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Welcome to Bigger Picture Moments, a weekly writing meme where we breathe in the moments that paint a picture of the grander scheme. All moments are welcome in this space -- small or large, as community is just as important as the grander awareness brought on by searching for a bigger picture every week.
Next week, Sarah will be hosting, so be sure to pay her a visit and link your moment.
I had been wounded.
My already grieving heart, opened up and reinjured.
Tears stung my eyes.
I breathed. I cried. I prayed. I called my mother who offered me lots of love, but who also said she couldn't give me the wisdom I was searching for in this specific situation.
So I called my grandmother, my heart still heavy with hurt and sadness from a conversation I’d ended not an hour before with someone I’ve known for many, many years.
I needed her listening ear, her advice, her support, her love to carry through the telephone wire and cover the fresh wounds.
And like so very many times before, she bandaged me up, loved on me a bit and sent me back to my daily life with thoughts to ponder, words of Truth to embed in my brain and cover the place on my heart that had been pierced.
“I know this is hard for you,” she said. “And I hate to see you hurt. But God is in control of this.”
"Oh, yes." I’d remembered and then mused aloud, "He is, isn’t He?"
This fall on Wednesday mornings, I’m taking a study that focuses on exploring the mentoring relationships found in the Bible.
I thought it appropriate because I just entered into a more formal mentoring relationship at the beginning of the summer with a woman who attends my church.
During our first meeting for the mentoring and wisdom study this morning, one of the women in my class shared with us a study that cited findings about how people do not develop dendrites in their brains that give way to major wisdom until the sixth decade of life.
I'll be 28 in January. And it shows.
A few months ago, while having coffee at my mom’s house, my grandmother shared with me that she doesn’t like being the oldest generation.
At the time, I thought, how strange it was that she didn’t like that. After all, she could enjoy seeing the fruit of all her hard work – her children, her grandchild grown into kind people, who love her, love others and love the Lord. Her great grandchildren even know her, and they demand her voice over the phone at least once per week.
But now, after yesterday and after today and after years and years and years of wandering around blindly in the dark searching for answers in my own mind, on my own terms, I get it.
I really, really get it.
There’s wisdom in the oldest generation.
And sometimes you just ache, you just crave for someone who has walked ahead of you, who has tread a different but oh-so-similar path to come up next to you, slip their hand in yours, bandage you up and say, “I know it hurts. And I hate to see you hurt. But God is in control of this.”
Because He is, isn't He.
And it often takes the wisdom gained in years to remind me of it in the midst of pain.
While I'm 28, and it shows, my grandma is, well, she's hit the age of the dentrites forming, and it shows -- in her life and, consequently, in mine.