Grandma’s house is little.

When we visit, six of us pile into one bedroom to sleep. We crowd at the table with chairs and a step stool or an ottoman. During dinner, even on winter evenings, we have to open the dining room window to dispel the heat we’ve created.

The toys are few, the basket of children’s books has been read a thousand times, and every episode of Lawrence Welk has been watched. Her house might not fit the description of a child’s paradise, but it really is.

Routine is peace at Grandma’s, and tight is cozy. Peace and love fill her house to the brim.

Grandma has 80 years of wisdom to offer, but she doesn’t often give it with words. She listens. She hugs. She encourages. She prays. Her home exudes her right living, her love living. We crave being there.

Perhaps longing for Grandma’s house is really a longing for Jesus.

Grandma has put the taste for Him in my children’s lives. Her wisdom has made her house a place of love, joy, patience, gentleness, kindness, peace, faithfulness, self-control. It’s a place where God’s Spirit is, a taste of heaven. Her wise living is winning souls for eternity.