Today I looked at my Khulu and saw her in a way I had never seen her before. Beautiful.
I mean, I’ve always been aware of how much I admired her, the prayer warrior that she is, her bravery, her sense of independence, her insane ability to never lose hope, her steadfastness, how she loves EVERYONE with the craziest amount of fervour, how she so understands being moved by compassion, her wisdom, I could go on forever. But I’ve never before noted her beauty.
Wow. Such beauty. She has a gentle kind of beauty that doesn’t attack your eye, a beauty that is so deeply imbedded within her that one could easily miss it and I almost did. But today, today I note the loveliness of each freckle on her face, her exquisite skin, the splendour of each wrinkle and how perfectly they’re all sitting in place.
My grangran, or just Khulu, as she is known by everyone – even people older than her. Even now, as I look at her, and smile at her aging beauty. I notice the frail dainty hands that once sewed colourful quilts for many, she tells me the same story she’s told me 15 times already; poses the same question at the end and I know, I know I should just smile and react the same way I have the previous 14 times but I can’t. Being annoyed, I look at her and just throw a half-hearted smile, she smiles back disappointed, noticing my annoyance, I apologise. I know it isn’t her fault but patience is still something I’m working on. We laugh about it.
Thank you, Abba, for this wonderful delight of a woman.
Like a weaned child with its mother
Like a weaned child is my soul within me – Psalm 131:2b
My heart is in such awe of how insane the concept of creation, and love, is. How this person didn’t exist 71 years ago and now, 71 years later, there are 13 people (and counting) who exist through/by/from her. I marvel at the insane amounts of adoration, affection and love that just bubble over from my heart for her and how this is merely a shadow of a fraction of the love Jesus has for each of us. For you.
We sit in silence for a while, each with a bowl of gross Wheat Bix made with sad lukewarm milk. Her eyes start to fill with tears, at a thought, I assume. I say a silent prayer for her – she teaches me about the importance of holding on to the Lord and with every word more tears. Here is my favourite human, vastly different from when she first became my favourite human but yet so incredibly striking, picturesque, so HERE. I have no idea how to react to her cry nor what is going through her mind and yet, at this moment, my heart has never felt more whole <3.