“I love my enemies!” my little granddaughter piped up during their family devotions. “What enemies do you have?” her parents asked, certain she had none – and hadn’t even the faintest idea what it meant!
No taller than a 10-year old, with a sly and suspicious gleam to her eye, she played the part of the proverbial evil landlady with me, while sweet as honey around Hubby. The other residents, also hostile, seemed amiable by comparison. And the dark, dank apartment revealed a miserly streak as well.
Darkness and despair emanated from her eyes, sounding the cry for help her lips could not utter. But when I’d invited her, “Come for coffee. It’s not good to stay alone,” I had no idea I was inviting HER. And even less did I realize she was taboo. Not to associate with. No, I didn’t know.
Grandchildren often think grandmothers are the most wonderful women on the face of the earth. But I wonder if my kids ever think, “That’s not the woman who raised me!”
John Wesley said, “What one generation tolerates, the next generation will embrace.” He was referring to sin. And we see this played out in history repeatedly. But I’d like to look at it from a different angle.
“Why don’t they want him to sing Nonna (Grandma)?” my 6-year old grandson wondered. “He sings good.” He just couldn’t understand why – during the Rafe Hollister Sings espisode of the Andy Griffith Show – Mayberry’s mayor and a leading citizen (Mrs. Jeffrie) didn’t want Mr. Hollister to represent their town at a musical event.
My children are grown and gone. I now have adult grandchildren. And still that voice so many mothers recognize accuses me. It’s that voice that says, “You weren’t a good mom, and you still aren’t.”
Do you know the tale of The Little Engine That Could? The little train in that children’s story discovered he could do anything by first convincing himself that he could. So he went around continually repeating, “I think I can, I think I can…”