Grape.

I've come to dread multimedia messages by phone. My phone isn't very fancy, so it takes a while to download these messages. Before the message arrives, my phone lights up with a swirling 'Connecting' message, and makes me wait in nervous anticipation as it loads.

When newer, fancier phones send mass messages to multiple recipients, my phone interprets the messages as multimedia. So when you fancy phoners send mass messages, I get to wait in nervous anticipation to be notified of both the content and the sender of the message.

But here's why I've come to dread the messages. 2012 hasn't been a great year of mass-message, joyful news. Most of those nervously anticipated messages wrench my gut... messages from family with keywords like "pray" and "hugs" and "not doing well" and "love to all". Messages that make me worry that the next time my phone lights up with the swirling 'Connecting', the message will be the final update.

There have too many final updates.


I received a multimedia message today. The first one came on Sunday as I was deep in the academic trenches, heaving grenades at an onslaught of final exams. Another came on Monday, and another – the final update – came this morning.

"...I can't wait 'til the Lord returns."

Lillian Opal Ring Thompson was born in December, almost 98 years ago. Many years later, I met her. I probably cried like a baby – because I was – but only until I heard her chuckle. I don't think I ever called her Great-Grandma Lillian. I don't think I learned that her name was Lillian until I was 10 (my world was shaken). She's always been Grape.

Apparently, one of my elder cousins (maybe a sister?) had a hard time saying "Great" Grandma; Ts turned to Ps, and Grape it was.

Most of my favorite things about Grape seem pretty menial. Visiting her house and tromping about in the woods, then coming in and feeling oh-so-cared for as she found me a cup to get a drink of water. Watching Grandpa grab her up and swirl around the cramped living room as the rest of us watched the lively mother-son dance. Hearing her laugh.

My favorite memory takes place in December 1994, in Ackerman Auditorium at Southern Adventist University. I was all of six years old and feeling very pretty in my black-and-white velveteen dress bought especially for this wedding. All of the family was gathered, and I was being as careful as I could be (which wasn't very careful) to avoid spilling the bright red punch that I was "helping" serve. I nearly failed at my careful task when I spotted Grape across the lobby and bounded over to her – I'd been waiting all morning to catch her. I wanted to show her my shoes.

I was convinced that at one time, these really had been her shoes; after all, the shiny black flats were embellished with a diamond-encrusted, gold-plated cluster of grapes. Just three grapes. Not too many, not too few, just enough to make a six-year-old feel pretty. As I danced in front of her, she sat and smiled and complimented me on my special shoes.

I've never felt more beautiful.


I love my Grape.
And I can't wait 'til Jesus comes to sweep her up and swirl around a less-than-cramped dance floor.