my mexican grandma

Before we even arrived, she started cooking. Chili con carne, upside down fruit cake, enchiladas, pinto beans, tortillas, biscochitos...all homemade. Grandma Cordie's personal goal to see us all gain 10 pounds while we were there. Her tiny frame bent creating her masterpieces we gladly celebrated and consumed.Teasing never stops about how she and my mom are the same...only making homemade tortillas for "special" occassions now. All the while, the younger generations are quite capable of mixing, rolling and heating the dough to perfection. Yet, somehow, it's our right to have them make them for us. They protest and win.You see, our blood doesn't run the same but our hearts do. My mom's stepmom, she dotes on and fusses over us all the same. My only grandma left alive, I welcome it.And I welcome the stories she shared. Growing up with no electricity or running water, they were quite poor. She insists they were unaware of their poverty, "because we had the Lord and each other and enough to eat." She rocked back in her chair, story after story flowing. How she, through tears, knew the great grace given to her through Jesus Christ as a little girl taking communion. The antics her siblings got into. That ever since they first got electricity and an iron, how she loves to iron to this day. Her adventures doing mission work. How it just doesn't snow like it used to up in the mountains. How only her mother's old wooden stove really cooks things with precisely the correct flavor.Offering to make coffee one morning, she protested "No, I will. Just give me a minute." Next thing you know, a pot is brewed. And mugs set out. With creamer. With sugar. With a spoon. "I'm surprised she didn't pour it for you," my cousin giggled. Always doting on. Before I even knew my laundry was dry, she had it folded. And would have ironed my shirts probably if my mom hadn't stopped her. Always doing for.Our souls feasted together...my cousins, aunt & uncle, Grandma Cordie, my brother & mom. Hearing heartbreaking news while we were together, we were able to stop and pray together. Crying out with the labor pains of this world. Groans eventually leading to life. Hope after pangs. Clinging together as family. What a gift. Romans 8:18-28

"We ate good, didn't we?" she asked contentedly at the end of our stay. We did. Body and soul.