A Twilight's Teaching

"When twilight drops her curtain down, and pins it with a star, remember that you have a friend, though she may wander far."

Lucy Maud Montgomery
The night fell with a beautiful twilight, diffusing soft light through the day old sky, with hues of pink, like tea rose and cherry blossom, blended with red coral and fire brick, touched subtly with thistle, amethyst, and laced with beige, like wheat. The day's end ebbed gently away, yet supremely approached its leaving with elegance, affecting the setting of sun and the coming darkness with relief, remorse, beholden, believing, dreaming, daunting, with regards of past and prospects of future.

I watched her watch that evening sky. Through the wide window she gazed, sat, stilled, as our sweet little made-up home grew dusky, then darkened, then dark. I spoke. She stayed silent. I pursued conversing. She refused to comply. "What are you doing Grandma?" "I'm just thinking about things," she replied. I knew to engage no longer. I left. Returned. Left. Came later. Left, again. Returned, once more. And left, again.

My wonder at her wonder, her agile patience and the depth of her solitude were much to perceive for one fourteen years old, who sought solace and felicity with the hope of a life before her from one who had lived a life of prayer and truth, a walk with God that equaled no other I knew, and whose great love for me had been security in the days, months, and years following the death of my beloved father.

Indeed, the Lord Himself sent my dear grandmother to our lonely little home to comfort our broken hearts and fill our rooms with her sweet savor and cautious sensibility. Her life was life for us, especially for me. I had always been endeared to her. Loved her fiercely. Longed for her with heart-wrenching hope. And her presence in my pain filled a void that only eternity will tell.

At night, in bed, she comforted me, talked to me, told me of her life. Times growing up with her many sisters, their searches through shivery wood on snowy days, their thorny treks to school, their making-do in meagerness, her loving mother, whom she adored, who loved flowers, flourished with kindness, whom she missed so, of whom she dreamed, now saw endowed with a pink robe, and a new greater love.

My dear grandma and I read our Bibles together, prayed together, talked together, counseled together, learned, reasoned, laughed, lived together. For her unreserved love and dedication to me and my best I am forever grateful. Her gift of her giving spirit and her patient, prayerful life heard many days, and nights, behind closed doors, laid a lasting foundation of love, a legacy to be passed on to my children and theirs.

That one twilight etched in my memory like letters in stone. I saw my dear one in heartbreaking pain, unmoving in dusky dark, who with the growing night, became a lone silhouette against a diminutive waning glow. Grandma carried the burdens of us all. Her children, grandchildren, and her own private pain of a less that perfect love for my dear grandfather, whose less than perfect life brought her more than little grief.

Wanting to cheer her lonely heart and longing to have her again as my own, I searched for words to hurry and heal and bring life to my grandma's still self. I think she understood. . . . And she loved me the more, knowing my vast dependence on her as my rock and strength. Realizing my lonely teenage person was yet too young to fully know the joy of the Rock of my salvation.

Days following, Grandma's heart was again stout, her spirit revived, and she was once more herself. And again she was my joy. But deep in my heart a truth took hold. A lesson won. Like clay in a modeler's hand, God took my dear one's pain and shaped it before me, sowed this vision in my spirit, reached my heart through my sore eyes.

Looking back at that twilight, I now hear the Father whisper. "Life is imperfect. Yet must be lived. Can be lived. Will be lived. Not one heart is so sturdy that it cannot break. Not one spirit so pure that it lives without temptation to despair. Even those you love best, whose lives you so cherish, on whose very words and strength you depend, are not without weakness, fear, or confusion; none are immune from trouble, guarded from guilt, protected from private pain. But all who know My Name, who seek My trust, regard My will, will be kept by My grace, delivered from fear, and find My peace."

This May 20, my dear grandma would have been a centenarian. Until her death at age ninety-four, she remained a rock for me, always being my mentor and my friend. Her petite little figure was wrought with tall faith. Through her long life, she taught me the reality of God, for she lived in His truth and walked in His grace. She showed me the path of righteousness, as she walked it before me, with her love, with her faith, in her darkness, in her pain, and through her weakness. I now have, because of God's grace and my grandma's rich life, a still trust and a lasting hope. It is a pearl, pink-white, perfectly round, and will never lose its luster, a priceless gem, to be fully revealed in eternal light.

A song now pours through my heart. A rapturous voice of praise I learned in my teenage years found a forever place in my soul. Lodged there, settling with hope for all times and time, it still rings, triumphs with truth, with its overcoming words of life, at once yielding joy and hope.

Enjoy this precious hymn, written in 1834 by Edward Mote and William B. Bradbury. Please remember to mute the playlist, located at the bottom of the page.

"For no other foundation can anyone lay than that which is laid, which is Jesus Christ."

I Corinthians 3:11