For My Grandma (Prairie)

I got a letter from my grandma today. I don't see her often, but I, along with my sister, niece, aunt, and cousin, was able to make a trip to Illinois the first weekend in February to visit her for her birthday. She told me that it was one of her best birthdays (she's had 77, so that's saying something).
I made the mistake of reading her letter in church this morning - I was pretty embarrassed to be crying my eyes out in the midst of the entire congregation. But I couldn't help myself. The thing about my grandma is, she is a deep well of wisdom; she has the ability to speak the exact words you need to hear, and speak them directly to your heart. The letter did just that.
I have this habit of complaining about the direction my life is currently going - which often feels like nowhere. I complain that I'm still single, still live at home, don't have a "real" job, don't have many friends, don't do anything exciting, etc. I complain about every little aspect as if it's some sort of trial I'm going through. And then I get this letter from my grandma.
If anyone knows about trials, it's her. If anyone has the right to complain, it's her. I don't know anyone who has experienced loss as deep as my grandma, nor anyone who has come out of loss so gracefully.
My grandma gave birth to seven children - two of those children are alive today. Two. My uncles Jonathan and Philip died before I was born. Jonathan was just a baby; Philip a teenager. I never knew them, but I have often found myself wondering about them. Wishing I could have known their personalities and their love. My dad was the first adult child to meet his brothers in heaven. I was just 9 when he passed away. I have missed him every day, but increasingly as I've gotten older. I have longed to get to know him as a person and get to talk to him as an adult. About seven years later, my uncle Mark died. Of all my uncles that have passed, I felt like I knew him the best, and I miss him often. Finally, a year and a half ago, my uncle Joel died of cancer. It was almost unbearable to go to yet another Prairie family funeral.
And that's just my perspective. I can only imagine the heartache my grandma must have felt burying each of her sons. Yet I've never heard her complain. Instead, I have heard her pray. I have heard her give godly advice to her daughters-in-law who lost husbands, to her grandchildren who lost fathers. I have seen her hurt, but I have never seen her dwell in that hurt.

My grandma, praying over the women of the Prairie family.

And now, her husband, my dear grandpa, is dealing with the nightmare that is Alzheimer's disease. He doesn't recognize his family, he doesn't remember his day to day routines, he can't take care of himself. My grandma reminds him to take his medicine, helps him shave, gets him ready for bed. Basically takes care of him as if he's a child. This task clearly takes its toll on my grandma, but she never fails to serve her husband as she's been called to do. And in the midst of all of this, she finds time to write me, and I know my sister and cousin as well, a heartfelt letter about what our visit meant to her.
Not only this, but she also made a point to speak the truth to me about where God has me in my life right now. She encouraged me to stay diligent in this stage of life and "don't push any doors open." She told me about her own waiting periods and how God remained faithful in guiding her and my grandpa into His ministry. She opened up about where God has her now and what He's teaching her about contentment and faithfulness. About studying and prayer. Everything she said was something I needed to hear. I know that God spoke to my heart through her.
I don't mean to sound as though I idolize my grandma. But I do have unspeakable mounds of respect for her. I admire the woman she is, and I hope to one day carry myself with the same beauty and grace with which she carries herself. Her children rise up and call her blessed. Her grandchildren rise up and strive to be her.

Me with my grandma on our last visit.