An angel in an all white Sari. Her salt-and-pepper hair cascades off her shoulders to meet her beautiful chai tea colored skin. She emerges from her room in a slow shuffle that guides her to the kitchen. Her scarf drapes delicately over her shoulders leaving a trail of fabric blowing in the wind behind. With each step she takes, she exudes the Holy Spirit’s presence. They call her a prayer warrior. Some call her Ama. But I call her Grandma.
Don’t let her heavenly appearance fool you. Like a good cayenne pepper, she is spicy in every sense of the word. You can often find her slapping the air in front of her out of frustration. But with that aggravation comes a wholehearted desire to care for others.
Grandma grew-up a devout Hindu. Her entire family worshiped an infinite amount of gods; ones characterized by snakes, elephants, cows, and the list goes on into the billions, with new ones named each day. Hindus believe that everything on this earth has a god attached to it. They must worship and appease these various gods in order to reach a “good karma” state or to ensure a favorable reincarnation. As a young Hindu follower, Grandma had various markings tattooed on her hands, arms and a black dot on her forehead representing the “third eye” to declare her devout faith in the Hindu religion. To this day, these markings still linger on Grandma’s skin, but you will no longer find her worshipping a serpent. She will be in a constant state of worship and prayer with Jesus.
At the age of 12, you could find me in a swimming pool, watching a movie with friends or reading the latest Harry Potter novel. Not Grandma. She was married off in a traditional Indian ceremony to a man she was directly related to (it is not uncommon within the Indian culture to marry your first cousin or uncle). Arranged marriages are not only prevalent among Hindus, they are customary among families from all backgrounds. Indian Christians are just as likely to marry their uncle in a planned marriage. It is believed that Grandma met her husband for the first time at their wedding. Can you imagine? 12-years-old and married, Grandma quickly found herself becoming the housewife her culture demanded her to become. With two years under her belt, she was sure that this was all there was to life; house chores and Hindu ritual after Hindu ritual. Unbeknownst to her, life would soon change forever.
14-years-old and constantly under the pressure to perform her daily tasks with perfection, she met a group of Americans. These were not your run-of-the-mill tourist enthusiasts, they were missionaries. With a reluctant heart, Grandma decided to listen to these strange westerners. What message could they possibly bring to a 14-year-old pious Hindu? She made the decision to simply listen. The message they brought was that of the story of Jesus. He not only died for them but he died for her. He died for Grandma. And He has a place for her where she can spend eternity with a Father that loves her. Where she can be the woman He planned her to be. Where she can be cooked for. Where she no longer lingers on her knees in prayer to a mere statue. She not only listened to these Americans, she heard Jesus Christ Himself. He spoke to her that night and in that moment she knew. She knew what decision she needed to make, no matter what it cost her. She dedicated her life to Christ and has not looked back since. She says her walk is one of freedom and redemption. Because Her sins are taken and her prayers are answered.
Though a week with Grandma flew by, she has catapulted me into a yearning to “have faith like a child” (Matt. 18:3). She is 84-years-old and remains steadfast in her love for her Father. She shows this day-in and day-out…
through friendships. With tears streaming down her face, Grandma entered the room in what appeared to be an uproar. Her Kannada was fixated on a certain subject that I could not translate. With Momatha’s help, I was able to comprehend why Grandma was so upset. Her long-time friend was battling health issues and called her to pay her a visit. Grandma went and found out the calibre of pain her neighbor was enduring. The pain from her eyes and head was overbearing and needed one of Grandma’s zealous prayers. With the Holy Spirit engulfing the women, Grandma prayed insistently. She continued to out loud on her short walk back to the house. Merely seeing the state in which Grandma was in after watching her friend in pain, is a clear indicator as to just how fierce of a friend she is.
through generosity. I decided to finish the last twenty pages of “The Shack” on the porch with the sun slowly setting, making a marvelous pink and orange painting. The morning had brought an amazing ministry that took every ounce of my energy. With five pages left, I reluctantly rested my head on my arm and dozed off. A few minutes later, I felt a tapping on my head. I immediately looked up to find Grandma with a pillow for me to rest my head. I repeatedly thanked her as she walked back into the house. I easily went back into a shallow slumber when the tapping returned. Looking up, I saw two cookies being waved in front of my face by a beautiful, weathered hand. Grandma’s always know when you need a special treat.
through laughter. She can hang with the young-ins. I often joined the Indians on the third floor during tea time. I was always the only westerner so I had the privilege of seeing their true colors. Most are in their early twenties and are constantly laughing; about what I’ll probably never know unless I build up the courage to learn Kannada. You’ll never believe how far you can get on body language and tone of voice. When a joke is cracked at Grandma’s disposal, she retaliates with a wit that never ceases to amaze her young counterparts. She may be in her eighties, but with her quick one-liners and joyous spirit, she is living that child-like faith I so desire.
through prayer. The day before our departure, Grandma did not leave her room for breakfast or lunch. Concerned, I asked Momatha what was wrong. She had contracted a cold that left her head and chest in pain. I slowly pulled back the curtain to enter her room where she laid in bed. I first asked if I could pray for her. Without hesitation, Grandma gleamed at the offer. As I kneeled before her with my scarf covering my head, I reached to hold her hand with a small squeeze returned. I closed my eyes and began to pray. I prayed for her health, for blessing, her family, her friends and for the miraculous healing that her Father is capable of. With a willing heart, He delivered. She regained strength and overcame her cold. Dinner would not have been the same without her antics; she is synonymous for grabbing your plate when you are finished eating to ease your trouble of making a trip to the sink.
When I was about 10-years-old, the latest trend was to have best friend necklaces and bracelets. My friend Becca and I decided to get a necklace that depicted two broken hearts, one with “best” and the other with “friend”. They made a complete heart when together. We called it our “BFF” necklace. And I am proud to say that at the ages of 26 and 84, Grandma and I are keeping this trend alive. When in Bangalore, I bought a set of traditional gold bracelets. I only wanted to buy one but that was not an option according to the street vendor. Through out the week with Grandma, I only wore one bracelet. When saying our goodbyes, I happened to have the identical bracelet with me. I could tell how much Grandma loved it and I thought how neat it would be to have a daily reminder of this woman that left an everlasting impression on my heart. Grandma is in Chitradurga enjoying the glow of her “BFF” bracelet. And I will continue this journey with a piece of her on my wrist.
