A Creepy Old Lady

The neighborhood kids keep telling my four children that their great grandma is weird. “She’s creepy! She just stares out the window at us!”

And I’m thankful. I’m thankful that I’m given the opportunity to teach my sons and daughters that there is more to people than what meets the eye. Because where the neighborhood kids see a creepy old lady, I can tell my children what I see.

I see a woman whose strength and heartache I do not understand. I see a woman who survived a war; a genocide of her own people. A woman who buried her husband at the age of 44. A woman who watched as her six year old daughter took her last breath. A woman who traversed a country littered with land mines, diligently watching over her remaining six children ranging in age from 22 to 9. A woman who stepped into a box that hurled her and her loved ones above the earth, only to land on what might as well have been the other side of the galaxy. Taking her to a place where she did not speak the language. A place where she did not know the norms. A place where she did not know a single soul. A place where she had to navigate raising daughters and sons in a culture she did not understand.

Where the neighborhood kids see a creepy old lady, I see a woman who learned to read, write, and speak a new language at 44. A woman who did not admit defeat and conquered a driving test. A woman who was not ashamed of being different but, instead, understood that this was not her home. A woman who met so much heartache and loss but still raised her children to be kind and compassionate. A woman who prayed fervently for her loved ones, and taught her young granddaughter to love the Lord. A woman whose love touched countless souls. A woman whose strength runs through the veins of her children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren.

Where the neighborhood kids see a creepy old lady, I see a woman whose strength and heartache I do not understand.