I know why the good Lord has let her stay: to bless the rest of us. She loves with intrepid kindness, the kind of honest love that people rarely share anymore. She's funny and insightful. She's full of wisdom. She's a straight-shooter and she's opinionated, but she respects those whose opinion differs from hers.
She's political. The last democrat she voted for was Jimmy Carter, and as far as she is concerned, he was the most "honest Christian man to serve our country." She has repeatedly mentioned that "it's a shame he wasn't reelected for a second term." Reagan turned out to be a "fine president from Hollywood," and Clinton should have "kept his pants on but I guess he did an okay job running the country." She has an autographed picture of George W sitting on her mantle. She not only remembers most of the presidents from this past century, she also recalls significant historic events.
She remembers the dust bowl and the New Deal, the roaring twenties and the WPA. She can recall both World Wars. She lived in Alamogordo during the Manhattan Project and at one point worked in an artillery plant to support the war. She was living in Texas when Kennedy was shot, and she mourned the loss of Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. when many white southerners did not. During her lifetime, she watched technology change our world. She went from living on the farm with no electricity or plumbing to owning a cell phone. Hers is a flip, but she asks me why my phone is so smart. She understands that I can use my phone as an encyclopedia and she's curious. "How can it know that information? Does it pull it from up there?" she asked me and pointed to the sky.
Honestly, I had never pondered the inner workings of Google. I gave her the best answer I could, "it's magic, Nana."
The magic lights the lamp, illuminating Nana's words. In a phone conversation last week Nana told me she wasn't feeling well but at the risk of complaining, she changed her mind. She said she would say what the woman in the Bible said, "all is well." She asked me if I knew the story and I told her no. She proceeded to give the account of the woman who proclaimed to the servant on the street that all was well when in truth her son lay dead at home.
Nana continued on and said, "The woman kept her faith in the midst of turmoil. Once she reached the prophet..." she paused momentarily, searching for the word. "Oh, you know the prophet...I can't remember his name, but you know who it is."
"Isaiah?" I answered.
"No, no. Well, anyway, the prophet, Mr. What's His Name, brought the boy back to life. The woman believed God would restore her son, and so I will say the same--all is well."
"Which book is that story in, Nana?"
"I don't remember."
This past weekend while I visited her, I told her that I had looked up the details of the woman and read it for myself.
"I found it in Kings," I explained.
Astonished she quipped, "You mean you found it on that?" She pointed to my phone.
"Yes. It's in second Kings, chapter four."
"I don't understand how that thing works," she thought for a moment. Slowly shaking her head sideways she retorted, "I don't belong to this world; it has passed me by."
I thought for a moment how it might feel to live in her world. A world that was built on the backs of her generation but then to be left behind when sore bones could no longer keep up. I wanted to assure her she was okay and she always had a reservation as long she wanted the room.
"Nana, don't worry. I don't understand how it works either. All is well," I said, hoping to believe it.
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| Our sweet Nana. |
