beautiful hands. I loved
sitting next to her, and my heart would sing at the invitation to be near her.
I breathed her in while listening to her soft, gentle voice tell me about the
events of her day, and then she would ask me about mine. Her hands stroked my
back or played with my hair. She made me
feel safe and loved. But in the past few
years the allure of college and my social life had kept me from spending
Thursdays with her. And now she was in
the hospital.
I
moved closer to her hospital bed and picked up her IV pierced hand. She smiled
at me and asked me about my day. It felt just like our old Thursday afternoons,
only we were conversing over the starched white sheets of her hospital bed,
with the scent of antiseptic lingering in the air. She couldn’t reach out and
stroke my back anymore, but I could curl up beside her and stroke her hair and
smell her sweet perfume. Even in the hospital she still smelled like flowers. I
cradled her hand in mine while her words curled around my heart. She loved me unconditionally and in that
moment I saw Jesus. Like Christ, she
gave to me even though I hadn’t made her a priority over the past few years.
The
hospital released her for Thanksgiving and as the scent of roasting turkey and
pumpkin pie filled the air, my sister and I watched our mother, wondering what
to do. Mom told us not to worry while
she placed an apple pie into the oven. I could see her shoulders quietly shake
as she tried to hide her emotion from us.
“Mom,
what if I fix her hair and put a little makeup on her,” Laura said. “I think
that might help her feel better.”
“Yes,
I think that’s a great idea, but let’s do more than that.” She stirred the
gravy and then a smile broke through the clouds that had covered her face. “I
know…let’s wear our bathrobes to the table. We can surprise her!” Pausing for a
moment to let the idea sink in she continued, “We can wear our normal clothes
underneath and each of us can come to the table in our robes. That way she will
know that she fits right in. What do you think?” Her face shone with
excitement, and I knew we had our answer.
Laura
nodded her head in agreement. “I’ll go tell her that we aren’t taking no for an
answer and insist that she let me fix her hair. Even though we all think she’s
beautiful without being fixed up, knowing Grammie there isn’t going to be any
other way to convince her.”
We
thought we would surprise her so we didn’t tell Grammie of our plan. After a “We’re not taking no for an answer”
conversation with my mother, Grammie finally let my sister Laura fix her hair
and apply a little color to her cheeks.
I
will never forget how excited I felt when I stood next to my chair at the
dining room table. I looked around the table at my family. We were attired in
our Sunday best, our bathrobes draped over our shoulders. My little brother
even had on his slippers and was grinning from ear to ear. We barely contained
ourselves with the excitement of our secret and hoped that Grammie would feel a
part of our family as she had on so many other Thursday afternoons.
Dad
wheeled her into the dining room, her normally robust frame wilting in the
wheelchair. We stood quietly at the table until she looked up. When she did, we
shouted “Surprise!” Her face went from pale gray to a soft blush, and a giant
smile engulfed her face. She giggled my favorite giggle and for a moment she
was my joyful, adoring Grammie again.
Tears of relief rolled down my cheeks, she was
with us again, and we were all overjoyed. Conversation bubbled across the table
as we shared our Thanksgiving meal. I believe we were all thankful that our
family was complete. It would not have been the same without our Grammie.
Grammie
died two days later. For her funeral we dressed once again in our Sunday best.
I wished we could have worn our robes again. It seemed appropriate that in one
of her final moments here on earth Grammie was more beautiful to me than ever,
without the earthly adornments of hair color and makeup. Grace is God’s way of
pouring out His love upon us regardless of our clothing, whether we feel lovely
or not. To Him we are always lovely, a fragrant aroma and a blessing. He
accepts us, offers us grace when we don’t deserve it and puts on our humanity
out of love, every single day of the week.
