My grandma is 89 years old, the two of us are exactly 50 years apart. She will be 90 in March, and I told her if she died before her birthday, I would pray God raise her from the dead so I could slap her for leaving me. We have a slightly off relationship. But if you know me at all, you understand.
I think she looks like Queen Elizabeth so I’ve been calling her The Queen for the last few years, especially since Grandpa passed away and she doesn’t have anyone at home worshipping her.
Grandma spent some time in Tulsa over the Holidays. She’s the one I blame for all the fruitcake eating. But we had a wonderful time visiting, and pondering, and problem-solving, and talking about family members and their ailments.
She paid me a compliment that has been ringing in my ears for weeks. I’m not sure it actually was a compliment, but I’m going to take it as one. She told me I was aging beautifully.
Hmmm, not sure how I feel about that. Aging beautifully? Uh, thanks?
But the truth of it is, she has aged beautifully. She’s served God her entire life, she’s raised children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren. She’s been a leader in her church as long as I can remember, probably since before I was born. She is a precious and Godly woman; and she’s feisty to boot.
Steady, trustworthy, loyal, and overflowing with love for God and family… if that’s what aging beautifully means, then I’ll take it.