Heritage + Home : Timeless Wisdom I Learned from My Granny

It was sunrise on a picturesque Saturday morning in Paducah.  Delicate rays of cheery, golden sunshine glistened through the carefully and lovingly appointed curtains in my grandparent's corner guest bedroom, gently enveloping me, nudging me to rise and shine.  I lingered under the soft covers a tad longer, soaking in the sweetness of awaking in their home after a lovely evening and night spent enjoying time together.  For my entire childhood and most of my life, my parents’ home was just minutes from theirs and we enjoyed a great deal of time together.  But as a young girl, overnight stays embodied a refreshing sense of wonder and awe. They would be rising soon, too, always up with the sun to greet the day.

Their home at 2 Hickory Hill was more than a tidy brick ranch nestled on top of a lush, pristine acre of bluegrass in the heart of our quaint little town.  It embodied everything good and kind and loving about my Granny and Grandpa - their hospitality, their love of family, their joy in gathering loved ones together, and their love for each other.  I wanted to stay snuggled into that spot forever, just basking in the warmth that saturated their home and every carefully appointed detail of my Granny's guest room - the extra quilt at the foot of the bed, the fresh clean sheets, the dimmer switch that had been perfectly placed within an arm's reach to fade the lamp's glow into a quietude of soft twilight before drifting off to sleep.  

As I slowly propped myself up in bed and settled back against the pillows to read a morning devotional, not wanting to wake my grandparents by getting up, my Granny quietly emerged from their bedroom.  My door was cracked about halfway open, enough that I could see her adorned in her satin slippers and signature robe over her tastefully feminine nightgown.  She was such a lady, through and through. Even her nightware was classic and timeless.  I remember glancing at her as she walked down the long hallway to their den and thinking, "This time spent together, and watching how she runs her home, is such a treasure.  She does it all so well, so beautifully, and so effortlessly."  It's as if threads of love, of kindness, of quintessential southern decorum at its finest are woven throughout the fabric of every layer and detail of her home - from the meals she prepares, to the unmistakably clean aroma that dances around you when you first step inside, to the stack of fluffy, fresh towels that awaits every family member and friend in her guest bathrooms.  While I wasn't sure where she was going solo while my grandpa was still in their bedroom, I sat and read, not wanting to disrupt their morning routine.  It was still early, around 6:30 or so. Moments later she reappeared, quietly making her way back down the long hallway.  In each hand she cradled a chilled crystal glass filled with slightly frozen fresh orange juice.  She glanced toward my half-open door and noticed that I was awake. "Well, good morning, honey! I didn't know you were awake!", she greeted me cheerfully.  "Good morning, Granny! I didn't want to disturb you all before you were ready to begin your day.", I replied.  She looked down at the two glasses in her hands and offered, "Would you like some, honey? It's fresh orange juice." "Yes, I would love some, please!", I happily accepted.  My grandpa loved to put glasses in the freezer to let them chill before pouring orange juice into them - it was a hallmark of their home.  It was simple yet brilliant - by pouring juice into a chilled glass and then letting it rest in the freezer a bit longer a delightfully delicate layer of ice forms around the top edge, which pairs perfectly with the bright, fresh-squeezed orange juice first thing in the morning.  She walked in and carefully handed me one of the two sparkling crystal glasses, both of which had been wrapped in a white square napkin around the bottom edge to keep one's hands from becoming too cold.  I thanked her sincerely; I'm sure she could see the surprise and joy in my eyes.  And then she encouraged me to relax in bed as I sipped it before we all joined for breakfast.  She headed back into their bedroom, then reemerged again a few minutes later.  She must be going to get the newspaper, I thought to myself as I savored every sip of juice.  It wasn't until I saw her again that I realized what she had gone to do.  She smiled sweetly at me as she headed back into their bedroom with another crystal glass filled with juice, but this time the glass she carried hadn't been chilled.  

And then it hit me.  She had given me her glass of chilled orange juice, served my grandpa the glass she poured for him, and then went back to get her own. A pang of guilt shot through me as I realized I was savoring what was meant to have been hers to enjoy in bed, side-by-side with my grandpa.  But nothing about her or my grandpa ever indicated they would have wanted it any other way. They were both two of the kindest, most generous souls I've ever known. And that is how she lived her life.  Honoring God first.  Serving others second. And thinking of herself third.  Shortly after my dear Granny went home to be with her Savior I shared this story with Jason, my sweet husband.  As I finished, he said, "Honey, I know you probably already know this - but I can assure you that she wanted you to have her juice.  That's the kind of lady she was." I knew he was right. She was generous with more than a chilled glass of fresh orange juice poured first thing in the morning. She was generous with her time, her impeccable hospitality, her sincere kindness, her God-given gifts, and her timeless wisdom.  And I remember thinking even then that you could build a life that way - completely out of heartstrings.  Love, above all, truly is the most beautiful and excellent way.  My Granny taught me that.