For Grandmother

Last weekend, my mother's side of our family gathered to remember my sweet grandmother, Estella Merle Reesor McLuhan, who passed away in June at the age of 90. She slipped away peacefully after languishing for a few days, during which my mother, her two brothers, and all their spouses gathered at her bedside and laughed, cried, and spent hours lovingly remembering their mother and the wonderful life she had lived. At the memorial service, several of her grandchildren shared comments and memories of our grandmother, using the well-known passage of Scripture that tells of the "woman of noble character". It's found in Proverbs 31, and it could have been written with Grandmother in mind. We divided the verses and took turns telling about how we saw them reflected in her life.

My sister and I shared following this portion of the passage: "She is clothed with strength and dignity; she can laugh at the days to come. She speaks with wisdom, and faithful instruction is on her tongue. She watches over the affairs of her household and does not eat the bread of idleness." (v.25-27)

This is what I wrote, and I'm still mulling it over in my mind as I return to the routine of my very full and busy life . . .

That last part of the scripture says, "She watches over the affairs of her household. She does not eat the bread of idleness." When I think about the way these words apply to our grandmother, I picture a circus tightrope walker, crossing with well-placed footsteps from one platform to the next on a tiny thread of a wire, deftly balancing all manner of props, and smiling in a way that makes it all look so completely effortless. But when I was a kid, Grandmother was just Grandmother, so the true awe-inspiring nature of the way she lived her life was sort of lost on me. It's only now, when I have the affairs of my own household to watch over, and when I'm faced with the oh-so-tempting aroma of freshly baked "bread of idleness" that I truly appreciate the way she embodied this scripture.

Don't get me wrong; I was no less enchanted by Grandmother than any of the rest of her grandchildren were. She was all these wonderful things they've already spoken about, and I, too, have memories of delicious meals and blueberry picking and card games and bedtime stories. I, too, was deeply impacted by her dedication to Granddaddy and their pure, genuine love for one another and their clear devotion to God and to the work and the life to which He had called them. But now, as the wife of a pastor and mother of three, I more fully understand the context for all those things. Looking back I realize that watching over the affairs of her household and not eating the bread of idleness didn't simply mean that Grandmother was perpetually busy. It meant that she was walking a tightrope, and each step was deliberate. Meaningful. Purposeful. So when she was playing card games with her grandchildren, it wasn't because she had some spare time to sit down at the table. It was because she made time to sit down at the table. When she told us fascinating bedtime stories (like the one about the time she took out a crocodile with one shot while hunting in Africa) it was because she wanted to share her experiences with us. So even in the midst of her very full life as the wife of a minister and as the keeper of her home, she took us places and told us things and showed us stuff and gave us experiences . . . on purpose.

So now, when I close my eyes and picture Grandmother moving about her kitchen or playing the piano in Granddaddy's Sunday School class, or sitting across the fold-up card table laying down a red canasta, I'm a little bit like a kid at that circus, watching wide-eyed as this beautiful, sparkling, smiling woman joyfully performs her amazing feat . . . and I am genuinely dazzled by her.

And I'm paying close attention to the things I remember, because now . . . I'm right behind her on the tightrope.


I love you, Grandmother. I will see you again.