"Hope is stronger than memory. Salvation is stronger than sin. Forgiveness is stronger than bitterness, Reconciliation is stronger than hatred. Resurrection is stronger than crucifixion. Light is stronger than darkness... Hope is stronger than memory." - Kennon L Callahan
I visited with my grandmother this morning. It was an emotional and difficult meeting for I hadn't spoken to her in many years. This make sense of course because she passed away over 20 years ago.
Please don't get nervous I may watch movies about ghosts but I don't believe in them and I certainly don't practice necromancy. I simply had a dream, a dream that brought back the sounds and even the smells of my Grandma George standing in the kitchen or her East Texas farmhouse where she last lived and where my dream took me.
I dreamed that we were talking about her upcoming death from lymphoma which took her from us in her late 70's. Grandma in her typical fashion wasn't worried about herself but about us, her family and how we would get by after she was gone.
"Kris, what will happen to you all?" I heard her soft Texas drawl voice ask as her even softer blue eyes looked into mine in worry and wonder.
In the dream I knew that I was somewhere in the future and I could reassure her that we were all doing fine.
"We'll be okay, Grandma." I tried to reassure her as we stood next to the kitchen sink and she wiped her wet hands on her apron and looked away, not really convinced.
In the dream I did something that I never did in real life. I grabbed my Grandmother under her arms and lifted her in the air. Then I sat her down on the counter and told her again.
"We will be just fine. We will take care of each other and the Lord will take care of us all."
In the dream we hugged and then began to cry. That was how I awoke crying and choking back my sobs as LeeOra asked me if I had a bad dream.
"Not really bad." I said, trying to swallow down the tears, "I dreamed of Grandma, even heard her voice." And I tried to hold in my memory that soft, sweet sound of her talking to me, but even as I tried it slipped away as dreams always do. Still I was not worried because somewhere in my memory is that voice and that kitchen and that wonderful woman that was Buna George.
As the emotions receded like the sleep from my eyes, I thought, I'm glad I have more than just memories. I have hope, the hope that comes from a resurrected savior that one day I'll not have to dream the sound of her voice but will hear my Grandma George actually say, "Well you all did turn out all right!"
1 comment:
This is a beautiful story. I read it awhile back when you wrote it, but it was good to revisit it. I remember her standing at the sink with her back to me and wearing an apron, but that's about it. It's nice to hear about her from someone who can remember her voice.
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