Our Macy

by Donna Poole

Blue eyes sparkling, French braid hanging down her back, smiling and petite—Macy looked adorable like she does every Sunday. She leaned close to me as we waited for the service to start. I hugged her.

“Macy, Grandpa and I are going to see Joan in the nursing home this afternoon. She misses all of us from church. Would you like to come with us, and then we’ll take you out to supper?”

“I miss Joan!”

“I know you do, and she misses you too. She doesn’t get a lot of company.”

“She doesn’t? That’s sad!”

“So, do you want to come with us?”

“Is a nursing home like a hospital?”

How to explain? Life is sometimes more difficult for Macy than it is for us. She has more challenges and a few fears. Hospitals are one of them.

“It’s not exactly like a hospital. There are nurses there, but Joan has her own room, and she lives there. Remember when you went with your dad to see Cynthia? It’s like that.”

She nodded and looked apprehensive.

“Do you want to think about it for a few minutes?”

She nodded again then answered immediately. “I want to go.”

Later that afternoon Macy climbed into the car and smiled at us but twisted her hands. Her parents were out of town, so she’d been staying with her other grandparents.

I asked her, “You ready for a long ride? It’s about an hour.”

She nodded. “Grandma Bowers says if I get nervous it’s okay, because I should think about I’m going to make Joan happy!”

“You will make her happy! And she’s going to be so surprised! She has no idea you’re coming.”

In the hour it took us to get to Joan’s Macy entertained us with her stories, and her laughter warmed our hearts. I noticed something as she talked, something I’ve observed before. Macy isn’t like the rest of us. In her words there’s no judgement, no bitterness, no self-promotion. She never compares herself to other people. It wouldn’t occur to her to try to make someone else look less so she’d look better.

Macy does, however, say exactly what she means. She was talking about a “really old, old, old lady” she’d seen, and I teasingly asked, “Old like me?”

“Yes, just like you, Grandma,” she said, and kept right on with her story as I tried not to laugh.

And she said she loved our church, but we needed more kids, and she thought it would be good if we had a really nice pastor. At that, John did laugh. He’s her pastor.

“Isn’t Grandpa a nice pastor?” I asked

“Yes, Grandpa is the best pastor in the whole word, but this pastor came to our house one time, and he asked my dad, ‘Who is this?’ And my dad said, ‘This is Macy!’ And that pastor was so nice, and he shook my hand. He was a very nice pastor.”

We’re never sure, with Macy’s stories, how much is fact and how much is fiction, just like you’re never sure of that when you read my stories! Macy has a wonderful imagination and can spin an entire tale from a single sentence she hears someone say.

She told us many tales about “Uncle Matt” who isn’t her uncle, but who is her dad’s good friend. Uncle Matt is a firefighter with her dad, and he’s also a pastor. We suspect he’s Macy’s hero, and perhaps the “very nice pastor” she wishes was pastor of our church, not that she’d ever want to get rid of Grandpa. She adores her grandpa. And she loves me too, even though I’m so very old.

The fun and laughter made Macy forget to be anxious until we passed a hospital.

“Is that where Joan is?” Her voice was only a little shaky. Macy has come a long way in overcoming her fears.

Grandpa explained Joan had been there when she’d been very sick, but she wasn’t there now.

“I’m a little nervous,” Macy admitted. She doesn’t mispronounce many words, but nervous is one she does, and the way she said it made my heart twist. I thought once again as I have so many times before how much Macy enjoys life and yet how difficult some parts of it will always be for her.

John and I had already discussed what we’d do if Macy didn’t want to go in when we got to the nursing home; I’d go see Joan, and he’d take Macy to get ice cream and come back and get me. We glanced at each other, wondering if that was what would happen, but we underestimated something. Macy’s love gives her amazing courage.

I wish you could have seen Macy’s and Joan’s faces when they first saw each other and the hug they gave each other. Macy forgot all about being nervous in “hospitals” and told Joan so many of her stories our time together flew by.

Supper together was fun. Macy loves Walmart, so we’d asked her if she’d like to stop at one on the way home. She was excited about that, and we were on our way when we got text messages from three people telling us we were under a severe thunderstorm warning and a tornado watch. The skies looked threatening, so we told Macy we thought we should skip Walmart and head home. She was disappointed but didn’t complain.

It wasn’t long before the wind and rain started. At about the same time we got a call from Kimmee, our daughter who lives with us. The worst of the storm had already hit at home. Her husband, Drew, had been downstairs and she’d been upstairs when she suddenly heard a deafening noise that sounded like a train. With no time to go downstairs, she hit the floor and watched as the air outside of her window turned gray and dirty. The storm left as quickly as it came, and Kimmee went downstairs and looked outside.

I had Kimmee on speaker phone. “Mom, our big tree is gone and you’re not going to believe the mess in the yard.”

I could hear the tears in her voice. She’d loved that tree since she was a little girl. I’d told her the stories that had been told to me, that the old maple had stood on that corner when the Potawatomi tribe had lived here and had perhaps rested beneath it. It had been the tallest, biggest tree in our area.

Macy asked, “Is Kimmee okay?” She sounded even more upset than Kimmee did.

“I’m okay, and Drew is okay, and the kitties are okay, Macy. Don’t worry,” Kimmee said.

After we finished talking to Kimmee, Macy said, “Oh, I wish I could give Kimmee a big hug, because that would make her feel better…on the inside.”

Macy hates to see anyone hurt, sad, or suffering. Her hugs have made so many people feel better…inside.

Since the storm, I’ve been thinking about Macy and her love and courage. If Macy thinks about herself at all, I doubt she’d call herself brave, but she is. She’s brave in life’s storms, and she helps other people face their challenges.

Our poor fallen giant of a tree lies on the ground, and its buds tell us it had planned to bloom beautifully again this spring. It’s cold here in Michigan; it was below freezing this morning, and they say it may snow tomorrow. Still, the crocuses bravely bloom, even though they aren’t at all sheltered from the cold northwest wind.

God doesn’t promise to stop the cold northwest wind, but storms and tears are temporary. Our Easter celebration, with its promise of resurrection life, is only a week and a half away. And meanwhile, while tears freeze on our faces even in the springtime, God has blessed us with people who care and want to hug us and make us feel better…on the inside.

When it does come, what will that resurrection life look like, the one God has promised to all who trust Jesus to save them from sin? Some people might think that Macy, in her new life, will look more like us. I think we’ll all be more like Macy.

The end

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These blogs are now available in book form on Amazon:

Backroad Ramblings Volume One: Stories of Faith, Love, and Laughter

Backroad Ramblings Volume Two: Stories of Faith, Love, and Laughter

Backroad Ramblings Volume Three: Stories of Faith, Love, and Laughter

Backroad Ramblings Volume Four: Stories of Faith, Love, and Laughter

Photo Credit: Kimmee Kiefer