Painted Lake Stones

John 8:7

7 So when they continued asking him, he lifted up himself, and said unto them, He that is without sin among you, let him first cast a stone at her. KJV




My Grandma was not the type of person to throw barbs or cast stones. She was, instead, a stone painter.

Whether it was at The Lake, at The Beach, or even along the side of a parking lot, she would walk along picking up rocks, shells, acorns, pinecones and sea glass to use in making crafts. She made Christmas ornaments, wall hangings, centerpieces, and wearable art. She and Grandpa made toys. The sisters, and sometimes the children and grandchildren, cut, painted and glued together. Her artwork celebrated God’s creation, from babies to pets (most painted with a wide smile and friendly eyes).

She was a gracious hostess. During any given visit she would share a tidbit of something (Bugles and dip at the cottage, or a piece of hard candy she’d tucked away at the nursing home).

I never heard her say that it wasn’t a good time to visit. She made us feel that we were always welcome. Upon our arrival (any time of the day, any season), items on the table or couch were gently pushed set aside to make a place. The Sassy Cat was closed behind a door.

She and Grandpa came to visit us, to welcome our babies, to celebrate holidays, or to help with projects like installing shelves in a craft closet. My house was probably messy by her standards. My dishes were chipped and mismatched. I was just learning to bake a pie (I still can’t bake a good pie). They visited anyway.

She knew how to make conversation. She asked a lot of questions, expressing a genuine interest in all of our toys, activities and gadgets (I think of the range of toys we handled together. A button on a string, a Jacob’s ladder, Fisher Price little people, playing cards, Ninja turtles, Pokemon cards, Ipads, cellphones, and Game Boys, oh my!).

She could fill an entire drive from South Carolina to Upstate New York (and back) with conversation. She treasured and explained the past. She shared family and local history, her latest project, and news about the nieces, nephews and cousins that she so adored.

She kept scrapbooks full of newspaper clippings, letters, photos, cards, and drawings. She kept items that symbolized our accomplishments. She never kept a list of wrongs.

Grandma rarely complained. She was not critical. When I was a messy, stain-covered elementary school child, we picked wild strawberries. When I was a moody teenager, we went shopping at Christmas stores. If my boys were unruly she challenged them with a puzzle. If I was having a hard day at work, she offered kind words and good cheer.

She loved people. She loved receiving cards and letters. She loved the village, and her church, chicken bbqs, gardens, Bible study, and music. She collected milk glass, buttons, paperweights, and more. She appreciated the beauty and the uniqueness of God’s creations.

She reminded me, so often, that God’s creation is fragile. She chose her words carefully. She trod lightly. She believed that worn, smooth lake glass is more beautiful and precious than sharp, pointy, broken glass that might cut someone.

Grandma taught me to strive to be a rock painter and never a stone thrower.

Thank you Lord, for her life.