There's Always Hope

“Why did she die?” I asked. Grandmother put the plate she washed on the drying rack before she faced me. From where I sat at the kitchen table, I could see the moisture in her eyes. I looked down at my homework. The struggle I had with math didn’t compare with the struggle I saw in her eyes.

“She was sick and didn’t get better.” Grandmother said.

At thirteen, I hadn’t experienced death. I knew of distance relatives who had died when I was younger, but their deaths had little effect on my life. This was different. My mother had died. She died and I never got the chance to know her.

My grandmother was the only mom I knew. I was two when my grandparents adopted me. My mother lived in another state and her visits during holidays were short and stressful.

Life is complicated when you’re adopted by relatives. I learned how to explain that my grandparents were my parents, my mother was my sister, and my brother was my nephew. Most people didn’t understand.

“You look like your mother.” People said to me at the funeral. I hated those words. No one wants to hear they look like a corpse.

Lost in my own thoughts, I didn’t realize my grandmother sat at the table until she touched my arm.

“I don’t think her sickness caused her death.” Grandmother said. She picked up a potato from the bowl that rested in her lap. “She gave up.”

“Gave up what?” I asked. I watched grandmother peel the potato before she answered.

“She gave up on life. Life gets tough sometimes; dreams get crushed." Grandmother wiped her tears with a paper napkin before she looked at me again. "Never give up. When you're faced with difficult situations, remember there’s always hope. One day you’ll understand.”

My days of understanding did come. There have been times when I’ve felt crushed and defeated. I wanted to give up. “God, take me out of this, it’s too hard!” I’ve cried.

Don’t give up, Edwina, I’m here. God’s words reminded me of my grandmother’s.

The only mom I knew, my grandmother, died thirteen years ago.

“Next time I see you, I’ll be out of this bed and we’ll do something together.” Mom said. At seventy-five, Mom was blind and a double amputee.

“I’ll look forward to that.” I said thankful she couldn’t see my tears. She died four days later.

Next time I see my mom (grandmother) will be in heaven. She won’t be in bed and I look forward to spending time with her.

“Faith is the substance of things hoped for and the evidence of things not seen.” Hebrews 11:1

There’s always hope.

Breaking Bread

I sat at the back of the classroom and listened to the students read a familiar Bible passage. As the teacher’s assistant, I had collected homework and proceeded to take attendance. I stopped when the teacher wrote two words on the board—breaking bread.

Breaking bread is a term I associate with Bible stories or good food. As a youth, I had grown too familiar with the stories for them to have much of an impact. The food is what I remember.

Bread-Breaking dinners at church meant an abundance of home-made dishes. Gluttony was expected as people over-loaded their plates. Sometimes a person carried two plates; one for the main meal and the other for desserts.

By the end of the dinner, people pushed their chairs away from the table, rested their hands on their full stomachs, and settled into conversations. The dinners eventually became known as potlucks or fellowship meals, but the purpose was still the same—full bellies and good conversations.

Recently, I broke bread at a writer’s conference and the purpose wasn’t to fill my stomach. To give details wouldn’t be fair to the writer who shared this activity, but I can share my experience. I was full of encouragement, hope, and possibilities. I was reminded that words can feed an appetite that is often ignored, and give strength to a tired soul.

The teacher’s voice drew my attention back to the board. I smiled. The passage the students read was more that a story about bread and fish. The words were meant to give us encouragement, hope, and possibilities.

God’s Word is full of encouragement, hope, and possibilities.

When I feast on God's Word, He fills me. While I chew, I can’t negate what He says is true about me.

“I am fearfully and wonderfully made.”

I swallow and am thankful.