The first thing I see are her hands.
Her left hand is a map of lines, dots and ridges all woven together to make one grand historical adventure. I want to hear what each one means.
Why is there a mountain on her index knuckle? What was it like for her to travel through this land and form these rivers?
Her right hand. I reach to shake it but I cannot. Its misshapen. There are fingers missing and those that are there are not whole. She has a sphere for a palm.
I take her mapped hand and cover it with both of mine. Smooth, untainted and plain is my terrain now. There are so many rivers I have yet to form and so many mountains waiting to be erected.
She raves about her grandchildren. She wears her age like a badge of honor. The speed of her speech makes it exciting to hear her but difficult to understand.
“How was your day?” I ask, studying her sparkling eyes.
She begins and ends her list with gusto, boasting of all the things she still can do at 72.
“Wow that’s a lot!” I exclaimed.
She went on to express how some people doubt her. They think she can’t cook or write with only one hand. She’s quick to demonstrate that she can, in fact, grab her pen with half a phalange.
She’s done it all her life. She was born like this. God made her an overcomer. More than a conqueror.
No one’s limited expectations could ever begin to extinguish her spunk or passion.
I felt the embers in my soul begin to burn brighter. The flames within me that had lain dormant began to rise as I watched the way this woman lived her life.
“Look here,” she whispered to me in the middle of the Pastor’s sermon.
She took my pure, unadulterated topographic in hers and slid a vintage band of silver upon my finger.
“So you won’t forget me,” she added.
Who could ever forget her? Carefree and wild as she was.
All she did was choose not to give in to other people’s expectations and that has made all the difference.
She challenged me to live my life without limits. Now, I challenge you to live yours the same way.
Let’s be fearless as we form our rivers and erect our mountains. Let’s live concerned only with the expectations of the Father and maybe just maybe we’ll grow up to be just like her.
