Wisdom Seeds Page 2

  “Yes Ma’am.”

  “You just wait on your blessing from God. Keep your ears open so you can hear God talkin’ cause your own eyes might deceive you.”

  “Yes Ma’am.”

  “Everything that looks good is not good for you.” She hesitated and added, “But that don’t mean your blessing can’t be cute!”

  Nana knew how to make me laugh, even when she was serious and teaching me a life lesson.

  Tony met Nana when he volunteered to help paint the church. Nana had prepared lunch for the students and Tony complimented her cooking. She invited him to dinner the following weekend and he volunteered to cut her grass. In return, Nana began cooking for him all the time – sometimes cakes and pies and sometimes dinner.

  Although Tony had asked me out a few times, I wondered if he was just doing it for Nana. Even though he was very nice, and cute, I wouldn’t allow myself to believe that I was his type. He wore his short Afro tapered around his face and rolled the sleeves on his tee shirt to display his muscles. His jeans were always starched and creased. He also wore sandals with his shorts. I was still waiting for my body to develop and wore my hair pulled back into a ponytail. My cotton sun dresses and matching short sets from Sears made me look fourteen. Anyway, it made Nana happy to think she matched me up with a nice young man.

  The summer with Nana ended too soon and I wished I didn’t have to leave. Nana promised to visit me in the spring. I believed her, but still cried on the bus all the way to Pittsburgh.

  My sophomore year started out dragging. I wrote to Nana diligently every Saturday, anxious to return to see her again. She replied insinuating that my anxiety was in seeing Tony, not her. I wrote many letters trying to convince her otherwise. Even her stationery smelled like Jean Naté.

  Eric Wilson came along during the first week in October and I fell in love with him by the end of the month. I was looking for that magic love Nana had shared with Grandpa Booker. Eric was a romantic and wrote me poems. He even wrote me a song and sang it to me in the cafeteria. I shared pieces of the poems with Nana because I wanted her to know how romantic he was. Nana wrote back telling me she doubted his sincerity. It took me two weeks to write asking her why. Eric said everything I wanted to hear. He thought I was cute and I wanted to be in love.

  By the time Nana wrote me again I was ready to burn Eric’s sonnets. He had shattered by heart, broken up with me because I wouldn’t have sex with him and lied to his friends telling them he had. Nana had been right about him. I thought about the wisdom seeds – never saying something I would later regret and walking with the right people. I surmised the seeds must not have taken root because I regretted having said I loved Eric and had totally misjudged his character.

  My letter to Nana was pitiful. Penn State no longer seemed like the place for me and I wanted to transfer to West Virginia. I suggested we discuss how to tell my parents when she came to visit.

  Spring break came but Nana didn’t. Her arthritis had flared up and she thought it best to stay at home. Our visit would have to wait until summer.

  As the end of my sophomore year approached, I made plans to join Nana in West Virginia. I was able to get my counseling job at the Youth Investment Program again, too.

  I arrived in Wheeling in time to help Nana bake sweet potato pecan pies for the Memorial Day Veteran’s Luncheon. Nana had lost about twenty pounds and she walked with a limp – it was frightening and I worked hard not to focus on it. During my senior year in high school I requested an application to West Virginia University and now I regretted never completing it. While I was in Wheeling for the summer, I planned to inquire about graduate programs. I made up my mind to attend WVU for grad school.

  West Virginia was my summer respite where Nana and I enjoyed a ritual of activities. We attended Prayer Meeting and Bible Study, faithfully, every Wednesday evening. Most of the fifty member congregation also attended and Deacon Grady opened with the same three songs each week – Jesus on the Main Line, Blessed Quietness and What a Friend We Have in Jesus.

  Our Monday evenings were spent with the Home Missionaries, of which my grandmother had been the President for fifteen years. We prepared dinner and provided a hot meal and fellowship for all that came. Some were homeless, some were poor and some were just lonely. There were families, children, young adults and the elderly. During my first year I stayed in the kitchen serving and cleaning. My second year was spent playing games and reading stories to the children. I also studied Nana as she sat with her visitors, talked with them, prayed with them and sometimes hugged and cried with them.

  Nana could talk for hours about the earthly ministry of Jesus and how He showed His love through compassion for people. As she taught the Beatitudes, I committed them to memory.

  Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven. Blessed are those who mourn, for they shall be comforted. Blessed are the meek, for they shall inherit the earth. Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness for they shall be filled. Blessed are the merciful, for they shall obtain mercy. Blessed are the pure in heart, for they shall see God. Blessed are the peacemakers, for they shall be called sons of God. Blessed are those who are persecuted for righteousness sake, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven. Matthew 5:3 – 10.

  I had yet to come to a full understanding of the wisdom seeds Nana taught me.

  Nana masked the severity of her arthritis well. She was up every morning making breakfast, even after I would hear her moaning at night. On my second Sunday back in Wheeling, she invited Tony, Jeffrey and Vicky to dinner. We spent most of the evening listening to Nana’s tales about the ‘good ol’ days’. Her stories were never complete without making us repeat scripture and sing her favorite hymns.

  Two weeks after I arrived, Tony left for Hartford to complete his internship. My social life plummeted from minimal to nil. I let books consume my time and leisurely read the novels I had collected.

  One Saturday Nana taught me how to make black-eye peas and rice with ham hocks, sweet potato pies with a shortbread crust and stewed turkey legs. These were her favorite recipes that she had never shared with anyone else except my mother.

  On our way home from church one Sunday, Nana asked about my plans after college. I hated admitting not having any. My goal was to graduate and do something. I promised to begin exploring my options. Graduate school at West Virginia seemed like the perfect choice.

  That evening, after dinner, we retreated to the porch swing and the cool night air. It was then that Nana began to tell me her time to rest was near. I refused to believe her because I wanted her to live forever. Nana said she would be watching from the balcony of Heaven to see the fruit from the seeds she planted in my life.

  “Nana, don’t talk about dying.”

  “Danielle,” she replied in her serious voice, “nobody lives forever.”

  “You probably could.” I felt like I was five and wanted to bury my face in her dress. “My wisdom seeds need you to help them.”

  She lifted my chin. “Sometimes people leave us, no matter how much we wish they wouldn’t. And sometimes we think we can’t live without them.”

  I could feel tears swelling in my eyes – no words would come. I wanted to put my hands over my ears. I needed her and words were inadequate to explain how much.

  “We find the strength to go on,” she continued as the tears began to stream down my face. “Tears are the watering from sorrow, crying is good – it’s like rain.” She wiped my tears with her fingers. “Sorrow and rain, two things we’d like to do without. The next time something rains on your parade or brings you sorrow, or makes you cry, just know it’s growing you. Without rain nothing would grow and without tears you wouldn’t grow either.”

  “I want my children to know you.”

  “They will know me through you.”

  “Nobody loves me like you do,” I said almost whining.

  “Jesus loves you much more than I ever could, don’t you ever forget that.”


  “I love you so much Nana. I can’t imagine not having you around.”

  “When you see the rain, just know you’re not alone in your sorrow and when you see the sun, remember my smile. I’ll always be watching you from the balcony of Heaven.” Nana held my hand and pushed my hair back off my face. “Remember this, too,” she said making sure I maintained eye contact with her. “God sees the sparrow when it falls.”

  “Then why does He let it fall?”

  “You just remember that if God takes the time to watch the sparrow, you can rest assured he’s watching you.”

  I awoke the following Saturday to the strange sound of silence – nothing frying, no coffee perking and no humming. I found Nana sitting on the porch swing. It was an overcast morning. The clouds appeared pensive and swollen like they were too heavy to move.

  Still in my pajamas, I sat at her feet on the front porch. “Are you okay, Nana? Can I get you anything?”

  She stopped swinging and smiled at me. “Will you take me to Ogle Bay Park?”

  “Of course.” I smiled back. “And let’s go to the IHOP for breakfast.” That was one of the few places where she would eat.

  While we waited for our food I admired Nana in her favorite red dress and the straw hat with the big red carnation. She said Grandpa Booker always liked her in red. Nana reached across the table and took my hand.

  “Dani, do you remember the three wisdom seeds?”

  I was proud to recite them to her. “The seed of joy is to love God with all my heart because He first loved me and died so I could have eternal life. The seed of love is to forgive others because God forgives me and the seed of happiness is to walk with good people.”

  “Child, this is the fourth seed – the wisdom seed for peace.”

  I nodded with anticipation. Nana looked so beautiful – at seventy her skin was flawless. Her smile was still the same, too.

  “A soft answer turns away wrath, but a harsh word stirs up anger.” She quoted Proverbs 15:1. “You will always catch more with honey than you will ever catch with vinegar,” Nana continued. “Do you know why?”

  “I’m not sure,” I told her feeling like I was seven years old again.

  “If I truly intend to have that which I’m seeking, my request is always going to be sweet. Honey is very sweet to the taste. It is also soothing. Anything I am trying to catch will be enticed and lured by honey. Vinegar, on the other hand, is only good with greens and does not attract anything – not even the hungriest creature. They gave Christ vinegar to drink on the cross to burn his insides. Words spoken in anger and requests made with contempt are like vinegar, they burn the insides of the recipient.” And with that look I had come to know so well she asked, “What do your words do?”

  This time I had an answer. “I hope they make people happy, Nana.”

  “Let your words be pure and kind. Make sure your words speak peace.” Nana squeezed my hand. “Joy, love, happiness and peace. That’s my prayer for you. Remember that.”

  I had begun to realize that the wisdom seeds might be more than just stories.

  That summer was the last time I saw Nana. She passed away three weeks into my junior year. I dropped the phone when Mom called. What would I do without her? Who was going to love me like she did?

  The bus ride to Wheeling seemed to take days. Tony met me at the Greyhound station and hugged me when I got off the bus. “Are you okay?”

  I shook my head no, trying not to cry.

  We rode in silence to Nana’s house. As we pulled in the driveway I noticed the flowers and cards decorating the porch. My hands began to shake just thinking about Nana not being there to greet me at the door. I exited the car and stood at the bottom of the steps fumbling in my purse for the keys.

  “Want me to go with you?” Tony asked, standing behind me. All I could do was cry. He let me ramble on about missing my grandmother while he held me. “I’ll miss her, too,” he said trying to comfort me. “I loved her. She was the grandmother I never had.”

  Tony’s presence was warm and I welcomed his closeness. We held hands and walked slowly across the porch. The hinges on the front door squeaked as he opened it. I stepped into the living room and closed my eyes. The smell of Jean Naté greeted me.

  “I need to get the letters,” I announced breaking the silence.

  “What letters?”

  “The love letters – Nana and Pappy’s love letters. They’re in the bedroom.”

  I took his hand and led him into Nana’s bedroom.

  “They’re in the basket,” I said pointing to the corner beneath the picture of my grandfather.

  We sat in the living room and I began to read the letters, passing each one to Tony – expecting he would want to read them, too. Their letters told of a wonderful love – better than Mahogany or A Star is Born.

  “Do you think she’d mind?”

  “This is true love,” I said remembering Nana’s smile as she told me about the letters. “These are portraits of love. She wouldn’t mind.”

  It was raining and they kept trying to make me walk under an umbrella as we lined up to go in the church. I was numb and didn’t feel the rain. Noah and Joey had arrived earlier that morning and joined the family processional into the church. Noah put a rose in Nana’s hand before they closed the casket.

  “She always liked flowers,” he said sitting next to Mom and holding her hand.

  Joey struggled through His Eye Is On The Sparrow, Nana’s favorite song. She had given him a hymnal when he was ten and it was the first song he learned to play.

  I sat next to my dad wondering if he was being strong for Mom. He put his arm around me and held Mom’s other hand. She cried through the entire service. Everyone did, except my dad.

  As they lowered my grandmother into the ground the clouds began to part. The sun was trying to sneak through to kiss Nana’s casket before they covered it with dirt. I thought about what she said. In the rain she felt my sorrow and the sun meant she was smiling. Driving back to the church for dinner, I was comforted by the thought of her smile.

  “She’s happy now,” I said to Tony as we sat outside the church. “She’s with Pappy.”

  “They really loved each other. I can tell from the letters.”

  “I hope someone loves me like that.”

  Tony smiled at me. “They will if you let them.”

  Mom looked out the church door and motioned for me. “Dani, come and eat.”

  “No thanks Mom. I’m not hungry.”

  “Maybe you should eat,” Tony said getting up from the bench where he, Jeffrey, Vicky and I had been sitting.

  “No, I’m okay.”

  Jeffrey and Vicky got up and gave me a hug. “Think you might feel like a movie later on?” Vicky asked.

  “Sorry, I can’t,” I told her. “I’m leaving in a few hours. I need to be in class in the morning.”

  “I’m sorry you have to leave so soon,” Tony said from behind me.

  I turned to face him. “Me too.”

  “I hope this doesn’t mean I won’t see you anymore.”

  “It doesn’t have to.”

  Tony smiled and took my hand. “Can I take you to the bus station?”

  “I’d like that.” I tried not to blush. “Can you pick me up at six?”

  “See you at six o’clock.” He waved and then walked away with Jeffrey and Vicky.

  I joined my family in the Fellowship Hall.

  Mom greeted visitors and reminisced with old friends in the church basement. Noah and Joey stood with her like bodyguards. She had not seen either of them in over a year and it felt good to see her smiling. In spite of the pretense of joy, this had to be harder for her than it was for me.

  A week after the funeral I contemplated taking a leave of absence. My mind was blank and I doubted my ability to get through the semester. The sparrow had fallen and I wondered if God was watching. I thought of the seeds Nana planted in my heart and wondered if they had started to take root. Joy, love, ha
ppiness and peace seemed far away and out of my reach.

  Tony came to visit me the following spring before he graduated. I was no longer in denial that time and distance were not on our side to have a relationship, so I would savor the memories of the weekend for a very long time. The first time he kissed me I felt swallowed up in his arms.

  “I’ve wanted to kiss you for a long time,” he said still holding me. “I like your lips.” He traced my lips with his index finger.

  Not knowing what to say I just let him hold me because it felt good. Nothing had prepared me for the moment and even my fantasies were miniscule in comparison. I was still a virgin, but I wanted to give myself to him. If he had asked, I would have said yes.

  Over dinner Tony told me about his plans to pursue his MBA at New York University. He was looking forward to graduating and would be returning to Hartford to work over the summer. Graduate school would consume him over the next two years and he didn’t know where he would end up after that.

  “You’re beautiful,” he said smiling. “It would be selfish to ask you to wait for me.”

  “Yeah, it would.” I lied knowing that I would have waited.

  “I hope we keep in touch.”

  When he left on Sunday I knew the odds of seeing him again were poor. I would never forget him; he was the first one who told me I was beautiful.

  I went to school through the summer to make up for the withdrawals from first semester. Apathy replaced my enthusiasm about graduation; I studied to consume my time. I knew enough psychology to know idleness was depressing. My senior year was a blur that came and went very quickly.

  On a sunny afternoon in May, I walked across the stage to receive my degree and thought about the wisdom seeds. Joy, love, happiness and peace – I wanted them to bloom in my life. I could see Nana’s smile in the sunlight and knew she was watching from Heaven’s balcony just as she promised. Looking up as I took my seat I whispered, ‘thank you’.