Bed Time Prayers

When I was younger, I used to stay with my Grandma when I could.  Sometimes on a weekend, but for the most part, during the summer when school was out.  Summer nights at Grandma's house make up some of very favorite memories.  She was one of very favorite human beings.  God I loved her.  To this day, she awes me, and my heart longs for her.

I remember every night at nine, she would start to say she was going to bed.  She never did.  She had to pin-curl her hair, and fuss with the laundry or something in the cold room.  She had to remember to put this away, or this other thing out for tomorrow.  She would sit and have a coffee mug full of rice crispies and milk (which by the way, is something my daughter does - like someone whispered that secret in ear).  By eleven o'clock, the house started to quiet.  After the first few minutes of the late news, she disappeared from the kitchen.

I went looking for her one night, calling "Gram?... Gram...."  

I tapped on the door where a light glow from her beside lamp cast shadows on the room.  She was there by her bed, on her knees.  She was whispering quietly, and I knew better than to interrupt.  This was her time with God.  Every single night, she thanked Creator for our day, and asked safe keeping of her family and friends.  She counted her blessings, and gave gratitude for every one.  She asked her questions, and promised to listen for answers.  She always ended crossing her self in the Ukrainian fashion she grew up knowing, whispering "Amen".  

She knew I was there, leaning in the doorway.  She got up slowly, and smiled as she came towards me.  She kissed my forehead, making me lean down so she could reach, "it's important to talk to God, and to have some faith.  The same goes for you Missy.  Say a prayer for me tonight."  

The memory of her kneeing by her bed, whispering with the Creator is forever etched in my heart.  I am forever grateful for her faith in God.  My Grandmother lived some tough times, and even when she felt she had nothing else, she had faith.  I am grateful for her eleven o'clock whispers, and for her kisses, and for every time she called me Missy Marcotte in an accent I still can't quite put my finger on - like a French/Ukrainian mix twisted together with her mother's Austrian, maybe?  I can hear it every time I close my eyes and try to hear her.  

I remember her every night when I lay myself down and count my blessings.  Every time I am troubled, and take it to God, I hear her, and see the glow from her own bed time prayers.  I am grateful for her prayers of protection, and learned to ask the same for my family.  And every night, I say a prayer for her in my own bed time prayers.  Don't worry Gram, I will always remember.  

I am so grateful for the beautiful peace that comes with bedtime prayers, and for whispered reminders.  

I miss her : (