Alice
Alice is such a beautiful name.
My grandmother wore it for 98 years.
It speaks of soft whispers and shared secrets,
of lessons in life and how to carry oneself.
I learned to sew, to cook, and keep a home.
She gave me my first Bible, leather-bound
with a small white cross carved in the binding.
It had the softest, lightest brown leather cover
laced all around with white leather trim.
A fancy Bible perhaps, at least I thought so.
Inside she inscribed it especially to me.
I treasured it for years.
I have lovingly passed it on.
I miss her sweetness and her quiet ways;
her serene face, bright blue eyes, and
her kind and giving heart.
She never complained or asked for help.
She was strong, independent,
even-tempered, never flustered or shaken.
Our Easter, Christmas, and Thanksgiving meals,
always at her home, were joyous occasions with family,
and often included those who Pastor said had nowhere
else to be – no home, no family.
There was never too little, always enough, and we
made sure God heard our prayers before eating.
I share the name Alice.
I pray I do it justice.
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