I thought of her as an old movie star. She wasn’t, but my grandmother carried herself like one. For a couple years when I was a child, my mother and siblings and I lived with my grandfather and grandmother. Long after she had nowhere to go but to the living room to watch the black and white TV, she dolled herself up daily, like she was preparing for a night on the town.
She was meticulous with her hair even after it had turned white. Every last strand was held in its proper place with gallons of Aqua Net hairspray. Her makeup was pancaked on, and her lipstick was bright. He jewelry was costume, but it was priceless in her mind. She was thirty years out of fashion, but she didn’t care. When she looked in the mirror, it was her thirty-year-old self who looked back.
To us children, Grandma seemed a little nuts, a fact of which Grandpa was certain. One particular summer day proved to me that nuts or not, she loved me.
I had found that one of our outdoor cats had had kittens under a pile of rubbish just beyond the back fence. By the time I found them, their eyes were already open, so I determined to carry them into the yard where I could play with them.
Grandma, of course, knew that they were too little to separate from their mother, but, being a bratty kid, I argued with her. Her only way of handling me when I had made up my mind about something was to promise me that she was going to tell my mom when she got home.
“I don’t care,” I said, knowing that my mom wouldn’t be home for hours.
She continued to scold me until I put the kittens away, But I was so angry I told her I was running away.
I took off walking towards the barn, turning around every few steps to see if she would stop me. She waited until I was nearly out of earshot, crossing into the fields at the cattle gate.
“Stevie Joe,” she called. I ran back to the yard.
“What’s the matter, Grandma?”
“Where are you going?”
“I’m running away.”
“Ok, but stay close, so I can hear you.”
“Okay. I guess.” I was at once frustrated and happy. I was frustrated because I had wanted to prove a point. And, I wanted to go to my favorite hiding place, a mountain spring on the back side of the farm. I was happy because I knew Grandma loved me enough that she wanted me close.
For as many are led by the Spirit of God are the children of God. We have been given the Spirit of adoption, by which we call out “Abba,” or Father (see Roman 8:14-16).
Stay close enough to your Heavenly Father that He can hear you when you call.
Fear Not, we are the Children of God.