When Your Time Is Up

Each morning, my grandmother would pull on her blue-zippered sweater and open the door from her single-wide trailer. The famous Santa Cruz fog was thick in the morning, blowing moisture in from the Pacific and misting every surface with droplets. She would shake the leaves of the eucalyptus tree that dripped on the deck and then she would pull out her long-handled shovel to work the rich soil.

She was 90, nimble, spry and full of life. Her mannerisms and language were crisp, thanks to her Bronx upbringing, but her heart was soft with decades of Christ following. Brought up in an Orthodox Jewish family, she found her Savior through Billy Graham in the 50’s. Life was never easy, but she didn’t complain much.

She spent her retirement volunteering down at the First Baptist Church of Capitola. She did what she could for the “seniors,” giving of her time and meager resources. And she loved her little garden, where she grew tomatoes and bunches of onions and leafy spinach.

And how she loved her lemon tree. She eagerly waited for the tree to produce the bright yellow fruit that she would sit on the kitchen counter top and ripen. The fresh citrus smell would waft through the trailer. When the time was right, she would cut through the flesh and squeeze the sour juice into her hot steaming tea.

One February morning, she was with her her beloved tree. She might have trimmed a couple of twigs and smiled at the round orbs that hung in their adolescence. Without warning, somewhere in her body a trigger went off, and that big heart of hers gave way and she knelt down and breathed her last. God took her and left us with the wonderful memories.

We all thought that was the best way for her to go.
Suddenly. Under the lemon tree.

How would you like to go? Care to comment?