“Create in me a clean heart, O God, and renew a right spirit within me.”
—Psalm 51.10 ESV
I struggled to sit without interjection at first. I’m a pretty active listener, after all. But the struggle quickly dissipated when I realized the opportunity before me; not many get to sit with their grandmothers near the end of their life. There were long pauses as she talked, and I worked not to fill them. The ticking clock disappeared beneath her narrative. The room around us faded. Every word that poured from her wisdom-soaked lips dripped of authenticity and perspective. Her ninety-four years of life hadn’t been ideal, but she saw goodness in it. And that afternoon, I wanted to simply sit and hear it. Really hear it. This is what I heard:
She spoke of her youth, of growing potatoes. “Easy to grow,” she said with a wink and a nod. Of the necessary underplanting of the blackberries with rhubarb to deter the squirrels and rabbits. But sometimes “the birds would still get to the blackberries before we could.”
Her hands lowered to the table and her gaze grew distant, eyes looking off into the past. “It was a clean life.”
Of her father, the teacher, who married his best pupil after she graduated eight grade. “That,” she added as my eyes widened, “and the ten years of age distance between them, wasn’t looked down on back then. It was a good marriage.”
“It was a clean life.”
Of the time when she was just two and her father carried her on his shoulders because she was too little to walk all the way home from the store. Because while they did have a car, “it wasn’t necessary” (like underplanting the blackberries was).
“It was a clean life.”
Of how her father had encouraged many pupils who wouldn’t succeed in college to pursue a military life. And they did well. Until some of them died. “He struggled with that since he had encouraged them to enlist.” Still, those who lived came back to tell of how his teaching had helped them survive the war.
“It was a clean life.”
Of the days of being one of the few women in college who “had to work twice as hard as the men” but did so with grace and humility and grit. Taking classes whenever and wherever she could. Success was something earned not given.
She shifted in her chair. Her eyes focused back on mine. “It was a clean life.”
I sat back when she was finished, realizing that each minute had brought me leaning closer and closer in. I breathed deeply, feeling my own cynicism fade. My own narrative coming into light. Flashes of wounds being washed and made new.
Of the miscarriage and lies of it being my fault. Of how the Lord redeemed it manifold, not only with the promise of a child followed by a rainbow birth and then twins after. He multiplies.
“A clean life in Him.”
Of depression hitting after both births, harder after the second. Of how the Enemy stole my motherhood joy for a time, and I carried anger from morning ‘til night. But the Lord redeemed that when my oldest told me, “I like being around you because you’re peaceful” even though I was fighting tooth and nail to shed my old self . . . again. He brings peace.
“A clean life in Him.”
Of rejection when I was a little girl and raised my hand in class to be the one to pray aloud for all my friends only to be told that “It might make some people uncomfortable” for a girl to pray. But the Lord allowed me to lead groups of women the rest of my school days as we learned to pray together. He will not be silenced.
“A clean life in Him.”
Of the struggle with comparison when my wide hips and tall frame put me miles above and beyond not just the teen girls but the boys, too. Of being called “a man” or “an Amazon” on more than one occasion in attempts to disarm and degrade. But then my husband said when I found out I was pregnant with twins, “Maybe this is why God gave you this body.” And it was beautiful. He makes beautiful things.
“A clean life in Him.”
Of perfectionism and not being able to “do it at all” because I couldn’t “do it well.” This turned into a need to “do everything” and without help. “I got this!”. . . until I didn’t. But, then God had me. Once I finally let go. In my weakness, He is strong.
“A clean life in Him.”
There are fifty years separating me and my grandmother and myriad differences between her story and my own. But what I learned in that one brief conversation was that we had both wrestled with life and had to learn forgiveness. She helped me realize that all along I’d been practicing this skill which does not come easily. Forgiveness of others—tough. Forgiveness of self—tougher. My grandmother’s recollections of the struggles in her own life reminded me to revise my vision of who I think God is because I forget the truth that Lewis’s Chronicles of Narnia makes clear: that “he isn’t safe. But he’s good. He’s the King, I tell you.” [1]
Above all, my grandmother reminded me that day that “life is still life” and no matter our circumstances, we can (all of us), by way of forgiveness, purified hearts, and renewed spirits still live . . .
“ . . . a clean life.”
[1] C.S. Lewis, The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe. HarperCollins Publishers, 1978.
The featured image, “Find Me Here,” is courtesy of Julie Jablonski and is used with her kind permission for Cultivating
Melody Trowell is a wife, mother, published children’s book author and poet, college professor, and amateur
gardener. She holds degrees in English and Linguistics and has taught middle school, high school, and college
English since 2004. During her time as a stay-at-home mom, she built a small business doing photography and
sewing children’s clothing and goods. She and her husband live in Texas with their three children in a little home
with big bookshelves and even bigger ideas. She has been writing stories and poetry since childhood and believes
language is one of God’s most beautiful gifts. Her desire is to show others how childlike faith and wonder lift the
veil between the spiritual and physical realms to help them see the evidence of Christ and His creation. Find her
online at www.melodytrowell.com.
This honest perspective of balancing struggles and joys is just what I’m needing. Thanking Him for you.