My
grandma was a petite Japanese woman who I loved and respected. I know I respected her because she never had
to ask twice for me to do anything.
Her
curly salt and peppered hair and kind smile come to mind when I think of
her now. Her delicate fragrance stays
with me, so soft and comforting. It was
a mix of powder, perfume, and her best friend, a Calico cat named Sascha. I often remember her in her red cardigan, red
apron—despite me not recalling a single meal—and red earrings. My grandma was no stranger to fashion. My jewelry armoire is a testament to that.
It
was this year my mom sent me the wedding band given to my grandma by her
husband, my grandfather, John Russo. Also
delivered were those vibrant, memorable red earrings she always wore.
Rolling
my new possessions nimbly through my fingers, I found myself back in her old
room, the very room that watched her fight against breast cancer. I see
the old, heavy curtains drawn tightly together; all her clothes hung in plastic
bags, lining the closet; and Sascha sleeping in her bed.
Her
vanity stands against the wall. Her old
make-up carries her scent. I open her
compacts just to smell her. The shelves
on either side brace a mirror that overpowers me. Atop its filigree design, far out of reach, is
the most beautiful piece of jewelry I had seen as a child.
Her
rosary.
Now,
growing up in a family unfamiliar and resistant to Christ, I only thought it
was called a ‘rosary’ because of its color.
The pink and white swirled glass beads captivated my attention with
their elusive beauty. The necklace mesmerized
me, luring me in, tempting me to touch it.
But
I never did.
Instead
I would sit and stare. And wonder. It has
to be important, I thought. No other
piece of jewelry was so far out of reach.
This definitely is special, I
decided.
After
my grandma passed away, it was, truly, the only thing I wanted. I never asked for it though, assuming its
value was much too high for a child. So
instead I continued to sit at her vanity and gaze at it from afar.
Time
passed, and soon it was months in between my visits.
In
that time, my aunt began her own daycare.
Despite not seeing them, I knew she cared for several children. My visits were met with a disheveled house,
books were misplaced, toys were scattered, and a bundle of dirtied blankets and
clothes filled the laundry room. I
tolerated their mess in my grandma’s home, just happy that I never had to see
them.
When
the day came, I wasn’t expecting it.
Visiting my aunt, I rounded the corner to my favorite room with my
favorite mirror to see my favorite necklace.
My
eyes rose to meet the mirror.
Vacant.
A
subtle dusty outline of the rosary was the only thing that remained.
My
heart panicked. I scoured the vanity, thinking
it had fallen. I looked behind its frame,
wondering if the links had come loose. I
desperately searched every corner of the room, hoping my aunt had simply moved
it.
I
met her in the living room. Disguising
my anxiety, I coolly asked, “You know that pretty necklace on the mirror? Do you know where it is?”
Not
sensing my inner turmoil, she answered plainly, “Oh, I gave it to Isabelle.”
Isabelle?! One of the children at the daycare had my
treasured necklace?!
I
was silent, my young brain malfunctioning.
“She
said she liked it,” she explained, leaving the room to clean elsewhere.
My
heart sank. It was from that moment I
only went into my grandma’s room to hug Sascha, who rarely left my grandma’s
bed. Delicate, old Sascha understood
what it felt like to lose something precious.
Precious.
It
is challenge to think of myself as something precious to God.
He
loved me before I knew Him.
It
never fails to amaze me that He designed every single moment of my life,
including the parts of it before I loved Him. He was calling to my heart long before I ever
knew Him.
God
calls to each of us differently. His
inflections in our hearts come at different times, each of our stories personally
designed. Knowing God now, I look back
at moments in my life that reflect His presence. One of those moments was that rosary—a rosary
being precious to a child who knew nothing of Him.
I
wore her earrings for the first time this week.
I felt both closure and comfort, knowing, with God, there’s always a
greater story.
Because you are precious in my eyes, and honored, and I love you... (Isaiah 43:4)
Because you are precious in my eyes, and honored, and I love you... (Isaiah 43:4)
