Golden Grams

She grew up in a town called 'Hope'
"That's beautiful, isn't it?" She said as we sipped our Chai Lattes in the over crowded Barnes and Noble, I laughed to myself as I watched the people franticly searching through the titles on the jumbled shelves for the contents of Christmas lists so lengthy. "Hope, Michigan. It is beautiful, Grandma. It suits you." She really isn't my Grandma, but I call her that because she feels like one to me. How loving and lowly she is.
I always thought you could tell alot about someone by knowing where it was they grew up, or came from. I think it is why I can't stay in one place for too long, because I haven't come from one place. I believe I will be destined to wander all the days of my life in wait of a place called home, which I know I will not find here in this world. In this case, Hope Michigan, was altogether Fay Wilson.
She spoke of her divorce, the man that ran around on her for ten years and then told her to leave, and she did. She moved into a little trailer in lynchburg serving her children and seeking the Lord. Unlike most who have lost loves, Fay never loved another. She stayed faithful to him unto his last breathe and I suspect unto hers too.
Beautiful Fay never lost hope, trusting that in the end everything would be fine. She had hope for her children, she had hope in her Lord, she had hope for herself. I think back to last week listening to Grandma talking about her life as if it was so far away yet it all happened so fast, and I honor her. I honor her for her selflessness, I honor her for the elegance that was never lost, I honor her for never being in denial but approaching every situation with a hope so strong that even Michigan acknowledged it!