I love to paint my nails...it is a time of calm filled with the possibly brought by a new shade and a new look, and I distinctly remember where that love originated. Trips to Grandma and Grandpa Gorman's house meant that I would be pampered to the fullest. Breakfast brought orange juice and hot chocolate, days were spent playing with their dogs and sitting with my grandfather in his comfy chair, and nights brought manicures with more shades of pink than a little girl could dare to dream of before being tucked into bed by my grandmother. We would talk about Jesus and I would fall asleep with her prayers still on my ears. I was loved. I was safe. I had beautiful nails.
My grandmother became a widow earlier than she would have ever dreamed and it was at my grandfather's memorial that I learned about the true power of redemption. I had experienced a dream the night before the memorial that was more than a dream...it was an impression in my soul and I knew that my grandfather was in heaven and it was okay. Somewhere in between the snapshots of brightly colored life savers from my uncle, listening to George Michael's "Father Figure," in the car, and borrowing my cousin's emerald ring to go with my bright blue dress, I told my grandmother about my dream. She explained to me that love could heal anyone and that the love that surpasses understanding was the reason that I had that dream. My grandfather was with his Savior. I was too little to understand at the time, but I knew that this was big. This was love in its fullness. Love overcomes everything.
I cherish each snapshot of the memories that we shared...shopping to find the perfect outfit when she visited my husband and me in Napa, seeing her dancing the night away at my wedding, cards sent when I was in college and didn't think that the loneliness would ever go away, her prayers for the little boy that we hope will one day find his way into our family from Ethiopia...her life was not easy, but she never stopped loving and she never stopped praying.
As an adult, I realized that the orange juice was really pineapple orange, and the hot chocolate was really coffee mocha...but my grandmother loved with whatever resources she had. There was something about those painted nails that made me feel ready to change the world. May I walk through the rest of my life here on earth in that spirit...always giving...always reaching out. May I do a better job loving the widow, and the orphan, and the poor, and the oppressed...because heaven is just a breath away.
In loving memory of Barbara Gorman
June 29, 1931- October 13, 2015
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