All for a simple cup of tea

One of the experiences I miss the most is the ability to visit my Grama for a simple cup of tea. My Grandmother had a plaque that hung over her living room door. I can still see it in my mind as I mentally walk through the front door of that little red, one bedroom, shingle sided house.

"Only too soon this life will pass; only what's done for Christ will last."

I remember as a teenager, sitting at the blue and chrome chipped melamine dinette with the cracked vinyl covered chairs, thinking that this was the most special place in the world. My Grandmother would tell me (in her lilting English accent she was convinced had disappeared) of all the happenings of the neighbours - the comings and goings of grandchildren, and the few tasks that would 'only take a moment' if I had some time before I had to leave. Then she would pour the tea and put a few Peek Freen’s on a saucer. On the wall hung the saddest of crafts: one and half yellow paper pie plates sown together with red yarn with a crayoned picture of her dog on the front. A VBS craft of many years earlier that I had given her - it was stuffed with cards, letters from old friends from England, and the occasional recipe that she just could never seem to find when she needed it. Many other 'useless' yet priceless knickknacks and grandchild projects cluttered that little house -- but somehow my eyes would always return to that phrase above the door.

As I look back, I know only too well the truth of that line "only too soon..." as I can only visit my grandmother in my memories now. I occasionally drive down the street where she lived and park at that corner for a moment. The little house is still there, but all is quite different. The white picket fence (one of those little tasks of painting and painting) is now long gone. The lilac bushes, the two stately maples that stood out front - removed for parking. The red shingles, replaced by yellow siding. There's a moment of sadness knowing that things constantly change - yet, in my mind I can still see the plaque. I suddenly become that teenager, sitting at the table, with a cup of English tea, with way too much sugar and Carnation evaporated milk (still my favorite way to drink tea). Before we had our 'tea time' she always paused, gnarled arthritic hands folded, and prayed, thanking God that I had stopped by for a visit and for safety for her other grandchildren. 'Amen'. No sooner had she completed her prayer then she'd rap her knuckles on the table and exclaim 'ark! 'ark! (Hark! Hark! for the non- British in the crowd meaning: Listen Listen), -- regaining my attention, and the stories would begin.

...Only what's done for Christ will last -- My grandmother was well into her 90's when she passed away many years ago now (1896-1990). In many ways, she had a difficult life. Raised poor, she eventually became a scullery maid in England for mere pennies a day. She hid in terror as bombs dropped from the skies in World War I, became an immigrant to Canada, lost everything in the great depression, watched and prayed as two son's marched off to World War II, out lived two husbands and became a single mom (raising my mother) when support systems were much less than they are now. Yet in spite of all of this, she prayed and loved her family feverishly – and was the grandest of English ladies.

We sometimes think that 'what's done for Christ' are the 'great' things. Yet it is often the small things, done constantly and patiently, often without warning – those little things that we think have little impact or are of no value or importance - that have lasting power and can change the life of another. Because of that little sign she hung above the door, the words penetrated my heart - continually calling me and reminding me to think and live beyond 'me' and 'now' -

The Apostle Paul writes "For I fully expect and hope that I will never be ashamed, but that I will continue to be bold for Christ, as I have been in the past. And I trust that my life will bring honour to Christ, whether I live or die. For to me, living means living for Christ and dying is even better. But if I live, I can do more fruitful work for Christ" (Phil 1:20-22)

When I read the power of these words I also remember he wrote: “I don’t mean to say that I have already achieved these things or that I have already reached perfection. But I press on to possess that perfection for which Christ Jesus first possessed me. (Phil 3:12)

Connecting these verses with that plaque that hung on my Grandmother’s wall have reminded me of the urgency and fragility of both my being and time. It also reminds me that small things do count. My Grandmother is now remembered only by a few. In the large scheme of the world, she left a very small if measurable mark. But, in the Kingdom of God and my life (and the rest of her grandchildren) she made a significant and eternal imprint by a simple cup of tea, and seeking to live the faded words of a simple wooden plaque– that are written on my heart for as long as I live. “’ark ‘ark” -- Grama, we did!

Neil