The blessing of a great-grandma

I know well those hands, sweet baby Ezra. When I first curled my finger around them they weren’t so gnarled, weren’t so ridden with arthritis. Oh, those sweet hands smelling of  almondy, Jergens hand lotion. Those precious hands that reached out to me, drawing me close to her heart with soothing words that only a momma can do. I remember a time when pristine, white gloves covered those hands on the way to church.I remember her wedding ring, spinning round and round on  her finger ’til it had worn so thin I don’t know how it kept from breaking. I remember the Christmas your great-grandpa gave her a new wedding band – the look of sheer surprise and the sweet joy that swept over her.

I know well the talent expressed with those fingers – those hundreds of afghans croqueted, those thousands of rolls and breads kneaded to be carefully tucked away in a buttered bowl. Hard working and creative hands – plucking feathers off chickens, sewing stunning clothes and blankets, arranging flowers, holding book after book – always busy, never idle. Every day at some point, I saw her tattered and worn Bible, held by those hands.

I’ve seen those loving, hazel eyes. I’ve witnessed their steely look of determination when it came to standing beside her farmer-husband, doing whatever she could to help him. I’ve seen them weep in almost silent tears as her momma’s heart was broken over tragic loss of those she loved, the boy she once rocked to sleep who her heart will never cease to miss. No matter how many great-grandchildren are first placed in her arms, she never ceases to be amazed at the newest gift from heaven.

I’ve heard that quiet voice, cooing back at babies, giving loving instruction, attempting to discipline her brood of young to  keep order in her  home. I’ve heard grand old hymns sung with that same gentle and meek voice – I’ve heard them sung in that delicate, tender, faith-that-won’t-waiver voice.

I’ve felt the security of her smile, the fact that she was always there. Home, to her was never a question of priority; children never a second thought that she shouldn’t be with them, nurturing, pouring into, caring for and serving.

I’ve watched as she loved her man and supported her husband. Never could there have been a better example of a woman believing in, trusting and serving her husband. Never did we question great-grandma’s devotion to great-grandpa, never were we children placed above their relationship.

Blessed you are, sweet little Ezra to have held the hand of your great-grandma. Blessed you are to know the woman who will teach you how to blow bubbles with soapy water, show you where the church can be found by folding your little hands together with the sing-song poem, the woman who will pray for you and hope for you more than anything – that you will know Christ and know Him early. She will put your little hands together, she will read you a book, she will look dreamily into your eyes and see her legacy. She will smile at you with those hazel-soft eyes and in that gentle voice speak to you…listen, sweet Ezra, listen for wisdom, grace, dignity and love are speaking to you.

Ezra and great-grandpa Dougherty.

My father’s grandfather’s name was Ezra and exactly who sweet baby Ezra is named after.

 

 

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May friendship, encouragement and grace abound!