My two Grandmas, opposite as night and day.....I cherish both of them for different reasons. They have both been gone a very long time, but I think of them often and miss them fiercely. Any time my kids do something to make me proud or make me laugh, I think of them and wonder if they can see all their grandkids everywhere, and pondering how proud they must be.
Grandma Betty was a Yankee, oh my word, my mother's mother. From the heart of Chicago she hailed. She was, to me, beautiful and glamorous. She had cat eyes, green with brown stripes in them. She was affectionate and bold, and would stare right into your eyes and kiss you right on the mouth. She loved excitement, culture, people, and new places. Wrong choices were made in her life but she stood by them, stating that she did them for love. I think that those choices grated at her and she had to fight internally the consequences, all of her life. They may have even killed her in the end. These things can wear your heart out.
She grew up in downtown Chicago, in a mixed family that was complicated, to say the least. She loved the city and I have fond memories of her showing us the choicest parts of it. The Shedd Aquarium, the Museum of Science and Industry, the Field Museum, the zoo, etc.... She was a voracious reader and her house was always full of books, new and old. She worked for a publishing house (appropriate) and always gave me full access to whole boxes of books, sending me home with any that were unfinished before trip's end. My Daddy says that she was responsible for getting him to read and find the cultured parts of life. She loved music, dancing, travel, and pretty things. There was a bedroom in her house solely dedicated to her "stuff" and she would let us girls dive into drawers and closets, playing dress-up with her good jewelry, shoes and formals. I remember a whole closet that was full of shoes alone and an entire large dresser full of costume jewelry. She affected me with her bling and I carry on her glitzy DNA with a vengeance, though perhaps a smaller pocketbook. I have the Slate genes too, which gravitate to sales and thrift stores, praise the Lord.
Our trips to Illinois were once or twice a year, so I did not see her as often as my other grandma, but she was a faithful writer....and when we did see her, it was always a memorable and rich time. But I have to tell about my favorite Christmas and what God did one year, back when I was about 12 years old.....
It starts with my mother. When I was a youngster, she was a rock. She made us very secure with strict rules and boundaries. Our home was a clean, well-scrubbed place, rather hospital-like in its sanitation. She cleaned the entire house, every day. And you had better not upset the apple cart or the glass of milk. She was very angry. I did not know why. I was too young to know anything about her past or her family's complicated underpinnings. I did know that when we visited Grandma, we would have a nice visit at first, but within a few hours or days, a fight would erupt, sounding rather like two cats fighting. It seemed like some of it involved talk of religion and such, but I can't be sure. The nice visit became awkward and was cut short. This went on for years. My Mama was a Bible-toting Baptist, living in a black-and-white world where there was no room for complacency or dirt.
But then...
Our church began going through what I consider to be a modern revival, a turning away from religion-as-usual to a rebirth of true Christianity. People who had been sitting in pews for years started to wake up and realize that they were hypocrites and not even born again. We began hearing truths from God's Word that we had never heard before. Peoples' lives were being changed. It was during this time that my aunt and uncle were visiting. Mama and my uncle were arguing about something, and he blurted out something like, "You are always talking about God and carrying that big Bible around, but you are bitter and you hate your own mother." It hit her right between the eyes and she realized for the first time her own hypocrisy. God changed her that day. He gave her the grace to repent of her unforgiving heart and to forgive her mother of things from the past. Her bitterness melted away in a divinely appointed instant.
Our home changed instantly as well. Where there had been an institution, it became a warm place. The walls literally bloomed with color as her creative juices began to flow. She started making clothing and putting up wallpaper, painting, creating. It was virtual forgiveness, being fleshed out. The best part was that something vital changed between her and our Daddy. They began to spark and laugh, hold hands, kiss, go out on dates to the Dairy Queen. Then special weekends to the mountains. Within a short time, maybe a year, Daddy walked down the aisle at church and laid down his life to the Lord. We all thought he was just being emotional, that this was a phase...he was already a good man, superintendent of Sunday School and teacher of the Royal Ambassadors. But no, he was now a different man from his core. His heart truly changed and he was in love with Christ and his wife, for the first time. Us kids looked in awe and wonder at what had conspired. One of the most memorable evidences that happened was that one night, at supper, I spilled a whole glass of milk. I held my breath, waiting for the onslaught from my mother. She jumped up, ran to the kitchen and grabbed a towel and helped me clean it up. No screaming, no ranting. This was impossible. There was a God.
That next Christmas, our family piled into the car, loaded down with luggage and gifts, and headed to Illinois. It was the happiest trip. We played Carpenter's tapes and sang and us kids slept dreamily in the back seat. When we arrived, it was dark outside and there was snow everywhere..... as we pulled in, the door opened to their townhome and light spilled out onto the snow. We were all hugging and cheering, so happy to finally be there. All the luggage and gifts were hauled in and we settled in, warmly ensconced in the living room. I looked up from my chair, into the kitchen. There was my Grandma and Mama hugging. Not just an obligatory hug. It was a bear hug that went on and on. I cried silently to myself, as I had never seen anything like that.
Until the day Grandma died, many years later, my mother and her never again fought. My Mama made peace with her and loved her, without pounding her with her 20-pound Bible. She instead lived that Bible, changing the world around her. Going into my teen years, I was tempted by my own dark side, attracted by the spectre of boys and more boys.... but because I had seen Christ lived out, because I knew He was real and that He was the saver of hypocrites, I knew that He could be trusted with my own heart.
Now that is my Christmas story.
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