Forever Seeking Favor from the Light

It has been a whirlwind whole month. I miss my Nanny every single day. It's like she's just everywhere. I found a reading log from kindergarten when she'd read books to me. Her handwriting was so beautiful. My Mama got her handwriting. I got her ridiculous sneeze. One of the books had an asterisk in the margin and a note that read "Very good book." So if anyone wants to get me a Christmas present, the children's book "Once When I Was Scared" is suddenly on my reading list. Any book rec from her was always solid gold. Which takes me back to the reason that I'm going to reread that other book she was so fond of. More on that later.

Everyone believes that my love for words must be innate. That's fully inaccurate. I loved words because she loved them loudly to me. And in her things we found all manner of scraps of badly-written adolescent poetry and angsty musings. She kept all of that. She loved my words. Oh, I miss her so. It's never occurred to me to pray for her. She doesn't need it. The only prayer I ever said was the day she went to be with Jesus. And I prayed that she ease into the next life like a warm bath.

I fed my bread starter this morning. Her bread starter. On the counter bar is the recipe she gave me years ago, typed on a typewriter so long ago that the ink is bluish and the paper is slick shiny and cream-colored. Those beautiful monospace Courier letters (honestly, still my favorite font, just ask my business card) are so evocative to me. I cannot make this bread and it not brake my heart a little every time. I wanted to make some to give to someone I think could have really used some Nanny. Right now, he could. And I truly believe she would have absolutely adored him. And that would have been good for him right now too. So maybe I can do that because she can't. Or maybe even from above, she's doing what she always did and has God thinking this was his idea. She was all love and light and gentle manipulation. The thing is, she was usually right. Don't anyone ever tell her I said that. She liked to meddle, but she was usually right.

I remember her when she worked as a secretary for the local elementary school. Mind you, she was 60 the day I was born. She was always so poised. She wore slacks, for some reason I remember mostly gray and black and she had the most beautiful blouses that really were reminiscent of the 1940's, even then. Delicate little fine-fabric things with pearl buttons and round collars. Sometimes there was a little eyelet lace. And she always wore a nylon camisole and a half slip if she wore a skirt. I remember so clearly helping her hide the hem when she wore a skirt with a very modest back slit in the slim silhouette. She couldn't have walked in that skirt without the slit. She'd have been so embarrassed for someone to see her slip. 

I remember when she stopped being able to wear heels. She was devastated because she never wanted to get old. She wouldn't style her hair like an "old lady" and she dyed her hair into her seventies. Her nails were always filed into perfect almonds and usually polished in some shade of nude mauve. She always wore modest makeup if she went out. Her skin was beautiful. All those years of "take off your makeup and put on your night cream." The scent of that face cream reminds me of every happy memory of home. Also, when people ask "Wait, how old are you?" I always say a little thank you to her. I never could have been a great beauty, but I can take care of the beauty I was given. I know we aren't supposed to be vain, but she was the best woman I have ever known and was vain as a peacock, so if that is my greatest sin, then I share it with her.

I didn't really mean for this to become a whole love letter to her again. I want to hold on to every single fragmented, lacy memory of her. I knew it would be bad, but I never knew it would be mostly wishing I had given her all the praise she deserved and not just the usual kind of missing someone. I'm an over-praiser. I will shower people I love with words of encouragement and pride and hope. It's what I needed and never got and I'm one of those "this happened to me so I will not ever do it to someone else" people. And truly, I believe in people. Most people. Until they mess that up and it takes a lot to mess that up. I believe that most people are good and most people want to be better. And any time I see that work happening, you better believe I'll say so. So, hey, I'm proud of you for the work you're doing. And yeah, I see it. I know I did tell her how I felt about her, but I didn't do it nearly enough. I spent too much of my life afraid to be vulnerable because vulnerability and weakness looked the same to my immature mind. Man, was I wrong. It takes so much strength to be vulnerable and tender. I think that's a lesson I had to learn to get where I am right now too. And I'm certain it's one more that she taught me. 

I had a friend to dinner last night. He was late because he went to the wrong place first. I've known him for fifteen years. I love this man to my toes. Just a kind, gentle, sweet, guy. And when he walked into the restaurant and sat down, I put my Bible away. Nanny's favorite book, so it seemed like I ought to start reading from cover to cover as well as a few spots in the middle when the need calls for it. He said he's known me a long time and never thought he'd walk in to see me reading a Bible. I chuckled. I guess I am making some changes. I ain't mad about any of them.

I so wish Nanny had gotten to meet Stephen. My brother. She'd have hugged him goodbye and asked him to come back any time and she'd make him supper. She might have even taught him something about scripture. She was just ace at that. No matter what was happening, love, death, fear, uncertainty, a hard decision, unbridled joy, she had a verse for it. Her beautiful little leather Bible is covered with bookmarks and notations in her handwriting. So maybe that's part of my picking it back up to read too. I want to be like that. I want something to comfort and uplift and encourage and believe in no matter what life throws at me or at the people I love. I've been practicing on folks I know will appreciate it.

We were always taught that your faith should be a quiet thing. And I abide by that today. "Go into your closet to pray" because to flaunt your faith is a sort of pride. I nearly took that Bible out with me last Saturday to dinner when I was alone, but something in my heart repeated Nanny saying things like that to me. I don't know what was different about last night. I almost always carry my Bible these days and I wanted to read it. I've never hidden any sort of book I've ever read in my life. So I decided that this shouldn't be an exception. I was challenged on the idea of not wanting to take it out with me recently. And it got me thinking, I guess. I think I like being challenged. I think I like feeling like I'm learning and growing. I definitely am glad that I get to surround myself with people who help me do that.

And that book gave me the story of Jacob deceiving Isaac last night. I think the lesson is caution. Be careful who you speak to and be careful who you trust and trust but verify. You know, and also don't create elaborate lies to get what you want. Caution. I guess you take exactly what you need from these stories exactly when you need it, huh?