Praying With My Grandmother

Seldom do we have a life impacting experience. Events that could be called seminal would be even less frequent. This past summer I surely had one.

December 26, 2012, my paternal grandmother will turn 96 years of age. Her name is Dora Canup Mann. It is pretty astounding for me to even think about that. Long life has not been the hallmark of my family. My mother died at 41 and my father at 67. All of my other grandparents died at a relatively young age. So to be able to talk to my grandmother achieving this age is pretty amazing. (She is an astounding woman on multiple levels by anyone’s account, but that is the stuff for another entry.)

I have lived in a separate state from my family for over 35 years, so spending time with them is a rarity. This past summer while on vacation, I was able to visit her as usually try to do. This one was different than any visit in the past. I owe that in part to my cousin Beverly. She, along with a several other family members, has been one of the care givers for my grandmother. This gives her some very good insights into what makes my grandmother tick. Beverly commented to me about how important it was for her to be touched and held. (I am reminded that this is actually true for most elderly folks.) As she was talking I realized, to my dismay, I had not done that nearly enough with my grandmother.

When visiting her later that evening, she was not feeling well and was in her bed. She sat up when I came in and I sat beside her. I then reached over and held her hand and just slowly stroked her hand and her arm as we talked. This lasted for half an hour to 45 minutes. My wife Kay and grandson Gavin were in the room for a while, but after a few moments they excused themselves. It was far and away the most intimate experiences I have had with this very important woman in my life.

When it was time to leave, I said something that astounds and shames me even today that I have never done it before. I asked her if we could pray together. We placed ourselves where our faces were touching and I prayed aloud. I do not recall everything I prayed for, but it was for our family, for all of my cousins and their children, for my uncles, and so on. I then prayed for her. I prayed for God to look out for her. I thanked God for caring for her through others. I prayed for God to care for her as long as he allowed her to be with us. I thanked God for my grandmother and the impact she has had upon my life. She then began to pray as well. She prayed for, me and my family. She prayed for our safe travel home. She thanked God that a grandson of hers was in ministry, something that was very important to her I could tell. The experience was so moving to me that tears well up in my eyes as I write this some four months later.

The next day I returned to see her again before I left town. Gavin came with me. He played with some children of my cousin Ed, who lives with her, while I spent time with my Grandmother alone. She was still not feeling well and was lying in her bed. I knelt beside her bed. I placed my face close to hers. For the next half an hour we just talked while I gently stroked her arm. I do not remember exactly what we talked about. It really does not matter. We were together.

When it was time to leave, while I was still kneeling beside her as she lay in her bed, we prayed together again. This time was with more ease and more passion than the previous evening. These two times of prayer are without a doubt near the top of the list of the most significant moments of prayer in my entire life. I was changed by those two days.

I owe thanks to Beverly for pointing out to me that touch was important to her. I told my wife the other night, I am not sure why I did not realize it before. Physical touch is one of my primary love languages. It is the first on Gavin’s list. It is the first on my son Richard’s list as well. I should have already known, but it took some reminding.

As important as that touch was, and is, I learned that for this woman who is by all accounts nearing the end of her days, prayer with her grandson and just getting in touch with God together was just as important. In addition to touch, prayer together is something else we now share.

A side note, it is ironic that I am writing this on December 11. This is the day that in 1999 my father died. I am the oldest grandson of her oldest son, who is no longer here. I am sure that fact is not lost upon her.