I’m sitting in my rocking chair, under the carport. Nevaeh’s five. She just bounced by – the way little girls do – singing a song older than she is.
“This is the day,
this is the day,
that The Lord has made,
that the Lord has made…”
I know why, too. She heard it from her Mayka. When Nevaeh was younger, she couldn’t say, Grandma… Mayka came out instead – and it stuck.
I watch my granddaughter ride her pink bike, in little circles. She’s supposed to stay on the driveway but, when I’m not looking, sometimes she’ll venture out into the street. I can hear her singing that song. The one planted into the fertile soil of her heart, by her Mayka.
Nevaeh loves her Mayka…me too.
Mayka has that way about her. She’s always singing – and it beautifies the atmosphere – no matter where she’s at. Not that she has a great voice, it’s good, but I’d don’t see her winning the next American Idol. She has great peace and great joy and it bubbles out in bits and pieces of the song playing in her heart – and it sticks. And soon you’re singing along – just like Nehaeh.
I rock my chair to the rhythm of the simple song… and think about her Mayka.
She sorts laundry, and sings… this is the day, this is the day, that the Lord has made… She wonders about heaven. What will I do there – will there be anything to clean? I’ve told her maybe she can dust…gold dust. She says cleaning is her gift – it’s more like an honor than a chore for her. “Everyone should do their part – cleaning’s mine,” she says. Have her over for a visit and before it’s over, she’ll be cleaning the place. It’s her gift and she enjoys it. In a way her singing is like that too. She cleans the area with her hands and the atmosphere with her singing. Simple – yet penetrating – even the toughest stains.
When we put legs to our gift – love happens.
I know this much – she’s helped clean up my life. I was a mess. Lord knows I needed some cleaning. Still do. Amazing, but I think God had His hand in our meeting – even though, it was in a honky-tonk. I still remember the first time I saw her; those beautiful hazel-green eyes captured me. Her highlighted auburn hair flowed past her shoulders; her white shirt seemed to glow in the dark. I asked her to dance and I’d never seen kinder eyes – even though she said no…at first. “I can’t even believe I’m here, I rarely go out, but my sisters insisted,” she said. I love those sisters. She softly sang as we danced a million miles that night. And eventually we danced all the way to a backyard wedding and a dance in the barn. Fireworks and all…
Whoa! Almost fell out of my rocker there for a second – sorry ‘bout that.
Did I tell you about the time she put a homeless woman in a hotel? Or how she’s the volunteer librarian? Or how she spends hours transcribing her mother’s notes into book form? Or how she works tirelessly searching for family lineage? I can’t keep up with the living kin – let alone the dead ancestors. But she can – and does. She loves. Plain and simple – that’s her way.
And now, here we are – by the grace of God. Her kids and my kids are having kids of their own. Her family and mine all blended into one.
Gracious. That’s the word an old friend used to describe her. Yep, that’s my Mayka.
A simple girl raised on a farm doing what she does, to the glory of God… a super-hero. That’s my Mayka.
“Look Papa, I’m flying like an eagle.” Nevaeh spreads her arms – like wings – as she pedals her little bike. Even a feather duster used to the glory of God can become the wings of an eagle.
For some reason I have this song from Psalm 118:24 stuck in my head…
This is the day that the Lord has made, I will rejoice and be glad in it…
That’s my Mayka.