the sewing room.

I spoke with my grandmother this morning on the phone. Not about anything in particular but, as we begun to say our farewells, my grandmother did what all Cuban grandmas do. She began a string of goodbyes and kept the conversation going for another 30 minutes.

I smiled when I realized she was seizing the conversation, delaying the inevitable end, but those extra 30 minutes became a reminder of beauty and an invitation to rest.

I listened to her ask about each of my friends she has met throughout my life. I think she may have only gotten one or two of their names right and definitely confused some important details,

but I just continued to listen, letting go of any impulse to correct her.

She told me she prays for me and them every day and that she wishes the Lord’s blessing on all of us. I know without any doubt she does this.

I remember waking up as a kid in her home and seeing both my grandparents in the sewing room sitting at their desks with their Bibles open, pencils in hand and reading, or heads bowed in prayer. They would do this again in the afternoon and again in the evening.

My grandmother has a second grade education, can barely read or write, but I think she’s accomplished more and impacted more lives than anyone I’ve ever met, simply because of her short trips to the sewing room.

I was reminded of something beautiful, that God chooses the weak, the overlooked, the outcasts, the incapable, the forgotten ones, the orphans, all who are without and lacking to bless and bring His goodness.