Family gathered in the living room on Christmas Eve, the youngest of my Cambodian treasures hands me a simple white sheet of paper folded in half--her Christmas gift to me. Beaming, she says, "Open it, Grandma!"
When I do, my eyes fill with tears as I read her carefully penciled words:
On a hill far away stood an old rugged cross, the emblem of suffering and shame, and I love that old cross, where the dearest and best, for a world of lost sinners was slain, so I'll cherish the old rugged cross, till my trophies at last I lay down. I will cling to the old rugged cross, and exchange it some day for a crown. I love you, Grandma Eileen! Hannah
I look up into her eager face, her little body pressed to my side. "You remembered," I say, choking back more tears, giving her a hug. Separated from me for a year and a half, yet she still remembers me teaching her that old hymn. My favorite ever since childhood.
For a time, only Hannah and I exist in this room with tile floors and walls, fan whirring in the background. In the midst of adventure in a foreign land, my granddaughter peels away all the sights, sounds, and smells and reminds me of what my heart treasures most: The old rugged cross.
I hug her again and thank her for giving me the best gift her heart could think of. I'd gifted the song to Hannah a few years earlier, and now she gifts it back to me. A mutual love and connection to the old rugged cross that extends beyond mere family ties.
2 comments:
What a sweet grandchild and gift of the wonderful hymn words.
Thanks, Terra!
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